Midwinter Blues...

You’d be forgiven for thinking this to be a reference to my mood or the national mood given these shockingly non-sacred times we live in. It is, however, a reference to today’s beautiful blue sky. It’s mid-winter, more or less and the sky is blue. Beautifully blue. A blue sky on a crisp winter’s day is one of nature’s gifts. Where did the connection between blue and sadness come from? Having the blues. It’s odd. Grey is a far more depressing colour. Why don’t we have the greys? I suppose it just feels wrong. In 1983, on David Bowie’s Let’s Dance record, he sang “put on your red shoes and dance the blues”. I remember singing “put on your blue shoes and dance the reds”, for fun and larks. That doesn’t work either. The sad imagery and allegory of blue works even though it’s one of the most beautiful and uplifting colours. Maybe it’s just a paradox?

Back to the sky. The power of such things as a beautiful blue sky is underestimated. It brings out the colour in everything else, unlike grey which dulls everything. Trees in their bare winter state appear more regal, birds seem more colourful. Even dead frozen leaves exude a certain beauty. The stillness of the leaves contrasts with the activity in the garden. The birds are very active, they have to be, they’ll freeze and starve otherwise.

            The altruistic and self-serving (another paradox?) act of feeding the birds in winter does many things. It brings colour and life to your doorstep. It brings beauty and entertainment close to you too. It helps the birds survive and that’s important because nature is important. Without nature we won’t survive long yet we continue to mistreat it. Collectively, we all need to do our little bit, but most people don’t, sadly. Last weekend a song thrush came to the garden. This was most pleasing. Song thrushes have a lovely song in spring and summer and even autumn and are a sign of a healthy garden. Sadly, they have suffered from peoples’ use of pesticides in their gardens; which kills their favourite food, snails. I eat snails two or three times a year (only in France) but I have a choice. Sterilising our gardens like we have the countryside will ultimately come back to trouble us so let’s be aware of such things.

            In my pesticide-free though admittedly slightly scruffy garden there are plenty of birds. Tits; of the great, blue, coal and even long-tailed variety. Blue tits remain my favourite; beautiful, cheeky and clever. Rare in birds as it is in humans. Blackbirds, robins, dunnocks – a small brown ground feeder, easily overlooked but I like them - the odd little wren, so tiny. Collared doves, charming and dignified unlike their boisterous larger cousins - the woodpigeons - and always in a pair which is rather romantic. The city crows; magpies and jays – the most beautiful crow yet with the most coruscating call. It is a feast for the eyes with its pink, grey and blue plumage but an abomination to the ears. The only noise that is worse is foxes screaming at night. Goldfinches with their delightful colour co-ordination of red, white and gold.  The redwing has gone, presumably back to his colleagues, but hopefully will return and I haven’t given up hope that a fieldfare – a large winter thrush with striking plumage on its breast - may appear if the weather gets even colder.

            I’ve been feeding birds for over thirty years. It wasn’t cool then and it isn’t cool now, I’m delighted to say. We’re too obsessed and influenced in the UK by what is perceived to be cool. Make up your own mind. And get a bird-feeder. Put it outside your window or in your garden. I recommend it.  Makes you a slightly better person, slightly more rounded, slightly less of a conard, as the French say. You should do it. It may not stop you getting the blues from time to time but might make you appreciate blue a bit more, especially on days like today.

Gilbert White takes us back to the future.

Do you ever get that thing where something occurs and there’s a specific person you want to talk to about it? Birds is one of my things. When I see a certain bird I think of two people I’d like to discuss it with; one is a real friend, one an imaginary friend. Or more of a spiritual friend as he is real, but I never met him, as he died about 350 years ago.  The first, my real friend, Dan Kirkpatrick was a bird enthusiast, a genuine one, he actually went birdwatching. I’m more of somebody who watches birds wherever I am, rather than going to a specific place to watch them. I did when I was a kid, thanks to my my mother who would drive us down to an RSPB reserve called Lochwhinnoch near Glasgow, but I don’t any more. Well I go to Highgate Wood, but it’s ten minutes away. Not like going to Norfolk or something.  Luckily I have a garden with lots of birds. And you can watch birds anywhere. This leads me to my spiritual friend/hero, Gilbert White, because without him, there may not be an RSPB, there may not even be birdwatching. I’m sure someone else would have come up with the idea, but he was the pioneer. A curate, a man of the cloth, he was also a nature enthusiast, arguably Britain’s first ecologist. His nature diaries, The Natural History and Antiquities of Selbourne from where he lived in Hampshire are his works and the basis of his legacy.

