In the UK the word "hoodies" often conjours up an image of a young person wearing a hooded sweatshirt or jacket.  Unfortunately the UK police and media were responsible in creating a whole "hoodie image" which resulted in the ludicrous situation where anyone wearing a hoodie risked being considered a potential thug or criminal.


In Scotland, a hoodie is an entirely different creature.  It is a hooded crow, and it entirely deserves its reputation as a thief and vandal.  I had been wondering why, on the past few mornings, they were to be found in our garden.  And this morning I discovered the reason.


Given the fact that certain members of the Lockhart household are feeling a little below par, the responsibility of letting the hens out of their henhouse this morning fell to me.  It was a little earlier than normal as I had to get myself ready to go to work, and one of the girls was still sitting in the nexting box, so I didn't collect the eggs.  When I set off for work I went to see if we had been left any little gifts by the girls, only to find 3 eggs dashed to the ground under the henhouse and the hoodies flying off.  They had somehow managed to get into the henhouse, had taken the eggs, broken them on the ground and were presumably planning on eating then when they were interrupted by us coming out of the house.


Hoodie Craws have a terrible reputation in this part of the world - they prey on sickly sheep and lambs and show no sympathy whatsoever to suffering animals - but I'd always thought there must be something good deep down.  However, as of this morning I have altered my opinion.  They are bad - through and through.


It made me recall the words of a song by Battlefield Band, and it completely confirms my now-held opinion:


The Hoodie Craw



The Hoodie craw has a black black hert
He's the vilest o' the craws
He's a greedy hawk and an evil scavaging thief wherever he goes
For he picks at the hert and pecks at the corpse
And drinks o' the blood o' his prey
It's a gey ill wind in the world o' birds
When the hoodie blaws their way

The sick will fear him hover near
For he smells their failing breath
Where the feeble lie he'll wait nearby
And attend them at their death
He'll worry the weak wi a jab o' his beak
He'll frighten young and old
And the wind that blaws the hoodie in
Has a cheerless bitter cold

In the open sky his piercing eye
Will search the ground below
And the thresing sound o' his beating wings
His victims soon will know
No clamour calls nor the helpless cries
Distract him from his task
And the whistling wind that sends them in
Has an icy chilly blast

The eagle guards his eyrie
Safe high up in the hills
And the fearless robin
Braves the cold and damp wet winter chills
But craws gang up and hound their prey
And send them tae their grave
And the price they crave is the fat and the juice
And the blood o' the Ravenscraig
And the price they crave is the fat and the juice
And the blood o' the Ravenscraig

The skin is stripped, the bones are picked
The carcase dead and gone
And the cries that echoed round the skies
Are quiet and forlorn
The rain falls down to heal the scars
And wash them in its flood
And the hoodie rides on another wind
In search of other blood
And the hoodie rides on another wind
In search of other blood
Ravenscraig no more
Ravenscraig no more

The song was actually written about the closure of Ravenscraig Steelworks in North Lanarkshire.   The reasons and methods of it's closure were hotly debated topics in Scotland in the late '80's and early '90's when this song first came out.   The same band did a great version of Bad Moon Rising.  You can hear it here.


However I digress from the horrid hoodies.  We have learnt our lesson, and we won't make the same mistake twice.  Eggs will be collected as soon as we open the henhouse from now on!