The last year has been interesting, to say the least, after the diagnosis of Stage 4 prostrate cancer in February 2024.
I`m lucky, very lucky. I have been treated and supported at two of the best cancer hospitals in the country and have the anchor of an ultra strong and loving family and true friends who have never judged or mollycoddled.
I have chosen to raise money for Guy`s Hospital Cancer Charity, where I am being treated with nothing but full on compassion and professionalism by true heroes who work hour by hour, day by day treating cancer patients. A special mention goes out to my daily chief radiologist who gave up a lucrative engineering career to study radiology at university when his wife contracted cancer. This is for him and all those wonderful people who have put my health in a better place both physically and mentally.
Now to the physical task bit.
I am due to complete a 22 mile bike ride in Foulness on Sunday 14th September; https://foulnessbikeride.org.uk A couple of years ago I would have viewed this as nothing more than a walk in the park, however now it seems a pretty daunting task! An unfortunate by product of my ongoing treatment is a deterioration in physical fitness.
It is appropriate that I am putting my faith into my trusty steel framed steed shown in the photo, built by hand by fabled South East London bike builder Ron Cooper, it has carried me up and down the cobbles in the Belgian Ardennes as well as completed the 100 mile Ride London.
Give as much as you feel appropriate, words cannot express totally my appreciation of the NHS, King`s College Hospital and Guy`s Cancer Centre in particular, for how much they have given me in terms of physical and mental support, it`s time to pay them back!
Voltaire hypothesised that the secret of a bore is to tell everything. So I will. Preparing to write an article on Silvia Borin or the Garden Warbler I suddenly experienced the fingertip yips, a nervous spasmodic indecisive hovering over the keyboard. Despite my religious practising of Mavis Beacon`s rigorous touch key exercises I kept coming up with Boron a town in California instead of Borin. You have been warned, from here on in the ennuie becomes tangibly unrelenting. Let me explain to non-touch typists. On the qwerty keyboard all vowels appear on the top line of letters except the `a`, indeed `i` and `o` are together on the right; to touch type an `i` you use the second finger on the right hand and to touch type an`o` you use the third finger of the same hand so, you see, its easy to have a blip, slip and a skip from borin to boron. And Voltaire was right………….
In Kern County between Death Valley and Los Angeles lies Boron a place where even the tumbleweed is asleep. The home of borax or Sodium Borate, a salt of Boric acid, a white powder used amongst other things as a multi-purpose household cleaner; it is frankly an unremittingly underwhelming substance, a bit boring really. Although it does have many other names, they are basically a bunch of tedious pseudonyms; Borax, Borate, Boraxo, Borateem and it even has a visitor centre come museum, but I beg you not to go. The `must see` in Boron is an oxymoron, never has a white powder caused so much monotony. The custodian, invaded by some kind of boronic spirit, robotically spouts an interminable script of ectoplasmic boredom….just don`t go.
Boron does however provide a useful preface to a description of the Garden Warbler, as superficially, both Boron and Borin are linked with a series of boring traits. The following portrayals by eminent ornithologists display a common theme of pretty damning epithets: `It has rather negative features`, ` unexceptional in appearance`, characterized by a complete lack of any prominent features`, `nondescript plain brown plumage` `no striking field marks`. A bird ringing friend of mine distilled its essence into one line: `It`s just like it`s name… frankly boring`.
Wow, that`s a bit strong, there must be another side to this Warbler`s story, but before we balance the scales. things are about to get worse. Attempting to alleviate the wearisome I looked at the common or English name. Subsumed within a list of over three hundred worldwide species of warbler, Garden hardly competes with, Tanimbar Bush, Worm-eating, Mountain Yellow, Menetries`s, Grauer`s Swamp, or Flame Throated Warblers, not only that it doesn’t even hang about in gardens; unless you`ve got a couple of acres of scrub and woodland. The German and French names don`t help either displaying a tautological blandness, Gartengrasmucke, Fauvette des jardins, translating to, you guessed, Garden Warbler. How about the latin, scientific name? Silvia rather tediously means err….Warbler and Borin suggests it mooches about with cattle and yes you`ve guessed again….it doesn`t.
