When it comes to giving butterflies English names, the Canadians have done rather better than us Brits. In England, the romance of butterfly naming (as recounted in this book) is largely buried in the Latin nomenclature, but in Canada it is more overt: we named the butterfly families Nymphalidae and Satyridae, but the Canadians have Nymphs and Satyrs – including the beautiful Common Wood Nymph, which I'm seeing every day around here, and the Little Wood Satyr – and there are even Elfins. The darker of the numerous Skippers are called Duskywings (a name that would suit our sadly named Dingy Skipper very well) and the smallest of the them (also abundant around here, and very small indeed) the Least Skipper or Skipperling. Some of the Blues are called Azures, Fritillaires included the Aphrodite and the Freija – and of course the Camberwell Beauty is much better named as the Mourning Cloak.
The birds are often well named too. Yesterday we saw a Piping Plover, a 'near endangered' species, trotting about on the beach near where a small protected colony lives (we didn't hear it piping though). At the same place we lunched in a restaurant with a live webcam feed from a nearby Osprey's nest, where a single chick and one or other of its parents were getting on with their rather uneventful lives. And the day before, just down the road, I saw a Bald Eagle at the top of a dead tree barely twenty yards away, being relentless harried by Bluejays until at last it had had enough, spread its huge wings and flew away.
Characters:
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Mrs. Galbraith – Matriarch of the household, direct and controlling.
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Miriam – Her adult daughter, dutiful but quietly resentful.
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Algernon – The younger son, sarcastic and detached.
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Cook (Mrs. Simms) – Housekeeper with opinions of her own.
Scene: The dining room, late morning. Mrs. Galbraith is seated with letters. Miriam stands by the window. Algernon enters, late for breakfast.
Mrs. Galbraith:
You have missed the haddock, Algernon. It was not unworthy of attention, though Cook informs me it now verges on extravagance.
Algernon:
Then I am relieved to have missed it. I cannot eat what has become a symbol.
Miriam:
I thought it was simply haddock.
Mrs. Galbraith:
Miriam, do not be obtuse. A price rising beyond what it was must suggest a new function. Food ceases to nourish and begins to signify.
Algernon:
In this case, it signifies inflation and Cook’s disapproval.
Mrs. Simms (entering quietly):
It signifies, Madam, that fish costs three shillings more than it did last week, and that the fishmonger looks at me as if I had done it myself.
Mrs. Galbraith:
Perhaps you have, Mrs. Simms. The household seems to affect the economy more than I thought.
Miriam:
We must eat something, Mother.
Mrs. Galbraith:
We must indeed. Though apparently not fish, if we are to avoid economic blame.
Algernon:
I shall go without. It will be my contribution to fiscal stability.
Mrs. Simms:
If Master Algernon eats nothing, it will be the first time the kitchen has saved money by his abstinence.
Algernon:
Mrs. Simms, I see you have turned against me. Perhaps it is the sardines.
Mrs. Simms:
They too have gone up, Sir.
Mrs. Galbraith:
Then it is settled. We shall eat root vegetables and declare ourselves patriots. Miriam, make a note that we are no longer to be part of the fish economy.
Miriam:
Yes, Mother. Shall I also inform the fishmonger that he has lost our trust?
Mrs. Galbraith:
He may take that as implied. If he notices the absence of Mrs. Simms, he will know we are not unaware of his machinations.
Algernon:
It is a bold stance. I admire our commitment to justice in matters piscatorial.
Mrs. Galbraith:
We must be bold, Algernon. What else have we to be?
Hmm. A shame this is so weak – especially as the price of fish was just the kind of subject Ivy was liable to raise in the course of conversation...