FLYING AROUND THE FARLEIGHS WITH RAY MORRIS
TRADITION HAS IT (USUALLY WITH A GENEROUS MARGIN OF ERROR)
It’s claimed that St Valentine’s Day is the day on which birds pair up to breed. Modern tradition certainly views it as a marketing opportunity marked by row upon row in shops of pastel-coloured cards depicting turtle doves, mythical lovebirds and possibly, on some misplaced from the 'congratulations' section, a stork or two.
Certainly, the lengthening daylight of early February makes it easier for us to watch the behaviour of birds which, if they are not aggressively scrapping over the scarce food resources, is becoming more focussed on reproduction. Perhaps this helps explain the tradition. Increased birdsong is another clue. Most years though, while individuals from a few species may already be incubating eggs, others are only just starting to think about the long-haul flight from Africa.
So, what signs might Farleighs’ folk look out for when we have a day or two without a passing storm?
Territorial song is becoming obvious. Robins are noted for it and will be the first to brighten a dark morning – especially if they have streetlights in their territory. Resist the understandable urge though to think you have a Nightingale nearby, even if it is still dark.
A bird known for braving winter storms is the Mistle Thrush, hence its country name of Stormcock as it will sing loudly from the highest tree in the area into the teeth of a gale. Looking like a larger, slightly greyer version of its cousin the Song Thrush, it has a less repetitive, more disjointed song. It always seems to me to sing in a minor key too. It nests early, even if there are few leaves to conceal it and will aggressively defend its nest from other birds. It is also adept at choosing hard-to-reach places for it. A few years ago, my commute to London was brightened by a pair who nested, entirely exposed to view, on the ironwork of the pedestrian bridge crossing the railway at East Farleigh station. The homeward journey finished with a feathery headcount to check on progress.
Most gardens boast a Dunnock or three. I use the word advisedly. Also known as Shufflewings - watch their behaviour when they are foraging in your borders and you’ll understand why - they form breeding groups, usually of three, often dominated by an ’alpha female’ who will mate with all the males. But she also has an internal structure that enables her to select which male fertilises each egg. Not something St Valentine would have encouraged, I’m sure.
Another early nester (March-April) is the Bumbarrel - a name said to resemble the shape of the Long-tailed Tit’s nest – constructed as it is of feathers, lichen and moss bound together with spider silk. Before foliage has fully emerged, nests are very vulnerable to predation, but as they can have broods of fourteen young, clutches that survive are sufficient to maintain their population numbers.
But what about the subject of the Christmas Lifeline – simultaneously victim of cruel tradition while blessed by God for caring for the infant Jesus - Jenny Wren? As another small bird vulnerable to both harsh weather and predation, what strategy does she have for ensuring she produces enough offspring each year? Well, she doesn’t. But he does. The male builds three or four ’cock nests’, just the basic structure but without finishing them off with a cosy lining of feathers. He invites a potential mate to choose one, then she does the finishing off, adding the lining. Rather like avian visits to IKEA. Meanwhile, he courts other potential mates, installing them in his remaining nests, which they duly furnish too. Thus, with several nests on the go, our diminutive ‘victim’ of cruel traditional festive customs, also ensures he has sufficient offspring to continue his line.
Had they known, I wonder what Saints Stephen and Valentine would have thought of that?