BY RIVER AND POOL.
Broadly speaking, the northern shires are remarkably well-watered; not
only by a net-work of rivers, but by an almost endless succession of
pools and lakes, canals and dams, the latter to some extent being due
to the necessities of the vast and busy centres of manufacture and
commerce. Bird-life in great variety and of exceptional interest is to
be found upon these rivers and pools and along their banks and margins,
and again presenting us with not a little room for comparison with that
frequenting similar localities in more southern counties. Here again
we miss some birds that are familiar farther south; we find others
that are rarer, or less known there. Unfortunately too many of these
northern waters are polluted, especially in their lower reaches and in
the immediate neighbourhood of towns, by drainage and factory refuse of
various kinds. Rivers that run in their higher reaches over moss-grown
stones and sandy beds, clear as crystal, and fringed on either bank
with brushwood and timber, become little more than open sewers as they
pass the big centres of manufacturing life. The waters are stained
as with ochre from the filthy "wheel swarf", and poisoned with refuse
from dyes and sundry chemicals. Yet even in these forbidding places
bird-life is not altogether absent, and from time to time Wagtails,
Pipits, and such-like species may be remarked on passage even in the
centre of so grimy a place as Sheffield. Above the towns where the
water still runs clear, and some miles below them where the sediment
has settled and the water again become more purified, these canals and
rivers are favourite haunts of birds. Then far away amidst rural scenes
there are many meres and clear pools where Nature is still undefiled
by man; in some of the suburban areas there are clear still mill-dams,
which drive the grinding wheels, and which are yet so pure that trout
live in them in abundance.
[Illustration: The Kingfisher.]
Now, even about such a prosaic spot as a mill-dam there is usually not
a little to interest the lover of birds. That refulgent avine gem, the
Kingfisher, is a frequent haunter of the shuttles, and the dyke just
above and below the sluice. We have seen this bird perch on a branch
sticking out of the shallow water at the far end of a mill-dam and
plunge again and again into the pool in chase of minnows, and not fifty
yards away a dozen sturdy Sheffield grinders were hard at work astride
their stones in the hull which resounded with the fitful deafening roar
and screech as the metal met the grindstones so familiar to such a
spot. Where the horsetail reeds grow up in a dense forest of dark-green
from out the shallow parts of the mill-dam, the Moorhen is often
common enough, and rears its young from a floating nest some distance
from the bank where only boats can reach it. This latter species is
much more familiar than the Kingfisher, and it is astonishing how
the Moorhen will continue to haunt such a spot long after the entire
aspect of it has been changed. We know of dams, once surrounded by
gardens and fields, now almost hidden by houses and workshops, where
this bird still lingers and breeds every year, amidst a never-ceasing
din from water-driven tilts and forges. The series of dams in the
Endcliffe Valley, one following the other through a succession of
picturesque woods, and united by a broad stream, all situated in the
western suburbs of Sheffield, were a very favoured haunt of birds.
There can be little doubt that a century and a half ago Francis Jessop
used to search this valley for ornithological information; from that
day to this not a few of the birds that are intimately associated
with his name continue to frequent the place. Here may the Kingfisher
be watched, gliding like a spot of blue across the water and up the
wooded stream, which is a favourite resort of the Gray Wagtail. Then
the fringe of alders by many of these Yorkshire pools and rivers is
a favourite resort of Titmice, Redpoles, and Siskins. Nowhere in the
northern shires does the alder flourish better than here; its wood
is used to make the clogs--or wooden-soled shoes--so universally
worn by the mill hands, colliers, and poorer classes of Lancashire
and Yorkshire. During its growth, here by the river-side, its seeds
are a great attraction to these little birds. The Siskin is one of
the most interesting of them. We often met with it in company with
Redpoles, especially in many parts of South Yorkshire, which locality
it visits during winter. We never found a nest in the county, although
we believe the Siskin has been known to breed therein, as well as
in many other counties farther south. As previously remarked, the
favourite summer home of the Siskin is the pine-woods of Scotland. Very
engaging these birds are in the alder-trees, as they cling in almost
every possible attitude and pick out the seeds. They also visit the
birch-trees in the same localities, and here they are sometimes joined
by a company of Bramblings. These larger and heavier-looking birds are
equally at home amongst the long slender twigs, hanging head downwards
like a Tit or a Goldcrest, and swaying to and fro like animated
pendulums, all the time keeping up a chorus of twittering notes.
