A Penny for the Moorhen

I walked along the towpath of Regents Canal in Hackney, listening out for the death-defying cyclists who belt along the narrow ledge in both directions at terrifying speed, and the wheezy grunts of the joggers pounding the concrete in their teeming hordes. The swish of lycra from both parties is deafening.

Close to one of the low bridges that span the limpid green water, I neared a group of children crouched by the edge of the track. They were watching a pair of Moorhens and their new-hatched chicks who had swum over to the canal wall by the kids' feet. The parent birds were bobbing down to the moss-green depths and emerging with morsels for the babies. These five infants had a bald, scalded look - all red and patchy - and they bobbed uncertainly in a ragged holding pattern.

One of the children was on his knees on the concrete, reaching his hand out over the flotilla of birds. I thought he was helping them out with scraps of bread. But as I got closer I saw that he had a handful of pennies. One by one he gently placed the coins onto the backs of the little chicks to see how many each one could hold before tipping sideways. The children laughed joyously as each little bird did a flip, throwing its already outsized feet up into the air.

It began to rain and I hurried off to find a tree.