27 November 1917 It swept up the fallen leaves: stirred the time-soiled fleece of the grazing sheep and lashed the water of the mere into white-capped waves, driving the spray across the fields
The wind, gathering force until on Saturday night and Sunday morning it rose to a gait, whirled hail, sleet, and snow before it, left a saline deposit on the windows, and swept up the fallen leaves to pile them high in sheltered corners. It ruffled the loose hair on the backs of the shaggy young beasts sheltering, tail to wind, behind the bare thorn hedge; it stirred the time-soiled fleece of the grazing sheep, exposing the under wool in great white patches; it lashed the water of the mere into white-capped waves, whipped off the spray and drove it across the fields. The strong-winged pigeons could make no headway against the fiercer gusts, and whirled away sideways with incredible speed; the rooks took long tacks to gain their objective. On Thursday, before it was really high, it caught one little auk, travelling southwards, carried it thirty miles inland, and dropped in a Timperley garden, where a kitten found it and reluctantly yielded up its prize, dead, though still warm. This occurrence, following so soon after the Yorkshire bird, is suggesting a little auk invasion.