Until the end of the 18th century, well after our other common Warblers had established their identities, the Garden Warbler remained anonymous. Secretive, furtive and nondescript the Garden Warbler was overlooked and misinterpreted as another species often referred to as Pettychaps a warbling conglomerate including Chiffchaff, Willow and Orphean Warbler. To this day it is still misidentified, even by experienced birders.
Detection of any bird is often through our ears rather than our eyes, particularly in the case of such a recluse as the Garden Warbler and although this birds aural signature is of potential character redemption, the caveat is that it is always viewed in the context of another Silvia warbler the Blackcap. Described as mellifluous, melodic, beautifully fluting and full bodied the Blackcaps song is rather lovely and has led to its nickname the mock Nightingale whereas for the Garden Warbler, whose song has similar characteristics, it is dismissively referred to as sounding like………..er well a Blackcap. This character assassination and domination bythe Blackcapcontinues when comparing their life stories.Known as sympatric species they find themselves in the same places at the same time; their breeding seasons overlap, clutch sizes are similar and their eggs are indistinguishable. Both species prefer dense shrubbery in deciduous woodland for their breeding territories where there`s plenty of Blackthorn and Hawthorn and a profusion of caterpillars for their young. In both species the cock birds build scruffy nests as a way of attracting their partners before the female establishes a more usable nest. They mimic each others song to rid themselves of each others territories but the Blackcap is perceived as a better mimic, obviously (!) and research confirms the Blackcap to be the presiding species, Blackcap territories when removed from an area permits the Garden Warblers to venture in. Whilst the Blackcap displays sexual dimorphism with the female exhibiting a brown cap, the Garden Warbler is monomorphic with no distinction between the male and female. We might have guessed. More importantly, at least in the UK, the Blackcap is much more successful and more likely to be encountered with a population of 1.7 million vs 145,000 Garden Warblers and a 350% increase since 1967 vs a 20%+ decrease in population in Garden Warblers over the same period. Being more strident, visually attractive and more abundant the Blackcap is easier to encounter and spot. Indeed for the birder, at least in the U.K., finding the more introverted Garden Warbler does create a greater degree of frisson with a concomitant degree of disappointment when the lilting song just heard belongs to a Blackcap.
However the sheer size of the world population of over 150 million individuals suggests that the Garden Warbler`s unadulterated blatant ordinariness is a quiddity that is key to its successful abundance. Studying the Garden Warbler`s distribution and migration habits uncovers a truly amazing species. With a more southerly distribution than the Blackcap many individuals travel much farther to and from their breeding grounds, potentially increasing their body mass by 80% to take on the rigours of the flight over the Sahara. With a comparable weight of an AA battery, this small bird displays an astounding amount of endurance far beyond the capabilities of any Duracel and indeed Blackcap. Known as beccafico, the fig eater, it gorges on its favourite food during autumn migration so much so that it also has to endure being hunted for the benefit of decadent gastronomes whilst bird ringers will talk of the purple discoloration produced by their faeces staining their ringing bags.
Furthermore the Garden Warbler`s distribution and abundance is aiding ornithologists to gather valuable information to changes within migration patterns during this period of climate change and changeable weather conditions. With a stronger genetic component to their migration timing the Garden Warbler is helping us to understand what is likely to happen to species with less evolutionary elasticity and to implement conservation strategies to aid their survival.
What a wonder, ubiquity does not always translate to bland. Voltaire noted all animals `are grand and perpetual miracles` and all birds have their own astonishing attributes and the Garden Warbler may superficially disappoint yet dig a little deeper and its an avian joy. Oh and thank you Boron for providing an appropriate counterpoint to such a marvellous bird. The fingertip blips were fortuitous, Boron maybe boring but Borin is not.
On our London Bird Club day at Rainham Marshes (9th Sept. 2023) a hardy bunch of 22 birders braved the 30+ degree heat to accumulate a respectable total of 56 species:
The mirror like quality of the Thames, alongside the reserve, reflected the day`s soporific essence. Gulls floated dreamily backwards on the tide as if cranked by an unseen hand on an infinite aqua revolving carpet. Lesser Black backed, Herring and Black headed joined together in this comic cruise interspersed with the oil slick dancing of diving Great Cormorants.
