[46] Condensed in part from the chapter on Lancashire Birds in
_Manchester Walks and Wild-flowers_, 1858, long since out of
print.
With the Lancashire birds, as with the botany, it is not the
exhaustive catalogue that possesses the prime interest. This lies in
the habits, the odd and pretty ways, the instincts, the songs, the
migrations, that lift birds, in their endless variety, so near to our
own personal human nature.
Adding to the list of birds known to be permanent residents in Great
Britain, the names of those which visit our islands periodically,
either in summer or winter, the total approaches 250. Besides the
regular immigrants, about a hundred others come occasionally; some,
perchance, by force of accident, as when, after heavy weather at sea,
the Stormy Petrel is blown ashore. In Lancashire there appear to be,
of the first-class, about seventy: the summer visitors average about
thirty; and of winter visitors there have been noticed about a score,
the aggregate being thus, as nearly as possible, one-half of the
proper ornithology of the country. The parts of the county richest in
species are naturally those which abound in woods and well-cultivated
land, as near Windermere, and where there are orchards and plenty of
market-gardens, as on the broad plain south-west of Manchester, which
is inviting also in the pleasant character of the climate. Here, with
the first dawn of spring, when the catkins hang on the hazels, the
song-thrush begins to pipe. The missel-thrush in the same district is
also very early, and is often, like the chief musician, remarkable for
size, plumage, and power of song. Upon the seaside sand-hills it is
interesting to observe how ingeniously the throstle deals with the
snails. Every here and there in the sand a large pebble is lodged, and
against this the bird breaks the shells, so that at last the stone
becomes the centre of a heap of fragments that recall the tales of the
giants and their bone-strewed caverns. This, too, where the
peacefulness is so profound, and where never a thought of slaughter
and rapine, save for the deeds of the thrushes, would enter the mind.
The snails are persecuted also by the blackbirds--in gardens more
inveterately even than on the sand-hills--in the former to such a
degree that none can refuse forgiveness of the havoc wrought among the
strawberries and ripening cherries. Both thrush and blackbird have
their own cruel enemy--the cunning and inexorable sparrow-hawk. When
captured, the unfortunate minstrel is conveyed to an eminence,
sometimes an old nest, if one can be near, and there devoured. In
almost all parts of Lancashire where there are gardens, that cheerful
little creature, the hedge-sparrow or dunnock, lifts up its voice.
Birds commence their song at very various hours. The dunnock usually
begins towards sunset, first mounting to the loftiest twig it can
discover that will bear its weight. The sweet and simple note, if one
would hear it to perfection, must be caught just at that moment. The
song is one of those that seem to be a varied utterance of the words
of men. Listen attentively, and the lay is as nearly as may be--"Home,
home, sweet, sweet home; my work's done, so's yours; good night, all's
well." Heard in mild seasons as early as January, the little dunnock
sings as late as August. It rears a second brood while the summer is
in progress, building a nest of moss, lining it with hair, and
depositing five immaculate blue eggs. The robin, plentiful everywhere
in the rural districts, and always equal to the production of a
delightful song, never hesitates to visit the suburbs even of large
and noisy towns, singing throughout the year, though not so much
noticed in spring and summer, because of the chorus of other birds.
The country lads still call it by the old Shaksperean name:
... "The ruddock would,
With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming
Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd moss besides."--_Cymbeline_, iv. 2.
The great titmouse is almost as generally distributed as the robin,
and in gardens never a stranger, being busy most of its time looking
for insects. Were coincidences in nature rare and phenomenal, instead
of, to the contemplative, matter of everyday delight, we should think
more of its note as the token of the time of blooming of the
daffodils. Making the oddest of noises, as if trying to imitate other
birds, poor innocent, it only too often gets shot for its pains, the
sportsman wondering what queer thing can this be now? The blue
titmouse, like the great, would seem to be very generally diffused.
Exquisite in plumage, it attracts attention still more particularly
while building, both the male and the female working so hard. The
meadow pipit, or titling, loves the peat-mosses (those decked with the
asphodel), upon which the nests are often plentiful, a circumstance
the cuckoos, when they arrive, are swift to take advantage of. No bird
that builds on the ground has more work to do for the "herald of
summer." From the end of April onwards--the cuckoo arriving in the
third week--the titlings, whether they like it or not, get no respite.
The young cuckoos are always hungry, and never in the least anxious to
go away. How exemplary the fondness of the cuckoo for its mate!
