A SURVEY OF THE PARKS: WEST LONDON
A general survey of the metropolitan parks--West London--Central parks,
with Holland Park--A bird's highway--Decrease of songsters--The
thrush in Kensington Gardens--Suggestions--Owls in Kensington
Gardens--Other West London open spaces--Ravenscourt Park as it was
and as it is.
Our 'province' of London is happily not entirely 'covered with houses,'
and in each of its six large districts--West, North-west, North, East,
South-east, and South-west--there are many hundreds of acres of green
and tree-shaded spaces where the Londoner may find a moderate degree of
refreshment. Unfortunately for large masses of the population, these
spaces are very unequally distributed, being mostly situated on or close
to the borderland, where town and country meet; consequently they are of
less value to the dwellers in the central and densely peopled districts
than to the inhabitants of the suburbs, who have pure air and ample
healthy room without these public grounds.
Before going the round of the parks, to note in detail their present
condition and possibilities, chiefly with reference to their wild bird
life, it would be well to take a rapid survey of the metropolitan open
spaces generally. To enable the reader the more closely to follow me in
the survey, I have introduced a map of the County of London on a small
scale, in which the whole of the thickly built-over portion appears
uncoloured; the surrounding country coloured green; the open spaces,
including cemeteries, deep green; the small spaces--squares, graves,
churchyards, gardens, recreation grounds, &c., as dark dots; the
suburban districts, not densely populated, where houses have gardens
and grounds, pale green.
[Illustration: RAVENSCOURT PARK]
Now the white space is not really birdless, being everywhere inhabited
by sparrows, and in parts by numerous and populous colonies of semi-wild
pigeons, while a few birds of other species make their homes in London
gardens. Shirley Hibbert, writing of London birds in 1865, says: 'London
is, indeed, far richer in birds than it deserves to be.' He also says:
'A few birds, however, appear to be specially adapted not merely for
London as viewed from without, but for London _par excellence_, that
is to say for the noisy, almost treeless City; with these for pioneers,
nature invades the Stock Exchange, the Court of Aldermen, the Bank, and
all the railway termini, as if to say, '_Shut us out if you can_.' But
with the exception of these few peculiarly urban species we may take it
that the London birds get their food, breed, and live most of the time
in the open spaces where there are trees and bushes. Even the starling,
which breeds in buildings, must go to the parks to feed.
It must also be borne in mind that birds that penetrate into London from
the surrounding country--those that, like the carrion crow, live on the
borders and fly into or across London every day, migrants in spring and
autumn, young birds reared outside of London going about in search of a
place to settle in, and wanderers generally--all fly to and alight on
the green spaces only. These spaces form their camping grounds. As there
is annually a very considerable influx of feathered strangers, we
can see by a study of the map how much easier to penetrate and more
attractive some portions of the metropolis are than others. It would
simplify the matter still further if we were to look upon London as
an inland sea, an archipelago, about fifty miles in circumference,
containing a few very large islands, several of a smaller size, and
numerous very small ones--a sea or lake with no well-defined shore-line,
but mostly with wide borders which might be described as mixed land and
water, with promontories or tongues of land here and there running into
it. These promontories, also the chains of islands, form, in some cases,
broad green thoroughfares along which the birds come; the sinuous band
of the Thames also forms to some extent a thoroughfare.
I believe it is a fact that in those parts of the suburbs that are
well timbered, and where the houses have gardens and grounds, the bird
population is actually greater (with fewer species) than in the country
proper, even in places where birds are very abundant. In parts of
Norwood, Sydenham, and Streatham, and the neighbourhoods of Dulwich,
Greenwich, Lee, Highgate, and Hampstead, birds are extremely abundant.
Going a little further afield, on one side of the metropolis we have
Epping Forest, and on the opposite side of the metropolis several vast
and well-wooded spaces abounding in bird life--Kew Gardens, the Queen's
private grounds, Old Deer Park, Syon and Richmond parks, Wimbledon, &c.
From all these districts there is doubtless a considerable overflow of
birds each season on to the adjacent country, and into London, and some
of the large parks are well placed to attract these wanderers.
In going into a more detailed account of the parks, it is not my
intention to furnish anything like a formal or guide-book description,
assigning a space to each, but, taking them as they come, singly, in
groups and chains, to touch or dwell only on those points that chiefly
concern us--their characters, comparative advantages, and their needs,
with regard to bird life. Beginning with the central parks and other
parks situated in the West district, we will then pass to the North-west
and North districts, and so on until the circle of the metropolis has
been completed.