            More of that later. If time-travel was possible, Gilbert is somebody I would pay to go back and meet. I’m surprised Richard Branson hasn’t mooted the idea of a commercial time machine? Probably because he knows that it’s one thing we’ll never manage. My Latin teacher at school taught me that. Didn’t teach us much else, being “about as effective as a cat flap in an elephant house”, to quote Blackadder the Third. But he did teach us this: travelling back through time is impossible as time is continually moving forward. How to make that jump? Impossible methinks. Thankfully that hasn’t stopped some fine writers imagining that it were possible. The Time Machine by H G Wells, introduced me to the idea. I saw the 1960 film adaptation at the GFT cinema in Glasgow in 1982. It shows its age now but it’s better than the version from 2002. There’s The Planet of the Apes, a ground breaking movie, from 1968. Based on a novel, La Planète des Singes, by a Frenchman, Pierre Boule, it remains one of my favourite films. There’s the fine short story, A Sound of Thunder, written in 1952 by Ray Bradbury, an American Sci-Fi writer. There are, of course, many others. One of the best, is the film, Back to the Future. Like all great films, it’s as good today as it was 33 years ago, if not better, as the darker themes are more prominent to my adult (relatively speaking) sensibility. It took them about six years to get it made. Proof that the world is insane.

            So back to the birds. I’ve had a couple of blackcaps as I do most winters. A pair, a male and a female, coming to the birdfeeders. So what, you say. Or what’s a blackcap? Well, it’s a warbler i.e. a small song bird. Traditionally, it’s a summer visitor, arriving early May, its beautiful song fills the woodlands, proclaiming the arrival of summer. It has a grey body and a black cap. The female has a brown cap, in fact, but womens’ rights didn’t exist when bird names were being handed out. That said, it may purely be aesthetical. Blackcap sounds nicer than browncap. The point is, they’re in my garden. But you said they’re summer visitors? I’m glad you’re paying attention. A modern phenomenon sees them overwintering in southern British cities such as London rather than migrating to say, Spain or West Africa. Global warming you cry. Unlikely. It’s pretty dam cold today. Bird feeders by bird-friendly brits, you suggest. More likely. No-one really knows, though there are theories, like the above and natural selection making certain birds more robust. That theory would seem to have legs. They’re almost as aggressive as the robin around the feeder and the delightful robin being the Begbie from Trainspotting equivalent of the bird world, that is quite something. The robin redbreast is regularly voted Britain’s favourite bird. Additional proof,  as was the case with Brexit that people should do a bit more research before voting. Certainly the blackcaps are very adaptable as they mainly eat insects in summer which are pretty scarce this time of year. What is also interesting is choosing to spend the winter in England rather than Southern Spain or West Africa. As an ex and possibly future ex-pat I find this is a questionable choice.     

           One other visitor has me thinking of my two friends. A redwing. I’ve written of them before. This one has been around for a few weeks. A redwing is a winter visitor, a thrush. Like other thrushes including blackbirds they like worms. And they like a lawn to search for worms. The ground is still relatively soft so that must be providing options. They also like berries and one of my trees has a rich supply which will keep them satisfied if the weather gets colder as it’s threatening to do. Very charming with its red underwings and a creamy line above its eye, what is interesting is that this guy is alone. Normally they fly in flocks. Who knows what his story is?

 One little tip if you want to help out blackbirds and thrushes in the cold weather. They love apples. Chop some up and throw them on your lawn, or yard, but beware that squirrels may have a go at them. I have a spray that repels squirrels but doesn’t bother birds, if you dislike squirrels as much as I do. Not their fault but they must be dealt with. Destructive menaces. Anyway back to the birds, the thrushes will thank-you for the help and you may get the most impressive one of all. The fieldfare, another winter visitor and truly beautiful.