To the birds

One of the few redeeming features of early lockdown was that nature had space to breathe. If you ventured out on your state-approved single instance of daily exercise, chances are you saw more wildlife, more birds. Or maybe not more, but more noticeable, with the distraction of man and his many inventions removed. Something else that I noticed, on various walks and bike rides, was how poor my knowledge of native flora and fauna is. Turns out I'm very average indeed at identifying trees, flowers, mammals and birds, so much worse than my parents' generation (I kept thinking, "Mum would know what that is ..."). I resolved to do something about this.

Step one: birdlife. This wasn't step one because I had a well-thought out plan, but simply because I stumbled across the 1952 Observer's Book of British Birds in a charity shop, for the princely sum of £1. And it is fantastic. Imagine 1952, Britain finally emerging from rationing and the dour post-war years. This small book, with its plain tan cover, tiny print and total lack of photographs could not, on the face of it, be more austere. But open it up and it's a real surprise. For starters, 236 birds are described in detail, as you can see on the left (click to embiggen). And whilst there are no photographs, there are 200 or more beautiful, hand-drawn illustrations, 100 in colour. It doesn't explicitly credit them, so I'm guessing they're by the author, one S. Vere Benson. They seem so lovingly produced, and give so much more than a 1950's photograph would - they seem more alive, somehow.

Then there's the purple prose in which Benson describes the birds - just look at how the "very dainty" goldfinch has a "high tinkling twitter, reminiscent of Japanese wind-bells. Song, similar and fairy-like." Fairy-like! What does a fairy sound like? And how many readers in post-war Britain would identify with the sound of Japanese wind-bells?

And this is far from exceptional. The linnet's song is described as "almost dreamy at times", whilst the wren's is "full of penetrating and jubilant trills". In more general descriptions, the hedge-sparrow "has a quiet, mouse-like way of creeping about under bushes". I don't know for sure, but I suspect modern equivalents of this book are not written in such florid terms (unless there are any twitchers out there who can tell me otherwise?).

And - bonus - this 1952 edition is currently selling on Amazon for upwards of fifteen quid! Not that I plan on parting with my copy ... but nice to know, regardless.

Anyway, here's the song that immediately came to mind to accompany this post: To The Birds was a B-side to Suede's first single, The Drowners, all the way back in 1992. I was going to embed the vanilla studio version, but have gone for this huge live rendition from 2016 since, if you're anything at all like me, you've been missing the unbridled joy of gig performances with an intensity that is almost physical ...