Any temptation to somnolence was offset by the heartening flocks of House Sparrows chitter chattering amongst the Hawthorns, their precocious vitality kickstarting our journey past the Purfleet scrape. Here a quick scan provided views of Grey Heron, Little Egret and two exotically coiffured Cattle Egret. On closer inspection, a furtive Greenshank provided more excitement amongst the Mallards and Shovelers which were displaying the pigmented emergence of post moult recovery; a sign of seasonal transition and continuation of avian cycles, despite the temperature.
The marshes displayed palimpsests of previous owners and usage, echoes of World wars reverberate alongside Elizabethan groynes and footpaths whilst remnants of the latter-day Ministry of Defence firing range are obviously visible. Names and features on the reserve absorb and reinforce this rich history as we walked clockwise towards the distant shimmering Shooting Butts hide. Rainham provided a literary backdrop to our entourage with Water Vole, Marsh Frog and Grass Snake all encountered and with our sunhats and shorts and creams and optics and not a little perspiration, it felt like Beau Geste had met Kenneth Grahame….although there was no wind in the willows.
Hawking hirundines energised the drowsy narcotic atmosphere with Swallows and a solitary House Martin gymnastically charming within the lazy haze of invertebrate soup whilst Darters and Hawkers supplied late summer sustenance for several swooping Hobbys building up for their migration to West and Southern Africa. Wagtails, both Yellow and Pied, danced a delicate chorus line in a midsummer day`s dream amidst the snouts and hooves of bovine browsers; cattle grazing being an intrinsic annual component of the habitat management on the reserve. Omnipresent Marsh Harriers eventually dignified us with their presence, the languid rise and fall of their primaries paralleled the day`s tranquillity yet disguised their predatory intent.
Continuing past Dragonfly Pool we were rewarded by the appearance of two Bearded Tits. At this corner on the reserve the reeds are cut back and a grit box of crushed oyster shells furnished for these gourmands (and birding photographers!) as they transition from an insect to a grain diet post breeding season; in the past few months piping colonies of these birds have been increasingly noticeable as they co-operatively feed the late broods. Onwards towards the hide we encountered Buzzards thermaling over the proximate landfill site, airborne tranquilisers, masterful in their command of invisible eddies, soaring effortlessly in the midday torridity.
We were welcomed to an avian party at the Butts hide by a flyover Great White Egret, the maitre de all neck, feather boa and bright ivory sophistication. Two elegant Ruffs canapéd at the edge of the scrape, their neatly scalloped bibs at odds with the binging Teals gorging themselves amongst the sludge. With sleight of wing five Snipe flew in before magically flirting in the shadowy reedy recesses performing their usual camouflaged birding conundrum.
The RSPB have been busy this year at the reserve as, apart from completing the usual conservation and maintenance protocols, during the winter of 2022/23 they installed a new electrified perimeter fence with the intention of increasing the breeding productivity of ground nesting waders by forestalling the predatory instincts of foxes and a rogue mink. Additionally they have reinstated the circular walk after over a year`s absence. The boardwalk in places had been deemed too dangerous for the public and a pre-existing service track has been utilised to complete the circuit. However we decided to forego this new route and backtracked towards the Thames path for a welcome respite from the heat and to lunch.
After refreshments a short walk along the Purfleet riverfront to where the Thames bends to reveal, at low tide, a significant area of mudflats. Sixty plus Black-tailed Godwits were found probing in the nematudinous glute replenishing much needed proteins after long journeys and energy sapping post breeding moults. Alongside, Dunlins and Shelducks feverishly drilled and skimmed, mudlarking for nutritious treasure.
The heat bouncing off the concrete flood defenses, the day was nearly over and we walked back by blackberry bushes shaking with rapscallion scrumping Starlings murmurating within the bramble.
We were left with the thoughts formed from a juncture of the seasons, a straddling of annual epochs, slowly moving merging spells. Although some Chiffchaff, Sedge and Willow remained the Whitethroat and Reed had gone, no longer to warble until next year. A day to enjoy and reflect, a day of joy and bittersweetness, a day to repeat again.