Possibly the Brambling is a life-paired species, for we have often
witnessed various little marks of affection between the sexes during
winter. The Titmice are equally engaging. Five out of the half-dozen
British species may be met with singly in parties or in mixed companies
amongst the alders and birches along the river-side, each one with its
characteristic note and all with the acrobat-like ways that ever make
them so amusing. These remarks more specially relate to autumn and
winter; in spring they scatter far and wide to less riparian haunts to
rear their young in spots that fancy or necessity requires.
[Illustration: Titmice.]
In autumn many of these mill-dams are recognized gathering-places
of birds of the Swallow tribe. In August and September Swallows and
Martins in countless hosts congregate over them, flitting to and fro in
a mazy throng the livelong day, preying upon the swarms of gnats and
midges hovering above the surface. These birds are thus forgathering
where they have been wont to do for many previous autumns previous to
starting off to a winter haunt in Africa. Then in winter not a few
shyer and rarer birds are attracted to these open sheets of water,
Ducks and Geese and even Wild Swans paying them visits as they roam
about the country. There is a fine example of Bewick's Swan in the
Weston Park Museum at Sheffield, which was shot from a mill-dam close
to the town, an exceptionally favoured spot, for Ducks and various
other strange fowl are by no means rare visitors during the winter
months. Our sombre little friend, the Sand Martin, loves these dams
and reservoirs, and delights to tunnel into the steep banks to make
its nest. Numbers of Sand Martins so do at the reservoirs at Hollow
Meadows, for instance. The Pied Wagtail delights in such spots,
tripping daintily round the water's edge in quest of insects, and
building its nest in some hole in a wall or about the hulls. We have
seen the nest of this species in a crevice of the masonry supporting
the heavy cumbersome water-wheel, and not many inches from it, with
its continuous splash and roar. Now and then such an unusual bird as
a Stormy Petrel or a Gull visits them; whilst during migration time in
spring and autumn the Ringed Plover, the Dunlin, the Wigeon, the Teal,
and the Pochard are all known to alight occasionally near or upon the
dams and reservoirs of South Yorkshire. Coots, Water Rails, and Spotted
Crakes either frequent some of them all the year round or visit them
from time to time.
The bird-life along our canal banks if somewhat sparse is by no means
uninteresting. In rural districts one of the most familiar species is
the Reed-bunting--not inaptly named by some observers a "Riverside
Bunting". We can recall how very common this bird was along the
water-side and about the towing-paths of the canal just outside Walton
Park, once the famous seat of Charles Waterton, the old-time Yorkshire
naturalist. The bird is by no means a shy or a timid one. It will sit
and await your approach, watching you with uneasy flicks of its tail as
it clings to some willow twig or reed stem, then start off in dipping
flight for a little way to wait again. Finally, as likely as not, it
returns to its original haunt, flitting just above the surface. The
cock bird is readily identified by the black head and throat, and
white cheeks: in the hen these parts are reddish-brown streaked with
darker brown. Its song is very similar to that of the better-known
Yellow Bunting, consisting of a double note several times repeated and
finishing up with a short spluttering trill. In Yorkshire this song
commences early in April, sometimes at the end of March, and continues
into the late summer, when the moult arrests it. During winter this
Bunting often wanders from the water-side, and then we have seen it in
the stackyards, but at no time of the year is it ever so gregarious as
the Yellow or Cirl Buntings. Flocks of this bird have been recorded
from Redcar towards the end of September, and there is other evidence
to suggest that our resident individuals are increased in numbers by
migrants from the Continent. The first nests of the year are usually
made by the end of April, and are placed on or near the ground, amongst
a tuft of rushes or amongst the dense vegetation on the banks of the
canal or pool. Externally these are made of dry grass, moss, and
scraps of aquatic vegetation; inside they are lined with finer grass
and hair. The eggs are from four to six in number, olive or buff in
ground colour, streaked and spotted with purplish brown and gray. It is
worthy of remark, however, that the intricate pencilling so prominent a
feature in the eggs of the Yellow Bunting are absent, the lines being
shorter and broader and the spots larger and rounder. One might fancy
that they had been put on with a quill rather than with a steel pen.
