“cloud (n.)
Old English clud “mass of rock, hill,” related to clod. Metaphoric extension to “raincloud, mass of evaporated water in the sky” is attested by c. 1200 based on similarity of cumulus clouds and rock masses. The usual Old English word for “cloud” was weolcan. In Middle English, skie also originally meant “cloud.”

The four fundamental types of cloud classification (cirrus, cumulus, stratus, nimbus) were proposed by British amateur meteorologist Luke Howard (1772-1864) in 1802. Figuratively, as something that casts a shadow, from early 15c.; hence under a cloud (c. 1500). In the clouds “removed from earthly things; obscure, fanciful, unreal” is from 1640s. Cloud-compeller translates (poetically) Greek nephelegereta, a Homeric epithet of Zeus” (1).

While vapour trails, or contrails, are also clouds, they are not accounted for in Howard’s cloud classification. This is hardly surprising, the first powered aircraft did not take to the skies until 1884 with the advent of the airship. However, despite their increase in frequency with the development of winged aircraft and commercial airlines to become one of the common kinds of cloud worldwide, their type has not been appended to this system of classification, with the exception of sometimes being referred to as ‘cirrus aviaticus’.

While some of them can persist, growing in size to up to several miles in width, you never get rain from even the largest of vapour trails.

(1) Online Etymology dictionary
http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=cloud

The starlings have been back for a few weeks now. Not in the numbers you used to find, but it’s still good to see them – a reminder of the vastness of Europe, of distant shores, of rites older than our mark upon the world. Their English collective noun when flying together is ‘murmuration’ a wonderful word that goes beyond merely naming, to evoke the whirring sussuration their collected wing beats make as the fly overhead; a thousand breaths and heartbeats sounding in unison.

And this got me thinking, as you do, of other collective nouns for animals, so here’s a list. Please note, this is highly edited, not including many of the more familiar and indeed unfamiliar terms, just my particular favourites:

A shrewdness of apes
A cede of badgers
A sloth of bears
A drift, or grist, of bees
A sedge of bitterns
A sounder of boars
A bellowing of bullfinches
A wake of buzzards
A caravan of camels
A destruction of cats
A peep of chickens
An intrusion of cockroaches
A gulp of cormorants
A covert of coots
A sedge of cranes
A float of crocodiles
A murder of crows
A parcel of deer
A convocation of eagles
A memory of elephants
A charm of finches
A school (or shoal) of fish
A stand of flamingoes
A business of flies
A skulk of foxes
A skein of geese
A cloud of grasshoppers
A charm of goldfinches
A rasp of guineafowl
A flick of hares
A boil, or kettle, of hawks
An array of hedgehogs
A bloat of hippopotami
A cry of hounds
A cackle of hyenas
A mess of iguanas
A clattering of jackdaws
A scold of jays
A fluther, or smack, of jellyfish
A kindle of kittens
A deceit, or desert, of lapwings
An exaltation of larks
A tittering, or charm, of magpies
A trip of mice
A labour of moles
A barrel, cartload, or wilderness, of monkeys
A scourge of mosquitoes
A watch of nightingales
A parliament of owls
A bed of oysters
A pandemonium of parrots
An ostentation of peacocks
A crowd of people*
A bouquet of pheasants
A drift of pigs
An unkindness of ravens
A crash of rhinoceroses
A building, or parliament, of rooks
A draught of salmon
A fling of sandpipers
A herd of sea urchins
A hurtle of sheep
An escargatoire, walk, or rout, of snails
A host, or tribe of sparrows
A phalanx of storks
A lamentation of swans
A scream of swifts
An ambush of tigers
A knot of toads
A hover of trout
A nest of vipers
A rout of wolves
A fall of woodcocks
A descent of woodpeckers
A herd of wrens
A dazzle of zebras

(*Come to think of it, there must be scores of collective nouns for different gatherings of people depending on kind and purpose. Maybe I’ll put those together in another post, another time…)

On the 19th of September 1783 the brothers Montgolfier gave their first demonstration of Balloon flight bearing passengers. While originally humans were proposed for this experiment, because of uncertainty regarding what might happen, it was instead decided to test the flight using 3 animals: a sheep, chosen because they were supposed to have the closest physiology to humans; a duck (being able to fly, ducks were considered unlikely to suffer any problems with altitude) and a cockerel as a kind of halfway control, i.e. chickens, despite being birds, don’t have much experience of high altitudes. The only one of these passengers to be named was the sheep, called Montauciel (“Climb-to-the-sky”). The flight lasted approximately eight minutes and reached an altitude of around 460 metres. All passengers returned to earth unharmed.

