PROTECTION OF BIRDS IN THE PARKS
Object of this book--Summary of facts contained in previous
chapters--An incidental result of changes in progress--Some degree
of protection in all the open spaces, efficient protection in
none--Mischievous visitors to the parks--Bird fanciers and
stealers--The destructive rough--The barbarians are few--Two
incidents at Clissold Park--Love of birds a common feeling of the
people.
The most serious portion of my work still remains to do. In the
introductory chapter I said that this was a book with a purpose, and,
as the reader knows from much that has gone before, the purpose is to
point out how the wild bird life we possess may be preserved, and how
it may be improved by the addition of other suitable species which would
greatly increase the attractiveness of the parks.
Before going into this part of my subject it would be useful to briefly
summarise the main facts disclosed in the foregoing chapters.
1. Many species formerly resident throughout the year in London have
quite died out; thus, in the present century the following large species
have been lost: raven, magpie, peregrine falcon, and kestrel. In very
recent years the following small resident species have disappeared from
inner London, but are still found in a few localities on the outskirts:
missel-thrush, nuthatch, tree-creeper, oxeye, and lesser spotted
woodpecker.
2. Some resident species are reduced to small remnants and are confined
to one or to a very few spots; in this category we must place the rook,
the jackdaw, and the owl.
3. Several other resident species, formerly common, have greatly
decreased in numbers, and in some of the open spaces appear to be dying
out. Among these are the thrush, blackbird, robin, wren, hedge-sparrow,
greenfinch, chaffinch, goldfinch, bullfinch, linnet, and lark. Two of
these species, thrush and blackbird, are now increasing in several of
the open spaces under the County Council, and here and there two or
three of the other species named are also increasing.
[Illustration: CHAFFINCH]
4. The decrease has been in most, but not all, of the old residents. So
far the carrion crow does not appear to have suffered. Two small birds,
sparrow and starling, have undoubtedly greatly increased.
5. At the same time that some of the old residents have been decreasing
or dying out, a few other species have come in from the outside, and
have greatly increased--namely, the ringdove, moorhen, and dabchick.
6. During the season when birds migrate, or shift their quarters, many
birds of various species drift into or pass through London: of these
some that are summer visitors bred regularly in London up to within a
few years ago. Of all these visitors it may be said that they have been
decreasing for several years past, and some of them no longer attempt
to breed in the inner London parks. At the same time, in a few favoured
localities these visitors do not show any falling off, and in one or two
of the open spaces they may be actually increasing.
To sum up. For many years there have been constant changes going on
in the bird population, many species decreasing, a very few remaining
stationary, and a few new colonists appearing; but, generally speaking,
the losses greatly exceed the gains.
One incidental result of all these changes, and of the variety of
conditions existing and the different degrees of protection given, is
that some of the open spaces are now distinguished by the possession of
species which are found in no other spot in the metropolis, or which
have elsewhere become exceedingly rare. Thus, Kensington Gardens alone,
of all the interior parks, possesses the owl and the jackdaw; St.
James's Park is distinguished by its large number of wood-pigeons and
its winter colonies of black-headed gulls; Battersea Park by its wrens
and variety of small delicate songsters, both resident and migratory,
and its vast congregation of starlings in late summer and early autumn;
Wandsworth Common by its yellowhammers; Gray's Inn Gardens and Brockwell
Park by their rookeries; Streatham by its nightingales, magpies, and
jays; Ravenscourt Park by its missel-thrushes; Finsbury Park by its
large numbers of thrushes and blackbirds. In Kew Gardens the tree-pipit,
pied wagtail, and wryneck are more common than elsewhere; Richmond
Park has its heronry and a vast multitude of daws; Wanstead has the
turtle-dove and hawfinch, and with its land and water birds of all
sizes, from the goldcrest to the heron, mallard, and rook, may claim to
possess in its narrow limits a more abundant and varied wild bird life
than any other metropolitan open space.