Both Pied and Gray Wagtails are familiar objects on the towing-path;
whilst among the vegetation near the water the Sedge Warbler has its
summer home. This latter bird arrives here in April and leaves again in
September. The Reed Warbler is much more local in Yorkshire, although
it is known to breed at Hornsea Mere and one or two other places.
In the back-waters of the canals, amongst the reeds and flags, both
Coots and Moorhens have their residence, whilst the Little Grebe, if
not quite so familiar, owing to its more skulking habits, is by no
means rare. It is rather surprising what small pools of water will in
some cases content a pair of these amusing little birds, whilst it
is equally noteworthy how often this species is entirely overlooked.
Possibly their alertness and partiality for cover to some extent
explains it. Least showy, as they are the smallest, of all the British
Grebes, they are often mistaken for a rat or even a fish; certainly
they are as much at home in the water as the latter. Towards the end
of March they build a bulky floating nest among the flags and rushes,
composed of dead and rotten stalks matted and heaped together, the
half-dozen white eggs (stained brown almost as soon as laid) resting
in a shallow hollow at the top. The marvellous celerity with which the
sitting bird covers her eggs with weed when the nest is approached must
be familiar to every bird's-nester. A great many of the chicks are
destroyed by hungry pike, and to this, perhaps, must we attribute the
fact of its seldom increasing in numbers, even in localities where it
is never otherwise molested. As a rule the canals are too deep to admit
of birds obtaining much food from their margins; but the insect life
that flits over the surface is sought by Swallow, Martin, and Swift.
We must include a brief visit to the fish-ponds in the present chapter.
There are many of these scattered about the parks of our northern
shires, and not a few of them are frequented by birds in plenty. Most
readers will remember what a paradise for aquatic birds the lake at
Walton Hall became under the loving care of the famous old Yorkshire
naturalist; how the birds used to flock there in winter and join the
resident population that dwelt in that valley of peace. And this, mind,
at no great distance from populous towns and villages, in a country
filled with collieries and workshops, crossed by railways, and many
miles from the coast. It only shows what can be done if we encourage
and protect the birds that visit us. Many a picturesque old fish-pond
we can recall in Yorkshire and Derbyshire--spots where the deep water
teemed with fish, and the big elms and horse-chestnut trees almost
swept the surface with their spreading branches, high up in which
the Rooks and Herons reared their young. Amongst the clumps of iris
and flag that grew so luxuriantly in the shallows Coot and Moorhen
made their nests, and their broods of black downy chicks might be
seen paddling about the broad flat leaves of the water-lily and the
candock, or resting and sunning themselves on the floating vegetation.
The steel-blue Swallows and Martins come from the adjoining meadows
and park to dart to and fro with shrill twitter, and thread their way
beneath the drooping branches of the chestnuts gaily ornamented with
their noble spikes of fair yet evil-smelling bloom, like miniature
candelabra. The Herons all day long fly up and down from their nests
in the tree-tops to and from the shallows, where the roach are an easy
prey. How stately the big gray birds look standing so solemn in the
shallows! With what patience they wait and watch and finally strike,
sending that formidable spear-like bill into the doomed fish, which
is quickly disposed of with a grunt of satisfaction! Now and then the
Kingfisher's radiant beauty is reflected in the unruffled water as he
glides across; at intervals a shy Water-rail or a Grebe sails timidly
out from the rushes, dives at the least alarm, and the scarcely-ruffled
surface indicates the quick return under water to the sheltering
greenery. In winter these ponds are often visited by Wild Ducks,
Wigeons, and Teals, with sometimes much rarer fowl. Indeed, the very
uncertainty of what might be found was one of the greatest attractions
of such a spot. Here also dwell the stately Swans, half-domesticated
it is true, yet none the less ornamental for that. These birds mate
for life, and are apparently much attached to each other. They always
select the tiny islet in the pool for their domestic arrangements;
and on this in April they construct a big nest of straw and sticks
and other rubbish, in which the hen bird lays her massive pale-green
eggs. At first the young birds are brown and dingy looking; nor do they
acquire that pure white dress characteristic of their parents until the
following autumn.
