Who would have thought that the sound of British bird-song would induce a wave of nostalgia in me? But that was the case on Sunday night, while watching an episode of “Inspector Lewis” on the pbs channel.
When I first moved to Texas, people used to ask me if I missed life in Britain. My response was, “No, not really, but I do miss the easy access to the sea.”
In Britain, a trip to the coast is an hour or so away. In Arlington,Texas, it involves a five-hour journey and a day trip to the seaside is out of the question.
As to why the sea and the seaside holds such a fascination for me is something of a mystery. It could stem from some primordial instinct to return to the place from whence all life forms on land originally came. More likely it is because during childhood, in the 1950s and early 1960s, my parents had a caravan on a site between Rhyl and Prestatyn, on the North Wales coast. From spring until autumn, nearly every weekend, well Saturday night to Sunday night or Monday morning, was spent at the caravan, as well as a good part of the six weeks school holiday in summer.
I probably had more contact with the seaside than most city children did during that era and I reckon the die was cast back then because, as an adult, it is not as if I am a keen swimmer, own a boat or like to fish off jetties and piers. Just being by the sea is enough. I am happy, as Otis Redding sings, “sitting on the dock of the bay watching the tide roll away.”
So when my wife broached the subject of moving to Jacksonville, I instantly approved. My days of being virtually landlocked would end and that missing element, the sea, would be restored to my life. And so it has proved. We head out most weekends to the coast, at either Amelia Island or St. Augustine, and spend a few hours just walking along the beach.
Then along came “Inspector Lewis” and my apparent contentment was rudely shattered. The soundtrack for a scene set in a wooded area of Oxfordshire, for a few seconds, consisted entirely of British songbirds in full voice.
Ask me again if I miss anything about Britain. Yes. British bird-song, where the individual songbirds — blackbirds, robins, thrushes, wrens, warblers and others — come together in an avian choir and perform a daily magnus opus.
That operatic scale is not matched in Texas and Florida, where bird-song is more like a concert recital featuring several soloists: first the brown creeper whose melodic riff is usually answered by another brown creeper some distance away; the red cardinal takes the platform next with its series of repetitive monotone whistles that reach a crescendo then fall away; finally the highlight of the concert is the northern mockingbird, a soloist par excellence and with the prettiest song of them all, one that goes on and on, sometimes through the night. The mockingbird is the Ken Dodd of the songbird world; it seems as though its performance will never come to an end, not that you want it to.
I took to the mockingbird instantly, not only is it my favourite American bird but also the state bird of Texas, Florida and a few other states. In appearance, it resembles a wagtail, with a lean and alert demeanour. While the mockingbird’s plumage may not be the brightest among birds, essentially dark and light grey, with white flashes on its wings and tail, what it lacks in feathered finery is more than compensated by its singing voice. It mimics sounds, and the songs of other birds, so as to increase its repertoire and the greater the repertoire, the better its chance of securing a mate. I wonder if Robert Plant used to work along similar lines.
Walking through Riverside in the golden early evening light, a mockingbird’s virtuoso performance, usually delivered from the top of a tree or electricity pole and resonating through the still air, is the perfect accompaniment as day turns to night. But oh how I miss those intertwined melodies of the chorus performed by Britain’s songbirds.
3 Comments
July 9, 2008 at 5:32 pm
Lovely post Calvin. One thing I miss living in my terrace house is the birdsong. We don’t seem to get any birds despite my attempts to attract them with seeds. My old rented house in north Leeds (with a garden) was a popular spot for many sorts of birds. I made a bird table out of scrap wood found in the garage and enjoyed watching them visit it, flitting down from the ash tree in the corner.
Now I love to head off to Coniston in the Lake District where I’ve often stayed at Dixon Ground Farm B&B (http://www.dixongroundfarm.co.uk/). Their beautiful garden attracts lots of wild birds. The peace, quietness and beauty of the location makes their songs more joyous.
July 9, 2008 at 6:23 pm
I really enjoyed this piece, Calvin. I confess to not being a seafarer, but I do love birdlife. One of the most wonderful experiences here in the UK is to take a walk through woodland and listen to the dawn chorus. I often heard it as a child on camping trips but then I went through a long period of life when I didn’t hear it. So, about five years ago, through some friends of mine, I found out about an organized ‘dawn chorus walk’ up by Stanley Pool. It was a trip down memory lane and it was fabulous.
Another thing that seems to have slipped away from our modern daily lives is seeing the Milky Way. Light pollution has killed that off. So, when I take my bi-annual trips to Portugal, last thing at night before I turn in, I sit on the patio of my friend’s house with a large glass of red and gaze at the wonder of it. Also, in addition to this awe inspiring sight, I can hear the song of the nightingale and the melancholy hooting of little owls down in the valley below me. Heaven on earth.
“The mockingbird is the Ken Dodd of the songbird world; it seems as though its performance will never come to an end, not that you want it to.”
I think I would like the mocking bird.
M.
July 9, 2008 at 11:53 pm
Thank you kind sirs.