The conclusion I have come to, after a careful study of the subject, is
that wild birds of all the species remaining to us, and many besides,
are very well able to thrive in London; that many species have been
and are being lost solely on account of the indifference of the park
authorities in the matter; that the comparative abundance and variety
of wild bird life in the different open spaces depends on the degree of
protection and encouragement the birds receive. And by encouragement I
mean the providing them with islands, shrubberies, and such cover as
they require when breeding. Thus, we see that in so vast a space as Hyde
Park, where there is practically no protection given and nothing done to
encourage wild birds, the songsters are few and are decreasing; while in
some comparatively small open spaces constantly thronged with visitors
the bird life is abundant and varied, and increasing. It should not
be, but certainly is, the case that it depends on the person who is in
charge of the open space whether anything shall be done to encourage the
birds; if he takes no interest in the matter those who are under him
will not concern themselves to save the birds. We have seen that veiled
bird-catching is permitted in some of the parks; park constables and
park labourers have also been allowed to take nests of thrushes and
other songsters containing young birds, for their own pleasure or to
dispose of to others.
We have seen that the differences between park and park, with regard
to the abundance of bird life, are very great; but despite these
differences, which depend on the amount of encouragement and protection
given, consequently to a great extent on the personal feeling in the
matter of the superintendent, it must be said that sufficient protection
has not yet been given in any public space in London. All the open
spaces are alike infested by cats, the deadliest enemy of the birds
which are of most value--the resident species that sing most of the
year, and that nest in low bushes or close to the ground. And so long as
cats are allowed to range about the parks these species cannot be said
to be properly protected. This last point being of great importance will
be treated separately and fully in the next chapter; the rest of this
chapter will be occupied in discussing an enemy to the birds less
difficult to deal with--the mischievous individuals of our own species
who kill and capture birds and take their eggs and young.
The damage done by the ordinary boy, who throws stones and cannot
resist the temptation to take a nest when he has the chance, is hardly
appreciable in the parks where there is any real desire on the part of
the superintendents and keepers to protect the birds. On some of the
large open spaces on the outskirts of London, such as Hampstead Heath
and the commons in the South-west district, the keepers are too few to
protect the nesting birds, and the eggs are very nearly all taken. A
much more serious injury is inflicted by the bird fancier from the
slums, who visits the parks with the object of stealing the birds,
adults and young, and by the worst kind of blackguard or rough, who
kills and smashes when he gets the chance solely for the pleasure of
destroying something which others value, or, to quote Bacon's phrase,
'because he can do no other.'
As to the bird fancier who is a bird stealer, I have said enough in a
former chapter to show that he can very easily be got rid of where there
is any real desire to protect the birds.
It remains to say something concerning the rough who delights in
destruction. That a man should find pleasure in stoning a valuable park
bird to death or in trampling down a flower-bed may seem an astonishing
thing, when we see that the objects destroyed are solely intended for
the people's pleasure, that they are paid for by the people, and are, in
a sense, the people's property. It may even seem inexplicable, since the
rough is a human being and must therefore have the social instinct. But
there is really no mystery in it; by inflicting injury on the community
he is after all only following other instincts common to man, which are
quite as strong and sometimes stronger than the social. He is prompted
by the hunting instinct, which is universal and doubtless in him is to
some extent perverted; also the love of adventure, since by doing wrong
he runs a certain risk, and wins a little glory of a low kind from his
associates and others who are of like mind with him; and finally, he
is actuated by the love of power, which in its degraded form finds a
measure of gratification in hurting others, or in depriving them of a
pleasure.