[Illustration: The Tufted Duck.]
In a previous chapter we dealt at some length with the bird-life of
Sherwood Forest. We will now return to that area in order to make
a brief survey of the birds that frequent some of the pools in the
vicinity of the Dukeries, round about Clumber and Newstead. It would
be difficult to find a more suitable place for Ducks throughout the
length and breadth of England than some of the charming rush-fringed
ponds that are such a feature of this part of Nottinghamshire. They
afford plenty of cover and food, not only the ponds themselves but the
streams and marshes by which many of them are joined together, and
above all they are well watched by vigilant keepers, so that the birds
are practically safe from molestation during the nesting season. Here
may the habits of the Tufted Duck be studied to perfection. This bird
is an old friend of ours; we have seen much of it in more southern
haunts, especially during the non-breeding season. Most if not all the
Tufted Ducks leave Devonshire for more northern haunts in spring, but
in the Dukeries they are to be seen throughout the year, apparently
in undiminished numbers. There can be little doubt, we think, that
this Duck pairs for life; certainly it may be seen in company with its
mate summer and winter alike. During winter the birds are sociable and
gregarious, and the fact is not so readily remarked, but as spring
draws on they separate more, and from that time onwards to the laying
season live almost exclusively in pairs. The nesting season of this
Duck varies a good deal according to locality. In southern haunts the
duck commences to lay at the end of April or early in May; in North
Notts the birds are at least two or three weeks later. The nest is
frequently made in a tuft or tussock of sedge, amongst long grass, or
beneath a small bush. It is merely a hollow lined with a little dry
vegetation, but as the eight or ten eggs accumulate, the duck surrounds
them with a bed of down plucked from her own body. These eggs are
greenish-buff in colour. Tufted Ducks are most expert divers, and feed
much towards evening, during the night, and early in the morning. By
day they may usually be seen swimming lazily about, preening their
plumage, and now and then sleeping, as they float buoyantly upon the
water far out from shore. The Mallard is also a common bird about these
ponds and pools. We have already seen that it not unfrequently nests
far from water amongst the more open parts of the grand old forest; but
nevertheless a fair number of birds frequent these pools for domestic
purposes. The Shoveler is also present, if in much smaller numbers,
and hides its very similar nest in much the same sort of places. Its
nine or ten eggs are, however, pale buffish-white, with a faint tinge
of olive. The tame and confiding little Teal--smallest of all our
British Ducks--is also a common resident in this district. We cannot
say whether the Pochard breeds here or not. We have seen it during
autumn and spring, perhaps on passage only; but it certainly breeds in
Yorkshire at Hornsea Mere, in the East Riding. We have also remarked
several of the above-named species on the beautiful ponds at Newstead
Abbey, once the classic home of Byron, during the early summer months,
so that some of them may breed in this immediate neighbourhood.
Returning now to the rivers of our northern shires, we will briefly
glance at one or two birds that are specially associated with such
water-ways. Here in Yorkshire, Dipper, Gray Wagtail, and Heron may
perhaps be the most familiar birds, but to our mind the Kingfisher
is the most distinguished, and from some points of view the most
interesting. We always think a special charm attaches to birds that
have a place in ancient history, or that are surrounded by more or less
classic legends and superstitions. The Kingfisher is one of these. From
the very earliest times of which we possess any record, the bird, for
some reason that to the modern mind does not seem always very clear,
has figured largely in myth and superstition. Some of these are by no
means wanting in poetic imagination. Legend, for instance, accounts for
the beautiful colour of its plumage in the following amusing way: When
the Kingfisher was liberated from the Ark it was a plain gray-plumaged
bird, but flying towards the sun it became of the same hue as the
sky on its upper parts, whilst its lower parts were scorched by the
solar rays to the chestnut tint they now are. Fable is also curiously
associated with the domestic arrangements of the Kingfisher, mid-winter
being given as the date of its reproduction. Ovid tells us that during
this period Æolus, the god of wind, exerted his influence, so that
the tempests were quieted and the sea remained calm, upon which the
floating nest might remain in safety for the seven Halcyon Days. As old
Shakespeare has it:
"This night the siege assuredly I'll raise:
Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days".
