I suppose it was the fault of some Barn Owls that I first became interested in birds. I was at school in Skeggy in the late 1940's when I learned from my biology teacher that owls regurgitated pellets of hair and bone and, if you examined them carefully, you could discover something about their diet.

I thought a few brownie points from my teacher wouldn't come amiss if I could reveal what the local Barn Owls were having for dinner, especially as I knew of a roost in some farm buildings at Gibraltar Point. Used by the military during the war, when the nearby marshes were considered ideal for lobbing shells into gull roosts, they appeared abandoned and derelict.

My friends and I were a little wary of owls because a famous photographer had recently lost an eye after a close encounter with a Tawny Owl's talon. Caution was, therefore, the name of the game. How, though, do you ensure the residents are out hunting before you invade their roost? Of course, you make yourself a hide!

We looked around the farmyard for concealment and, when all appeared lost, came across a rickety old shed. We dragged it into the farmyard, punched a hole in its side so that we could see the roost, thus establishing what may have been Gib's first bird hide.

I eventually got a sizeable collection of owl pellets, some of which I tried unsuccessfully to exchange for a collection of cigarette cards of British Birds. To add to my disappointment, my teacher was less than impressed. It seemed that, in those days, almost every boy knew the whereabouts of an owl roost so he had more than enough pellets for his needs.

However, I soon learned that the local Barn Owls lived mainly on a diet of voles and other small mammals. What did all the other birds eat? Well, I thought, gulls ate fish, hawks ate mice, and the rest lived on a diet of seeds and worms. It was as simple as that. Little did I know.

My curiosity had been aroused, so off I went to what then passed as the school library to see what books they had on birds. A rather snooty sixth former, who was a stand in librarian, advised me to look under ornithology. I wasn't too certain how to spell it but it didn't take too long to discover a yawning gap on the shelves.

When I remonstrated about this I was firmly reminded that there had been a war on, and that paper, and consequently books, was in very short supply.

Undeterred, off I went to the Public Library to investigate their offerings. Just two books! One was on garden birds and obviously aimed at very small children. The other was a rather scholarly book with no pictures, just a few graphs and tables on the birds of the Amazon Forests. Goodness knows how that came to be on the shelves of a library in rural Lincolnshire. A trip to Nottingham or Leicester was a big enough adventure for most of us in those days.

However, my luck was about to change. In my school, if you did well in class, you were allowed to choose a book from a selection bought by goodness-knows-who and presented with it on Speech Day by a local worthy or some old pupil who had done well in life. I had managed to win a prize and was called to the headmaster's study to choose my reward. I had never before trodden this sacred ground (usually my sort only did so when they were in trouble) so I was somewhat awestruck by the occasion. Nervously, I knocked on the door and was ushered in by a member of staff.

"You can choose any book you like off that table" I was instructed. There were not many left, about twelve I think, as the more senior swots had got there first. Even so, considering the times, this was more than I expected. Then my eyes lit up and it didn't take me long to choose because there it was: 'British Birds,' a weighty, illustrated volume by two renowned ornithologists. I could hardly believe my good fortune.

I still have this book. It looks rather tired now as it is a well thumbed, wartime edition, printed on inferior paper. It was then my wildest dream that one day I would be able to say that I had seen all the species illustrated in its 179 colour plates. Now I can; well, almost.

So, if anyone comes across a Greenland Falcon hereabouts (any truly wild Gyr Falcon will do) perhaps they would be good enough to give me a ring. Don't leave it too long mind, as I'm getting on a bit!

P.S. That farm building at Gib still exists. It now houses the offices of the Lincolnshire Wildlife Trust. As for my 'hide', no trace remains.