But after all said, these injurious persons are in an exceedingly small,
an almost infinitesimal, minority, and the damage they do is little and
annually becomes less; so little is it where any vigilance is exercised,
that it would not have been worth while to write even these few
paragraphs but for the opportunity it gives me of returning to a subject
dwelt upon in the opening chapter; for this destructiveness on the
part of a few but serves the more fully to illustrate the contrary
spirit--the keen and kindly interest in the wild bird life of our open
spaces which is almost universal among the people. In the volume dealing
with East London, in his enormous work on the 'Life and Labour of the
People,' Mr. Charles Booth has the following significant passage: 'The
hordes of barbarians of whom we have heard, who, issuing from their
slums, will one day overwhelm modern civilisation, do not exist.
There are barbarians, but they are a handful, a small and decreasing
percentage, a disgrace but not a danger.' A more absolute confirmation
of the truth of these words than the general behaviour of the people who
visit the parks, even in the poorest and most congested districts, could
not be found. As a rule, when a small park is first opened in some
densely populated district, where no public open space previously
existed, the people rush in and act as if demented; they are like
children released from long confinement who go wild with the first
taste of liberty: they shout, climb trees, break off branches, pluck
the flowers; but all this is purely the result of a kind of mental
intoxication. They are not 'barbarians' or 'yahoos,' as they are
sometimes described by onlookers at the first opening of a new park;
they are nothing more than excited young people; the excitement passes,
and after a short time the damage ceases, and the place becomes so
orderly, and so seldom is any damage done, that the park could almost
be left to take care of itself.
I am here tempted to relate two incidents which have occurred at
different times in one small open space--Clissold Park. Some tame rooks
were kept with the object of establishing a rookery (of which more in
a later chapter), and one day last year some young miscreants, who
subsequently made their escape, stoned three of the birds to death. The
second incident relates to a chaffinch and its nest. The nest was built
on a stunted half-dead thorn-bush, very low down and much exposed to
sight. Just at the time when the nest was being built some forty or
fifty labourers were called in and set to work to form a pond at this
very spot, and it was determined to leave a few yards of ground with the
thorn-bush standing on it as an island in the middle of the excavation.
When the digging began the first eggs had been laid in the nest, but in
spite of the crowd of men at work every day and all day long round the
bush, and the incessant noises of loud talking and of shovelling clay
into carts and shouting of carters to their horses, the birds did not
forsake their task; the eggs were all laid, sat on, the young duly
hatched and successfully reared amidst the tumult; and during all this
time the men engaged on the work were so jealous of the birds' safety
that they would not allow any of the numberless visitors to the park to
come near the bush to look closely at the nest. So long as the young
were in the nest the workmen were the chaffinch's bodyguard.
[Illustration: NEST OF CHAFFINCH]
Judging from personal knowledge of the people of London, I should
say that these workmen showed in their action the feeling which the
people have generally about the wild birds in the parks, and that the
rook-slayers mentioned above were rare exceptions, the small percentage
of ruffians which we always have to count with, just as we have to
count with lunatics and criminals. Doubtless some readers will disagree
with this conclusion. I know it is a common idea--one hears it often
enough--that love of birds is by no means a general feeling; that it
is, on the contrary, somewhat rare, and consequently that those who
experience it have some reason to be proud of their superiority. To my
mind all this is a pretty delusion; no one flatters himself that he is
in any special way a lover of sunshine and green flowery meadows and
running waters and shady trees; and I can only repeat here what I have
said before, that the delight in a wild bird is as common to all men as
the feeling that the sunshine is sweet and pleasant to behold.
One word more may be added here. We--that is to say, our representatives
on the County Council--annually spend some thousands of pounds on
gardening, in laying out beds of brilliant tulips, geraniums, and other
gay flowers, but, with the exception of the cost of the little food
given to the birds in frosty weather in some of the parks, not one
pound, not one penny, has been spent directly on the birds; and yet
there is no doubt that the birds are more to most people than the
flowers; that a gorgeous bed of tulips that has cost a lot of money
is regarded by a majority of visitors with a very tepid feeling of
admiration compared with that which they experience at the sight or
sound, whether musical or not, of any wild bird.