Somewhat less than 200 years later, the first living beings not only to leave the ground but also to leave our atmosphere were again animals. Contrary to popular belief this first pioneering mission was carried out by two fruit flies, aboard a U.S.-launched V-2 rocket on 20 February 1947. In 1949 the fruit flies were followed into space by two rhesus monkeys named, somewhat dynastically: Albert I and Albert II (though unrelated). Due to rocket problems, Albert I met his end on the way up, at about 30-39 miles above ground. Albert II got a lot higher – about 83 miles – but didn’t survive the return because of parachute failure. Numerous other monkeys ‘gave’ their lives in pursuit of beyond-world travel in the 1940s – 50s, the death rate for these missions being about 60-70%.

Further attempts at space flight by both the Russians and Americans involved additional monkeys (rhesus and squirrel species) several mice, the Russian dogs: Tsygan, Dezik, and Laika (none of which survived). In 1959 two monkeys, Able and Baker did actually make it back to Earth alive, Baker surviving until 1984. Following them, more dogs, a rabbit (in 1959) some frogs, copious numbers of mice, rather fewer rats, 15 more flasks of fruit flies and a Guinea pig.

The role of animals as space pioneers was finally eclipsed by the flight of the first human: Yuri Gagarin, on April 12th 1961, but even since then, many different species, including fish, spiders, birds, tree frogs, crickets, stick insects, newts and sea urchins, have continued to be launched into space for various reasons. However, as far as I am aware, not one cat has, as yet, ever been sent into orbit.

Clematis Vitalba is the UK’s only native Clematis. A vigorous climber, it can be seen growing through hedgerows at the side of roads and railways, in building sites and, indeed, left alone, will flourish almost anywhere. From early summer it begins flowering, producing tiny but beautifully formed white blooms. These continue throughout the season well into the autumn, while on the same plant, earlier flower heads by now will have started to seed. These seeds, all clad in copious amounts of hairy down to allow better dispersal by the wind, are the reason for its common name: ‘Old Man’s Beard’ which, when seen growing in large clumps, the plant resembles very closely.

I’ve been going out on these daily walks for a year now. Typically, I missed the anniversary of its first public appearance on 14th October 2014 but, albeit a few days late, I did want to mark the approximate occasion with a special contact sheet of cakes in shop windows.

Nothing is ever straightforward though is it? Halloween is only a couple of weeks away and almost all the bakeries and chocolate shops are sporting displays themed on this particular festival – hardly suitable for a birthday celebration. Indeed I could only find one confectioners with a ‘normal’ cake in its window. Looking on the bright side though, at least I found someone to cut the cake.

Some items of military camouflage are reversible, e.g. the American standard M1942 spot pattern camouflage. This design shows predominantly green on one side, brown on the other, and has been used for reversible ponchos. With the autumn now upon us, and under different circumstances, I would find this attention to the colours of the passing seasons quite poetic.

Winter pupating merry-go-round, and one of the last window-moths of summer.

“Hey! Come here, come here”
“Yes?”
“Come here, come here. You should take a picture of me and my mate”
“Ok”
“It’ll cost you a pound”
“50p”
“Pound”
“50p”
“All right then”
“Here we go. Lets find some change.”
“Ah you’re a man of your word. My name’s (unintelligible) and this is (slur) and this is my little friend”
“Is it a duck?”
“Don’t be stupid, it’s a kiwi”
“Oh”
“Kiwi’s a very special bird”
“Yeah, unique among all birds”
“Why’s that?”
“Size of its egg see. Biggest egg, weight for weight, of any bird in the world. Practically the same size as the kiwi its eggs are”
“Very special birds Kiwis are. Imagine laying something that big”
“Ouch”
“And that’s why this kiwi is my mate”
“Unique”
“Well thank you boys, you’ve given me something to be grateful for”
“Wossat?”
“That I’m not a kiwi”