Held in trust

Formby red squirrel reserve

by Lynda Relph-Knight

In response to the writing prompt in The untamed beauty of national parks

Craaack! What was that? A twig shatters underfoot.

We pause, in awe of a natural world unfolding around us. We edge forward cautiously, crunching brittle pine cones with every step, glad now that we shunned the flipflops in favour of sturdier footwear.

A lone seabird mewls overhead. Far in the distance a ship’s horn sounds its mournful tone as a vessel slips unseen out of Liverpool docks further along the coast.

We taste the salt air as it gently billows in across the beach beyond the dunes. We smell sea and pines. We are happy in this moment.

We feel eyes on us as we stumble along the woodland path. We are being watched, but who are our watchers? We stop suddenly, frozen in anticipation. But what is it that is demanding our attention?  

And then it begins, a floorshow to surpass anything the nearby seaside attractions have to offer.

We are startled out of our reverie by sudden movement. Furry bodies shimmy down the spindly tree trunks, leaping from branch to branch to get a better look at us. The air is tense with expectation – and a degree of apprehension. The twitch of a tail heralds a momentary shriek to alert ruddy dray-mates of our presence.

They are all around us. But still we feel rather than see them. Russet coats blend into the pine wood and the fragrant carpet of bronzing, spent needles. Then one, emboldened by curiosity and the hope of a nutty snack, breaks cover and ventures into the open. Others follow warily, their tufty ears erect as they gradually sit back on their haunches adopting the classic squirrel pose caricatured in children’s storybooks. Each one is a living emoji.

Taking centre stage, these tiny beasts know their audience well – and exactly how to play us. There are treats in store from the National Trust kiosk, and they know it.