Ornithologists, who had been watching this remaining predator in the Lake District hills near Haweswater, have reported it missing for more than a month. It is presumed dead.
Let us observe a moment for silent reflection.
Surely there is a lesson.
I have been a student of British history for many years. Listed among the world's giants have been its statesmen, warrior kings, preachers, explorers, inventors, admirals, generals and ambassadors.
They lie at rest in the national shrine of West Minster Abbey or in unknown graves in the far flung regions of the British Empire.
I have been wondering why they have not been replaced by others of like stature who soared higher, saw further and swooped faster than their contemporaries.
I now understand.
The last English Golden Eagle is dead and, as far as the nation is concerned, they have become an extinct species.
There are other species still alive. They chirp and twitter and squawk daily in their aviary called the House of Commons. They sing weekly on Britain's got talent. They still migrate to the Mediterranean when the colder winter winds blow. Some are served up regularly for English Christmas dinner.
But the eagles have gone, never to return.
Yes, a cause for reflection, for these are the birds that put the "GREAT" in Great Britain, and my dear friends, in passing they have taken the "GREAT " along with their "GOLDEN".
Jubilate.
Ian
Jubilate.
Ian
