This afternoon, on a battered old bird table on the edge of the wood, I saw great tits, blue tits, a robin and a coal tit, all in the space of ten minutes. They were nibbling fatballs and snatching nuts and seed. Dunnocks gorge themselves shamelessly below, scavenging scraps flung casually onto the leaf-sodden grass.

Feeding on the ground in the same area were crows, several rooks, pheasants, male and female, blackbirds, fieldfares (a flock drawn to the windfall cooking apples), long-tailed tits, a greater spotted woodpecker, rooks, a song thrush, wood pigeons and a pair of collared doves.

Several dozen goldfinches and a single bullfinch sat high in a bare cherry tree, finding grubs and seeds invisible to the human eye, even through binoculars. Muntjac deer, a stag and a cub, pecked at shrub in the orchard, and a pair of unwelcome grey squirrels appeared for brief moments, scurrying away shortly as though caught misbehaving.

It’s a wild and ever-changing visual feast I enjoy through the reinforced glass at the back door, there with the binoculars and bird books. One word, exquisite, announces itself, shaking me as I drift into a sort of dumb reverie.

And then I think back, to the old year, and all the work I got through. Falmouth: thanks to the good efforts of my old mate, the Portscatho artist Chris Insoll, the great gallery was opened for us on a Sunday, by its singular curator, Brian Stewart. Days later, this great man died, leaving a fabulous wife and two young children. For me, who hardly knew him, the shock was considerable. I can’t imagine, try as I might, how Carole and the boys, and all their family and friends must have felt, and must be still feeling. I wrote to the Falmouth Packet, their local newspaper:

I have just been told of the sudden death of Brian Stewart. I would like to pass on my own great memory of a man I will always consider brilliant and remarkable. On Saturday, November 27th, I played a concert at Falmouth’s Princess Theatre. Brian came with his lovely wife Carole and sons. Next morning (Sunday, remember) Brian, aware of my own love of art, invited me and two musicians, as well as my own daughter Greta and her Cornish partner, Nelson, visiting from London for a few days, to the Falmouth Art Gallery for a special, private tour. Brian ran us through a detailed and amusing background history of every item in the Gallery. Every cartoon, every mobile and all the great works were explained and described in a gentle but highly authoritative style. Brian seemed to have it all: humour, wit, knowledge and passion, as well as a fine young family. I barely knew him, to be honest. But he touched me profoundly that day, and I will remember him and his great kindness for the rest of my life.

Steve Harley