Sydenham Hill Wood is a ten hectare site running North to South based around a railway line once serving the Crystal Palace, flanked on the eastern side by sloping Victorian gardens. Saved from a building development by an uprising of local dissidence, this brownfield site remains in Southwark Councils hands and managed as a Local Nature Reserve by London Wildlife Trust. Predominantly made up of deciduous mature woodland Sydenham Hill Wood displays palimpsests of distant and near pasts. Carpets of wood anemone, red dead nettle and bluebells mix together with bamboo, cedar of lebanon and a folly, remnants of ancient woodland amongst a hotchpotch of railwayana and Victorian suburban gardens.
For our walk the weather remained benign, the woods sheltering us from any wind and the noise pollution from the adjacent south circular road, as we gathered opposite St. Peter`s (now Deeper Life) Church hoping for views of Kestrels which have bred successfully on the tower for at least twenty years. Although they were noted by their absence we were soon surrounded by the bourgeoning presence of spring. Hazel catkins glistering in the mid-morning light, a gentle swinging shimmering canopy amongst the budding beech and, blackthorn. As we peered through this natural tasselled backdrop we were enthralled by act one of the avian music hall, the Jackdaw show.
Records demonstrate that this species was a rare flyover in the area until around 8 years ago when on the back of the successful, seemingly exponential, rise of parakeets they infiltrated once woodpecker holes enlarged by the Psittaculae. Locally at least, this appears to have stemmed the parakeets rampant increase and the group delighted in a low-rise corvid conurbation found opposite the church, one nest being only 10 feet high and the other no more than 18 inches above. You have to love a Jackdaw with that cheeky blue eye and grey shroud, like a naughty verger sneaking a glance at the collection plate. We had wonderful views of a continual procession of the two pairs nest building, whilst the parakeets jealously looked on admiring their industry and impudence.
Amongst this crow spectacular two Nuthatches joined the performance on a neighbouring branch, their agitated behaviour soon turning into a full blown romance. In an act of mass voyeurism all eyes and lenses were arrested by nature`s explicitiness; Nuthatches mating is a rare scene indeed.
Further on we approached the railway tunnel where a sonorous Song Thrush entranced us with its whoops, jingles and whistles, the vocalisations cutting through the determined full voiced trilling of wrens and neurotic robins. It was heartening to see male Blackbirds establishing and reinforcing territories as the Wood had experienced a monumental population crash of our popular songsters, with no breeding pairs confirmed last season due to the continuing effects of the Usutu virus.
Over the railway bridge the woods change character with an influx of cultivated plants and more widespread growth of conifers. An early morning recce had excitingly produced the song of a Firecrest in a large Yew atop the railway cutting. So it was with hope and trepidation that we stopped at the same tree some two hours later and were rewarded with views of a male, if a little fleetingly, along with Goldcrests busily feeding. Like a tailor`s fingers all gentle movement and unsettled energy, tiny and ephemeral, fleetingly flitting across the tree`s edges.
In the same area a Coal Tit sang, often seen in mixed flocks with the crests in this part of the wood its insistent chiming was a fitting end to a Sunday morning that had been filled with springs exuberance.
A happy group of fifteen, we sauntered back with a morning`s memories and for me at least tea and cake seemed appropriately on my mind.
The PODA bird reserve in Bulgaria is very very special.
Special as in an area the size of the UK there are limited opportunities to experience nature undisturbed with only two bird reserves in the country.
Special as it provides fantastic nature engagement opportunities for the local community with many schools and children relying on it to access the wonderful nature it provides.
Special for international birders to experience the passage of migration on the famous Via Pontica route where Pelicans, Eagles and Storks can readily be seen.
Located on the most westerly edge of the Black Sea, 5 kilometres south of Bulgaria`s main port, Burgas, the PODA reserve is almost totally surrounded by water, proximate to the Vaya, Mandra, Burgas and Atanasovsko lakes. The reserve has an area of just over 300 hectares, formed of mainly, marshland, brackish pools and scrub.
The site was declared a protected area in 1989 and achieved Ramsar conservation status in 2002. It is administered by the Bulgarian Society for the Protection of Birds (BSPB) with funding raised by the small entrance fee, shop sales and donations. BSPB, part of Birdlife International, has a second site in the Rhodopes mountains where there has been a successful conservation programme for Gryphon Vultures.
In the UK we would designate PODA a brownfield site with remnants of it`s oil industry heritage still existing with pipes and pylons dotted around the site. The first time I volunteered one of the pylons was home to over 80 Cormorant nests the next time I went this pylon had fallen, Cormorant excrement had eaten through an already pretty rotten structure; thankfully post breeding season.
