Who has not thought of fleeing, at least as a temporary measure, the British winter? And who could forget the swallow that decided not to migrate? He, had, the little bird told the Water Rat, grown so fond of England that he tried stopping on. "I hung back and let the others go without me. For a few weeks it was well enough, but afterwards, O the weary length of the nights! The shivering, sunless days! The air so clammy and chill, and not an insect in an acre of it!" The swallow's unseasonal testimony is recorded in The Wind in the Willows (1908), and transcribed by Kenneth Grahame, until that year the secretary of the Bank of England.

The wilful hirundine continues: "No, it was no good; my courage broke down, and one cold stormy night I took wing, flying well inland on account of the strong, easterly gales. It was snowing hard as I beat through the passes of the great mountains, and I had a stiff fight to win through; but never shall I forget the blissful feeling of the hot sun on my back as I sped down to the lakes that lay so blue and placid below me, and the taste of my first fat insect! The past was like a bad dream; the future was all happy holiday as I sped Southwards week by week, easily, lazily, lingering as long as I dared; but always heeding the call!"

And another eavesdropping swallow twitters dreamily "Ah yes, the call of the South, of the South!" and then adds "Its songs, its hues, its radiant air!"