Though apparently void of affection for its offspring, no bird, not
even the turtle-dove, is more strongly attached to the one it has
taken "for better for worse." Where either of the pair is seen, the
other is sure never to be far away. Greenfinches and chaffinches are
plentiful, the song of the former sweet, though monotonous, the latter
rendered liberally, and always welcome. The chaffinch becomes
interesting through choice of materials so very curious for its
nest. One has been found--where but in Lancashire could it
occur?--constructed entirely of raw cotton. The nest-building and the
choice of abode constitute, in truth, a chapter in bird-life more
charming even than the various outflow of the melody. The pied
wagtail goes to the very localities that most other birds
dislike--rough and stony places, near the water and under bridges; the
tree-sparrow resorts to aged and hollow oaks, rarely building
elsewhere; the long-tailed titmouse constructs a beautiful little nest
not unlike a beehive, using moss, lichens, and feathers; while the
redpole prefers dead roots of herbaceous plants, tying the fibres
together with the bark of last year's withered nettle-stalks, and
lining the cavity with the glossy white pappus of the coltsfoot, just
ripe to its hand, and softer than silk. The common wren,--a frequent
Lancashire bird,--a lovely little creature, sometimes with wings
entirely white, and not infrequently with a few scattered feathers of
that colour, is one of the birds that prefigure character in man. When
the time for building arrives the hen commences a nest on her own
private account, goes on with it, and completes it. Her consort
meantime begins two or three in succession, but tires, and never
finishes anything. Among the Lancashire permanent residents, and birds
only partially periodical, may also be named, as birds of singular
attractiveness in their ways,--though not perhaps always tuneful, or
graceful in form, or gay in plumage,--the skylark that "at heaven's
gate sings"; the common linnet, a bird of the heaths and hedgerows,
captured, whenever possible, for the cage; the magpie, the common
bunting, the yellow-ammer, the peewit, and the starling or shepster.
The starlings travel in companies, and lively parties they always
seem. The "close order" flight of the peewit is well known; that of
the starling is, if possible, even more wonderful. The sudden move to
the right or left of thousands perfectly close together upon the wing;
the rise, at a given signal, like a cloud, from the pastures where
they have been feeding, is a spectacle almost unique in its
singularity. Near the sea the list is augmented by the marsh bunting,
the curlew, and gulls of different kinds, including the kittiwake. In
very tempestuous seasons gulls are often blown inland, as far as
Manchester, falling when exhausted in the fields. They also come of
their own accord, and may be seen feeding upon the mosses. Upon the
sand-hills a curious and frequent sight is that of the hovering of the
kestrel over its intended prey, which here consists very generally of
young rabbits. The kestrel has little skill in building. Talents
differ as much in birds as in mankind. Seldom its own architect, it
selects and repairs an old and deserted crow's or magpie's nest, or
any other it can find sufficiently capacious for its needs.
The history of the Lancashire summer visitants is crowded with
interest of equal variety. The nightingale stays away. She has come
now and then to the edge of Cheshire, but no farther. Very often,
however, she is thought to have ventured at last, the midnight note of
the sedge-warbler being in some respects not unlike that of Philomel
herself. The earliest to arrive, often preceding the swallows, appear
to be the wheatear and the willow-wren. The sand-martin is also a very
early comer. It cannot afford, in truth, to be dilatory, the nest
being constructed in a gallery first made in some soft cliff, usually
sandstone. While building it never alights upon the ground, collecting
the green blades of grass used for the outer part, and the feathers
for the lining, while still on the wing. The advent of the cuckoo has
already been mentioned. In the middle of May comes the spotted
fly-catcher, an unobtrusive and confiding little creature; and about
the same time the various "warblers" make their appearance. The males
usually precede the females by a week or two; the black-cap going,
like the hedge-sparrow, to the highest pinnacle it can find, and
singing till joined by the hen; while the garden-warbler keeps to the
bushes and gardens, and is silent till she arrives. The whinchat, the
yellow wagtail, and the stone-chat, haunter of the open wastes where
gorse grows freely, never forget. Neither do the dotterel and the
ring-ouzel, the latter in song so mellow, both moving on speedily into
the hilly districts. To many the voice of the corncrake, though harsh
and tuneless, becomes a genuine pleasure, for she is heard best during
those balmy summer evening hours while, though still too light for the
stars, the planets peer forth in their beautiful lustre, clear and
young as when first noted by the Chaldean shepherds, bryony in bloom
in the hedgerows, "listening wheat" on either hand.
The winter visitants comprehend chiefly the fieldfare and the redwing.
In October and November these birds, breeding in Norway and Sweden,
appear in immense flocks. Winging its way to the vicinity of farms and
orchards, the one piercing cry of the redwing may be heard overhead
any still night, no matter how dark. Siskins come at uncertain
intervals; and in very severe seasons the snow-bunting is sometimes
noticed.
Such are the ornithological facts which in Lancashire give new
attraction to the quiet and rewarding study of wild nature. The few
that have been mentioned--for they are not the hundredth part of what
might be cited were the subject dealt with _in extenso_--do not
pretend to be in the slightest degree novel. They may serve,
nevertheless, to indicate that in Lancashire there is lifelong pastime
for the lover of birds no less than for the botanist.