--_Henry V._
We also find under the term Halcyon (another name for the Kingfisher)
in Minsben's _Dictionary_ the following quaint passage bearing on this
fable: "A bird called also Kingfisher, because she fisheth in the sea,
and casteth herself with such force at the fishes. She conceiveth in
the sea, and in it she brings forth her young--and that in chill and
cold weather; and meanwhile the heaven is serene, and the sea tranquil,
nor agitated by troubles of winds. Hence those serene days are called
Halcyon-days." Superstition attributed to the Kingfisher not a few
virtues. For instance, Lupton, three hundred odd years ago, in a book
entitled _A Thousand Notable Things_, &c., writes: "A little bird
called the King's fisher, being hanged up in the air by the neck, his
neb or bill will be always direct or straight against the wind. This
was told me for a very truth by one that knew it by proof, as he said."
Possibly the superstition widely prevailed at that remote date, as four
years later Storer, in his _Life and Death of Thomas Wolsey, Cardinal_,
gives it thus:
"As a Halcyon with her turning breast
Demonstrates wind from wind, and east from west".
Marlowe (_Jew of Malta_, i. 1) has another rendering of the
superstition, thus:
"But now how stands the wind?
Into what corner peers my Halcyon's bill?
Ha! To the East? Yes! See, how stand the vanes?
East and by south."
It is interesting to remark that the quaint old superstition is not
quite dead, even at the close of the nineteenth century! We have on
more than one occasion come across country people in Yorkshire and
Derbyshire who have assured us that the dead body of the Kingfisher, if
hung up by a thread, will turn its beak in the direction of the wind
then prevailing. Mummified Kingfishers were also believed to be a charm
against thunderbolts, and also a preservative against clothes-moths.
Professor Newton informs us in his _Dictionary of Birds_ that in many
islands of the Pacific Ocean the indigenous Kingfisher (of various
species) is an object of much veneration.
Surely after these few extracts from some of the many legends in
which the Kingfisher is involved the gem-like bird acquires a greater
interest as we watch it passing like a gleam of blue light along the
river. Even in our own day there is not a little fiction and absurdity
gathered round the nesting habits of the Kingfisher. We are told that
the bird is careful to make a nest of fish-bones for its eggs; this is
a widely prevailing idea among persons who should know better, such
as keepers, fishermen, and bird-nesting boys, for their experience
is generally personal. Perhaps appearances have fostered, if they
have not absolutely originated this belief. The Kingfisher pairs for
life, and returns in most cases to the same place to nest season after
season. This nest is usually in a hole, in many cases in a steep bank
overhanging the river, and generally excavated by the birds themselves.
Very often, however, a rat's hole will be selected and various trifling
alterations made to suit the new tenant. The hole almost invariably
slopes upwards from the entrance, and is from three to four feet in
length, enlarged at the end into a kind of chamber. The birds, it
should be remarked, resort to this hole to roost, and frequent it
generally long before the eggs are laid, so that a collection of bones,
decaying fish, and droppings accumulates in the chamber. Upon these
fish-bones the six or eight pearly-white eggs are deposited, surrounded
in course of time by a heap of most offensive matter. When the young
are hatched the place becomes even more filthy, owing to the increased
amount of droppings and the number of fish brought for their food.