PODA and the lakes are ideally situated on the Eastern migration flyway or Via Pontica where birds move from East and Central Africa through the Middle East and Turkey, on their way to breed. Funnelling in around Southern Bulgaria and then on to Romania the Via Pontica opens out to stretch from East Germany right across to the Crimea. The Black Sea, lakes and marshes at PODA provide ideal food and habitat for migrating water birds and passerines. On spring and autumn migration the reserve is a great place to experience huge numbers of Storks, both white and black, Pelicans, White and Dalmatian along with regularly sightings of Lesser Spotted, Short-toed and Booted Eagles, Honey Buzzard, Red-footed Falcon, Levant Sparrowhawk and various other raptors with the potential for seeing Greater Spotted and Imperial Eagle, Goshawk, Long-legged Buzzard and Saker Falcon. The species list seen is verging on 300 with the reserve home to breeding Common Tern, Marsh Harrier, Great and Pygmy Cormorant, Black-winged Stilt, Spoonbill, Purple, Grey, Squacco and Night Herons various warblers including Great Reed, Nightingale, and Penduline Tit. A local breeding White-tailed Eagle regularly visits with Osprey often seen in the bay hunting on migration. In late season, alongside the usual European wintering ducks the whole area is important for Red Breasted Goose, White-headed and Ferruginous Duck.
Herpetologists regularly visit PODA with the Dice snake, European Pond Turtle and Balkan Green Lizard regularly seen whilst there maybe a chance to experience Eastern Spadefoot Toad, European Legless Lizard and Four-lined Snake.
The site is also important habitat for the Otter.
PODA along with the BSPB regularly undertake ornithological research, bird monitoring and education programmes and is close to ringing sites and a Trektellen viewing platform. However its most important day to day function is to provide an opportunity to engage with wildlife. Whilst volunteering it was most notable that many visitors were new to birdwatching and 30% of the visitors, excluding school groups were children. In the last month that I volunteered in spring 2022 the centre received over 500 visitors + 16 school groups, the majority being Bulgarian with around a third made up of seasoned birders visiting from various parts of the world.
PODA like other bird reserves has experienced its own conservation issues. Numbers of Common Terns seem to be decreasing as micro-plastics devastate the small fish populations. The Ukraine-Russia war has seen dead Dolphins appear on the Black Sea shores of Romania, Bulgaria and Turkey including at the reserve where their sonar navigation has been interfered with by constant bombing. Covid brought its own set of problems where a small picnic site 200 metres from the reserve was overrun by people desperate for a bit of greenspace, the ensuing litter problem attracted Jackals which then entered the then closed reserve to devastate ground nesting species.
Recently PODA has been through some important conservation improvements to enhance existing habitat and restore pools on the previously inaccessible northern part of the reserve. These improvements have obviously come at a cost and for a reserve that depends on footfall and donations it has meant that funds at the moment are seriously low.
The old telescopes are no longer serviceable and a new set of optics is needed for the centre to fulfil its engagement function.
I have volunteered at this reserve several times helping with visitor engagement and have seen at first-hand how important it is for young people and children as an access to nature. I have experienced the joy and delight that this access has given and despite the language differences the birds and wildlife do the talking.
If you can get the chance please visit this special birding place and if you can, please help by donating here for some new telescopes to enable PODA to maintain it`s special nature status.
Grand and hard hitting. That`s what I said to myself, an opportunity to talk about a special place, Swanscombe Marshes… Start off grand and hard hitting. A green statement, that`s what you need along the lines of `Nature is the air we breathe, the water we drink so stop trashing it` or some such snappy mantra. It was here I mentally put the brakes on. Hold on, slow down Mr. Billy big green wellies, let`s get a reality check here Mr. Pomposity. That`s all very true but look at yourself first, your nothing more than a green voyeur.
