MY FAVOURITE BIRDS - PART THREE

Posted: 01.03.25 in Articles category

MY FAVOURITE BIRDS - PART THREE

Here is the third of a four-part series about my favourite birds. Back in 2022 I compiled a top ten list presented in alphabetical order and now it’s the turn of my fifth, sixth and seventh choices:

MISTLE THRUSH. Our largest thrush, slightly smaller than a partridge. Brown backed and white on its front, which is heavily marked with round black spots., Thanks to its long, white-edged tail, the Mistle Thrush has an elongated shape and an upright posture. When it flies, it undulates smoothly like a woodpecker and unlike other thrushes. It is a common British resident that I frequently see at home and anywhere with large trees throughout the year, but it makes its presence felt in winter. And that is because it starts to sing. The Mistle Thrush is one of the few birds that sing during the winter months, in good weather and bad. Strong winds and rain don't deter a male from singing, hence he's traditionally known as 'the storm cock'. I love his song - a melody of short, shouted phrases that sounds like a sung rant of wild defiance.  Hugh MacDiarmid captures something of its quality in his poem, 'The Storm-Cock's Song'. I have printed three of its five verses - enough to get the flavour: 

 My song today is the storm-cock’s song.

When the cold winds blow and the driving snow

Hides the tree-tops, only his song rings out

In the lulls in the storm. So let mine go!

 

Surely he has little enough cause to sing

When even the hedgerow betties are already pulped by the frost

Or eaten by other birds – yet alone and aloft

To another hungry day his greeting is tossed.

 

What if it is only a few churning notes

Flung out in a loud and artless way?

His ‘Will I do it? Do it I will!’ is worth a lot

When the rest have nothing at all to say.

 I think the poet is unfairly harsh in his final verse about churning notes and artless delivery. For me, there is something very special about the song of the Mistle Thrush. I think it has a dramatic and even arresting quality as it cuts through the cold air on a December day. Moreover, as he sings the thrush acts as my personal harbinger. To me he seems to be declaring that winter's days are numbered and spring is coming.  

 

PEREGRINE FALCON. The fastest creature in the world. It is often quoted in the literature that the bird can reach a speed of two hundred miles per hour in a vertical dive, killing its prey in mid-air with considerable momentum. Males and females differ in size. The former are smaller and similar length to Woodpigeons.  In the field I can mistake the two until I see the bulk of his chest and pointed falcon wings, swept back on a chase after his unfortunate quarry. Adult birds are slate-grey above and white underparts that are marked with fine blue-grey barring. The head is distinct with its dark hood and a broad moustachial stripe known as the ‘tiercel' - a feature of most falcons.

I have been lucky to see Peregrines many times and indeed in many places. Except for Antarctica they are found on every continent, a fact I discovered by surprise in the business quarter of Buenos Aires when I recognised one having an aerial duel with a larger bird of prey. Although it had size on its side, the Caracara was the slower bird. The contest ended in stalemate and both birds flew off with honours apparently even. The urban setting reminded me of London where these days I see Peregrines as often as not when I visit. There is no shortage of food of course with all those pigeons, and similar food supplies are available for Peregrine Falcons in other British cities and indeed across the country. We do not have a large population of Feral Pigeons in rural Northumberland, but we do have increasing numbers of Woodpigeons and they seem to be the lure. Peregrines are now more than annual over my garden, and I usually know immediately if I am outside. Suddenly, birds scatter in all directions, some calling as they do so, as the Peregrine appears. It is similar of course when the Sparrowhawk flies through, but the alarm calls are louder, and the fleeing birds include the resident Woodpigeons and Jackdaws.

We also see Peregrine Falcons on the Holy Island retreats. They always cause a stir, not only among the scattering birds made up of waders, duck, and geese but also among those of us watching. It is a 'wow' moment when you see one in action. I remember leading an autumn retreat and a local farmer was with us who had never seen a Peregrine before. We had four sightings that weekend and he was thrilled, as indeed I was to show him. Yet there is an interesting conundrum to ponder. Should we revel in watching one creature kill another? Peregrines are superb hunters that demonstrate nature is 'red in tooth and claw' and will doubtless remain so until the end of time. No more killing nor death with the coming of the new heaven and earth of Revelation 21. 

 

RAVEN. The 'uber' crow, bigger than a Buzzard and considerably larger than the other British corvids. Jet black plumage with a metallic sheen, long wings, wedge-shaped tail and a massive bill. But why is it one of my favourite birds? In a word - flight. I love the way it flies up high before diving, rolling, and tumbling down through the air. One moment its wings are folded back and the next, splayed open with primary feathers spread out like fingers. Ravens appear to fly effortlessly with complete abandon - they seem to find a thrill in flying. Although it is tempting to attribute human emotions, I don't know at all whether they enjoy the experience, but they clearly are superb flyers and are great to watch in flight. I do not recall seeing my first Raven, but it was probably one of the captive birds at the Tower of London. For years I rarely saw them in the wild, but their numbers have increased in Northumberland, and I now find them on moorland less than ten miles from home. I have even seen a Raven at home, thanks to a calling bird that flew above our garden on 16 October 2013. As for that call, that is something else I appreciate about Ravens. The Collins Bird Guide describes their voice as "loud, clanging, jarring...", but I do not agree. Ravens to me sound soft and deep. Flash back as I write to a sunny morning last autumn on the Northumberland coast when I hear one calling "korpp, korpp, korpp, korpp" before I eventually see it flying towards me.