* * * * *
The central parks, Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park, Green Park, and St.
James's Park, contain respectively 274, 360, 55, and 60 acres--in round
numbers 750 acres. Add to this Holland Park, the enclosed meadow-like
grounds adjoining Kensington Palace, Hyde Park Gardens, St. George's
burial-ground, and Buckingham Palace Gardens, and we get altogether a
total of about nine hundred to one thousand acres of almost continuous
green country, extending from High Street, Kensington, to Westminster.
This very large area (for to the eyes of the flying bird it must
appear as one) is favourably situated to attract and support a very
considerable amount of bird life. At its eastern extremity we see that
it is close to the river, along which birds are apt to travel; while
three miles and a half away, at its other end, it is again near the
Thames, where the river makes a great bend near Hammersmith, and not
very distant from the more or less green country about Acton.
[Illustration: (Map of London)]
There is no doubt that a majority of the summer visitants and wanderers
generally that appear in the central parks come through Holland Park,
as they are usually first observed in the shrubberies and trees at
Kensington Palace. Holland Park, owing to its privacy and fine old
trees, is a favourite resort of wild birds, and is indeed a better
sanctuary than any public park in London. From the palace shrubberies
the new-comers creep in along the Flower Walk, the Serpentine, and
finally by way of the Green Park to St. James's Park. But they do not
stay to breed, the place not being suitable for such a purpose. It is
possible that a few find nesting-places in Buckingham Palace Gardens,
and that others drift into Battersea Park.
Another proof that these parks--so sadly mismanaged from the bird-lover's
point of view--are situated advantageously may be found in the fact
that three of the species which have established colonies in London
within the last few years (wood-pigeon, moorhen, and dabchick) first
formed settlements here, and from this centre have spread over the
entire metropolis, and now inhabit every park and open space where the
conditions are suited to their requirements. These three needed no
encouragement: the summer visitors do certainly need it, and at
Battersea, and in some other parks less than one fourth the size of
Hyde Park, they find it, and are occasionally able to rear their young.
Even the old residents, the sedentary species once common in the central
parks, find it hard to maintain their existence; they have died or are
dying out. The missel-thrush, nuthatch, tree-creeper, oxeye, spotted
woodpecker, and others vanished several years ago. The chaffinch was
reduced to a single pair within the last few years; this pair lingered
on for a year or a little over, then vanished. Last spring, 1897, a few
chaffinches returned, and their welcome song was heard in Kensington
Gardens until June. Not a greenfinch is to be seen, the commonest and
most prolific garden bird in England, so abundant that scores, nay
hundreds, may be bought any Sunday morning in the autumn at the
bird-dealers' shops in the slums of London, at about two pence per
bird, or even less. The wrens a few years ago were reduced to a single
pair, and had their nesting-place near the Albert Memorial; of the
pair I believe one bird now remains. Two, perhaps three, pairs of
hedge-sparrows inhabited Kensington Gardens during the summers of 1896
and 1897, but I do not think they succeeded in rearing any young. Nor
did the one pair in St. James's Park hatch any eggs. In 1897 a pair
of spotted flycatchers bred in Kensington Gardens, and were the only
representatives of the summer visitors of the passerine order in all the
central parks.
The robin has been declining for several years; a decade ago its sudden
little outburst of bright melody was a common autumn and winter sound in
some parts of the park, and in nearly all parts of Kensington Gardens.
This delightful sound became less and less each season, and unless
something is done will before many years cease altogether. The blue and
cole tits are also now a miserable remnant, and are restricted to the
gardens, where they may be seen, four or five together, on the high
elms or clinging to the pendent twigs of the birches. The blackbird and
song-thrush have also fallen very low; I do not believe that there are
more than two dozen of these common birds in all this area of seven
hundred and fifty acres. A larger number could be found in one corner of
Finsbury Park. Finsbury and Battersea could each send a dozen or two of
songsters as a gift to the royal West-end parks, and not miss their
music.