We are not aware that more than one brood is reared in the season,
although several clutches of eggs will be laid in the efforts to
accomplish this, if the eggs chance to be destroyed. Not a few persons
believe the Kingfisher to be mute; but this is not the case. Its note
is shrill, but not very loud, and resembles the word _peep_, sometimes
uttered several times in quick succession. It is not, however, by any
means a garrulous bird, and usually flies along in silence. By the
way, we might mention that the Kingfisher is by no means the only bird
of gay plumage that as it were fouls its own nest, for the Hoopoe, a
handsome bird with a wonderful crest, possesses a nest which, during
the course of incubation, is rendered filthy and obnoxious from the
droppings of the female, conditions which become worse when the
young are hatched. How different this from the cleanly habits of the
Starling, for instance, that conveys the droppings of its young away
most carefully, usually after every visit with food.
As many of the rivers of the northern shires approach the sea they
widen into estuaries, the shores of which are the resort of a great
variety of bird-life. The Humber and the Tyne on the east coast,
the Solway, the Lune, the Ribble, and the Mersey on the west coast
of England are capital instances of such. The mud-flats up to tidal
limits, often extending many miles inland, are favourite feeding-places
of large numbers of wading birds, not only during the two seasons of
migration, but throughout the winter months. In summer these places are
more or less uninviting; the birds are scattered far and wide, not only
over our own uplands and inland waters, but beyond the seas on arctic
tundras; in early autumn the birds appear again in small numbers, and
as that season advances become increasingly numerous. When these birds
of mud-flat and sand-bank depart, little else is left but an occasional
Gull, or possibly a laggard wading bird or two that from some reason
or another have not migrated with their companions. We might, however,
mention that in or near the beds of some of these northern rivers the
Ringed Plover breeds. In spring and autumn companies of Terns hang
about these estuaries; the Sandwich, Common, Arctic, and Lesser Terns
appear from the middle of April onwards; their return is noticed
during August and the first half of September. These dates are nearly
coincident with those at which we notice these birds in the Devonshire
estuaries, save that in autumn the migration continues into October,
and during some years is even prolonged into November. Sanderlings,
Curlew Sandpipers, and Knots, birds that migrate amongst the latest
in spring and breed in the high north, are some of the first to
reappear in autumn, even at the end of July or early in August. Common
Sandpipers, as their name suggests, are abundant during their short
stay at the mouths of these northern rivers previous to passing south.
In the Humber district especially, vast flights of Dunlins often
appear upon the mud-flats towards the end of August, and remain for
the winter. When the rising tide drives them from the muds, they often
resort to the fields to wait until the ebb. The movements of these
birds are most interesting, as a vast flock wheels and spreads out or
closes up with as much precision as drilled troops. Scattered amongst
them are many odd Stints and Sanderlings and Ringed Plovers. Curlews,
Whimbrels, and Bar-tailed Godwits also appear about these estuaries
during migration time, and some of them remain upon them throughout
the winter. At the latter season Ducks of various species are regular
visitors. Some of these, however, keep well off the land out at sea,
only entering the river mouths during rough weather, or at night
for the purpose of feeding in the shallower water. One of the most
familiar, perhaps, is the Scaup; the Pochard is another, with a much
more marked preference for rivers; the Pintail is a third. Companies
of Swans from time to time may be observed, usually consisting of
Whoopers, and much more rarely of Bewick's Swans.
During the migration season in spring, and more especially in autumn,
these northern river-valleys are frequented by great numbers of land
birds on their way to more northern and eastern breeding grounds in
Continental areas, or returning south and west to winter in our islands
or to cross over them to warmer latitudes. These northern rivers are
exceptionally favourable for migration, so many of them trending in the
same general direction as the birds are bent on following. Vast numbers
of migrant small birds follow such river-valleys as the Tees and the
Humber, on their way into Yorkshire, Notts, and Derbyshire, by way of
the Don and its tributary streams. It is unnecessary here to dwell upon
these species in detail, for we hope to go much deeper into the matter
when we come to a study of the migration of birds in the northern
shires. We have gathered much evidence in support of this migration
during a residence of many years at no great distance from the Humber
and certain valleys in direct communication with that important
estuary--next, perhaps, in interest, so far as bird-life is concerned,
to that still more wonderful locality the Wash, a little lower down the
coast.