Diary - 16 July 2015 | The Spectator

I witnessed what was almost a violent fight to the death on Hampstead Heath the other morning. Broad flawless sunlight, the serenity of one of London’s greatest lungs and then, from the little pond opposite the mixed bathing pond, screams. A swan, its neck arched like a bow, yellow beak wide open, was shielding four cygnets from the splashy persistence of a determined mongrel. The swan struck, the mongrel dodged the blow. The swan swivelled and followed the attacker into the shallows, but the dog still ducked and taunted the swan. A frantic owner ran along the bank fruitlessly calling out the dog’s name. Someone — me I’m afraid — yelled, ‘Grab it! It’s shallow water!’ I went towards the bank but the owner took courage. She went in, seized the dog and huddled it to safety. Merciful in victory, the majestic swan merely came to the edge of the water and stood guard until the danger was taken well away.

At the top of Parliament Hill — the big tourist feature of the Heath — children in an obedient circle were being taught about climate change; from the playing fields below came the shrill excited cries of a school sports day; further along in the bandstand near the tennis courts a choir was practising in full voice; and then I passed the breathtaking row of willows beside the mens’ pool and the mums with prams being exercised by a fierce trainer, and it was a fine July morning in London with all sorts and conditions in this free space and England were on the way to beating Australia in the Test, there was an old friend to see later on, and all was well. In London the city can turn into the country in a trice, just round a corner, quick while it lasts.