Of all these vanishing species the thrush is most to be regretted, on
account of its beautiful, varied, and powerful voice, for in so noisy
an atmosphere as that of London loudness is a very great merit; also
because (in London) this bird sings very nearly all the year round. Even
at the present time how much these few remaining birds are to us! From
one to two decades ago it was possible on any calm mild day in winter
to listen to half a dozen thrushes singing at various points in the
gardens; now it is very rare to hear more than one, and during the
exceedingly mild winter of 1896-7 I never heard more than two. Even
these few birds make a wonderful difference. There is a miraculous
quality in their voice. In the best of many poems which the Poet
Laureate has addressed to this, his favourite bird, he sings:
Hearing thee first, who pines or grieves
For vernal smiles and showers!
Thy voice is greener than the leaves,
And fresher than the flowers.
Even here in mid-London the effect is the same, and a strange glory
fills the old ruined and deserted place. But, alas! 'tis but an
illusion, and is quickly gone. The tendency for many years past has
been towards a greater artificiality. It saves trouble and makes for
prettiness to cut down decaying trees. To take measures to prevent their
fall, to drape them with ivy and make them beautiful in decay, would
require some thought and care. It is not so long ago that Matthew Arnold
composed his 'Lines written in Kensington Gardens.' It seems but the
other day that he died; but how impossible it would be for anyone
to-day, at this spot, to experience the feeling which inspired those
matchless verses!
In this lone, open glade I lie,
Screened by deep boughs on either hand;
And at its end, to stay the eye,
Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand!
Birds here make song, each bird has his,
Across the girdling city's hum.
How green under the boughs it is!
How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come!
Sometimes a child will cross the glade
To take his nurse his broken toy;
Sometimes a thrush flit overhead
Deep in her unknown day's employ.
Here at my feet what wonders pass,
What endless, active life is here!
What blowing daisies, fragrant grass!
An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear.
· · · · ·
In the huge world, which roars hard by,
Be others happy if they can!
But in my helpless cradle I
Was breathed on by the rural Pan.
· · · · ·
Calm soul of all things! Make it mine
To feel amid the city's jar,
That there abides a peace of thine,
Man did not make, and cannot mar.
The will to neither strive nor cry,
The power to feel with others give!
Calm, calm me more! nor let me die
Before I have begun to live.
In these vast gardens and parks, with large trees, shrubberies, wide
green spaces, and lakes, there should be ample room for many scores
of the delightful songsters that are now vanishing or have already
vanished. And much might be done, at a very small cost, to restore these
species, and to add others.
One of the first and most important steps to be taken in order to make
the central parks a suitable home for wild birds, especially of the
songsters, both resident and migratory, that nest on or near the ground,
is the exclusion of the army of cats that hunt every night and all night
long in them. This subject will be discussed more fully in another
chapter.
Proper breeding-places are also greatly wanted--close shrubberies and
rockeries such as we find at Battersea and Finsbury Parks. The existing
shrubberies give no proper shelter. In planting them the bird's need of
privacy was not considered; the space allowed to them is too small, the
species of plants that birds prefer to roost and nest in are too few.
It would make a wonderful difference if in place of so many unsuitable
exotic shrubs (especially of the ugly, dreary-looking rhododendron) we
had more of the always pleasing yew and holly; also furze and bramble;
with other native plants to be found in any country hedge, massed
together in that charming disorder which men as well as birds prefer,
although the gardeners do not know it. There are several spots in
Kensington Gardens where masses of evergreens would look well and would
form welcome refuges to scores of shy songsters.
The more or less open ground north of the Flower Walk forms a deep
well-sheltered hollow, where it would be easy to create a small pond
with rushes and osiers growing in it, which would be very attractive to
the birds. It would be easy to make a spot in every park in London where
the sedge-warbler could breed.
Another very much needed improvement is an island in the Serpentine,
which would serve to attract wild birds. The Serpentine is by a good
deal the largest of the artificial lakes of inner London, yet with the
exception of a couple of moorhens, and in winter a stray gull or two
seen flying over the water, it has no wild bird life, simply because
there is no spot where a wild bird can breed. The existing small island,
close to the north bank and the sub-rangers' village, is used by some of
the ducks to breed in. Something might be done to make this island more
attractive to birds.
With one, perhaps two, exceptions, the comparatively large birds in the
central parks have been so fully written about in former chapters that
nothing more need be said of them in this place. It remains only to
speak of the owls in Kensington Gardens.
It is certainly curious to find that in these gardens, where, as we have
seen, birds are not encouraged, two such species as the jackdaw and owl
are still resident, although long vanished from all their other old
haunts in London. Of so important a bird as the owl I should have
preferred to write at some length in one of the earlier chapters, but
there was very little to say, owing to its rarity and secrecy. Nor could
it be included in the chapters on recent colonists, since it is probable
that it has always been an inhabitant of Kensington Gardens, although
its existence there has not been noticed by those who have written
on the wild bird life of London. It is unfortunate that we have no
enjoyment of our owls: they hide from sight in the old hollow trees,
and when they occasionally exercise their voices at night we are not
there to hear them. Still, it is a pleasure to know that they are there,
and probably always have been there. It is certain that during the past
year both the brown and white owl have been living in the gardens, as
the night-watchers hear the widely different vocal performances of both
birds, and have also seen both species. Probably there are not more than
two birds of each kind. Owls have the habit of driving away their young,
and the stray white owls occasionally seen or heard in various parts of
London may be young birds driven from the gardens. Some time ago the
cries of a white owl were heard on several nights at Lambeth Palace, and
it was thought that the bird had made its home in the tower of Lambeth
Church, close by. In the autumn of 1896 a solitary white owl frequented
the trees at Buckhurst Hill. An ornithological friend told me that
he had seen an owl, probably the same bird, one evening flying over
the Serpentine; and on inquiring of some of the park people, I was
told that they knew nothing about an owl, but that a cockatoo had
mysteriously appeared every evening at dusk on one of the trees near
the under-ranger's lodge! After a few weeks it was seen no more. I fancy
that this owl had been expelled from the gardens by its parents.
* * * * *
Directly in line with the central and Holland parks, about a mile and a
quarter west of Holland Park, we have Ravenscourt Park--the last link of
a broken chain. To the birds that come and go it occupies the position
of a half-way house between the central parks and the country proper.
Unhappily West Kensington, which lies between Holland and Ravenscourt
Parks, is now quite covered with houses--a brand-new yet depressing
wilderness of red brick, without squares, gardens, boulevards, or
breathing spaces of any description whatsoever. Away on the right
hand and on the left a few small green spaces are found--on one hand
Shepherd's Bush Green, and on the other Brook Green, St. Paul's Schools
ornamental grounds, and Hammersmith Cemetery and Cricket Ground. But
from West Kensington it is far for children's feet to a spot of green
turf.
Ravenscourt, though not large (32 acres), is very beautiful. With
Waterlow, Clissold, and Brockwell Parks it shares the distinction of
being a real park, centuries old; and despite the new features, the
gravelled paths, garden-beds, iron railings, &c., which had to be
introduced when it was opened to the public, it retains much of its
original park-like character. Its venerable elms, hornbeams, beeches,
cedars, and hawthorns are a very noble possession. To my mind this
indeed is the most beautiful park in London, or perhaps I should say
that it _would_ be the most beautiful if the buildings round it were not
so near and conspicuous. It may be that I am somewhat prejudiced in its
favour. I knew it when it was private, and the old image is very vivid
to memory; I lived for a long time beside it in sad days, when the
constant sight of such a green and shady wilderness from my window was a
great consolation. It was beautiful even in the cold, dark winter months
when it was a waste of snow, and when, despite the bitter weather, the
missel-thrush poured out its loud triumphant notes from the top of
a tall elm. In its spring and summer aspect it had a wild grace and
freshness, which made it unlike any other spot known to me in or near
London. The old manor house inside the park was seldom occupied; no
human figure was visible in the grounds; there were no paths, and all
things grew untended. The grass was everywhere long, and in spring lit
with colour of myriads of wild flowers; from dawn to dusk its shady
places were full of the melody of birds; exquisitely beautiful in its
dewy and flowery desolation, it was like a home of immemorial peace, the
one remnant of unadulterated nature in the metropolis.
The alterations that had to be made in this park when the County Council
took it over produced in me an unpleasant shock; and the birds were also
seriously affected by the change. When the gates were thrown open, in
1888, and a noisy torrent of humanity poured in and spread itself over
their sweet sanctuary, they fled in alarm, and for a time the park was
almost birdless. The carrion crows, strange to say, stuck to their
nesting-tree, and by-and-by some of the deserters began to return, to
be followed by others, and now there is as much bird life as in the old
days. It is probable, however, that some of the summer visitors
have ceased to breed. At present we have the crow, wood-pigeon,
missel-thrush, chaffinch, wren, hedge-sparrow, and in the summer the
pied wagtail and spotted flycatcher and willow-wren.
[Illustration: CORMORANTS AT ST. JAMES'S PARK]