I`ll explain. I`m a birder. I like watching birds. Wherever they are, I`m rarely without my `bins`, a birder’s vernacular for binoculars. I also like to think that I have green credentials, an environmentalist in tune with nature, particularly birds, and I do believe that nature is all pervasive and persuasive. Yet really, most of the time, I`m distanced from nature, an outsider, looking at my environment remotely from the safety of a set of lenses, fragmented and refracted from the reality, all enjoyment without the involvement. Like I said, a green voyeur. Yet I do have my moments, every now and then there are moments, moments that stay in the memory, moments that make me believe in spirituality and that I may indeed have a soul, that I am involved with something greater, something that happens that transcends the five senses. Swanscombe Marshes provided me with one such memory where I truly can say I felt that I was on the inside, truly part of nature.
I was enjoying a day `birding` at Swanscombe with good friend and fellow birder Darryl Jones. Lunch beckoned, we found a suitable grassy bank, undid the tinfoil, chomped and nattered away. A Raven appeared, a bird of majestic proportions and unmistakable voice, a bird that through the centuries has inspired artists, poets, writers and indeed whole nations, a bird that is surrounded by myth and superstition, evoking both joy and fear, written deeply into worldwide cultures. More prosaically, through centuries of persecution, it’s a bird that is still rarely seen in Eastern England. Out came the little black book to satisfy the anally retentive part of my character, and another species duly chalked up on the days list. We both watched as the Raven performed an almost perfect circular route from its pylon perch, a circle not more than 50 feet above our heads stretching for what seemed a mile each way. Mesmerised by its magnificence we watched it land and Darryl turned to me and said “Hold on, it will do it again”. And lo and behold it did. Darryl is also a professor, a behavioural ecologist, interested in how humans and animals interact with each other and is something of a corvidmeister, a crow expert. And then he said ominously …….”it`s checking us out!”.
We walked away and observed the raven flying to where we had been sitting. This bird, was not doing something as base as eating our throwaways (there weren`t any) or indeed anything utilitarian …..it was clearly sussing us out. This is a bird with serious mental capacity, a bird that watches, assesses and learns, an avian supercomputer with the cognitive ability on a par with the higher primates. We had been visitors to its world, a realm that Jakob von Uexkull (1864-1944), a German biologist described as umwelt and importantly philosophised as something unique to each living species. Umwelt literally translates as `surrounding world` and Uexkull understood that all life has its own specific sensory universe, and we had been in the Raven’s. I have to say grown man and tears comes to mind; this was no voyeurism, this was a true love in.
There`s a pragmatic reason why Ravens can be seen at Swanscombe. Ravens like a view from heights and this post-industrial brownfield site has plenty of them. It also likes space, prefers not to be disturbed, well not too much, just one of the features that Swanscombe as a natural resource provides us all with at the moment. There are a host of other rare bird, insect and plant species on site all of which have umwelt and the ability to enthral and touch our souls. Marsh Harriers, Skylarks, Bearded Tits, Jumping Spiders, Marsh frogs……….. Oh and by the way, there is no charge, all of this potential enchantment is free. However, as we know there has been talk of the marshes being developed and, for the sake of partiality, let`s hazard a guess at what the future could have in store.
As with most new non-residential developments the sweeteners fall into two categories, employment and mitigation. There will be promises of loads and loads of jobs. Unfortunately the numbers will be grossly inflated by including construction workers jobs, rather than sticking to the amount of sustainable jobs. Then there will be all those fantastic site jobs, those part-time, zero-hour contract, temporary, seasonal, minimum wage type jobs, no hope type jobs. The crafty fags at the fire exit type jobs, vaping our lives away type jobs, The twenty minute induction type jobs all formica tables and polystyrene cups, all nobo boards and mission statements, key performance indicators and management Information systems type jobs all acronyms and spreadsheets. Conceived to compartmentalize, systemize and dehumanize, clamp down on initiative and enthralment. Here, empty your soul into this lip service tick box.
Wow I`ve gone all numb, that was no sweetener but some tranquilizer.
If you think that one sent me weird, let`s try the mitigation pill. I have to say my heart sinks when I hear that word. Deeply flawed conceptually, how can you mitigate for land grab? Once grabbed, it`s gone. it’s a Dodo its dead, extinct a Norwegian Blue nailed to a perch (I apologise for the attempt at dark humour but it does bring out the hysteria). Then they`ll talk about managing the little bit they have so kindly left, how they`ll stick up education boards and make the paths all nice ‘n gravelly. The cosmetization of nature. Glossy interpretation boards, brightly shining acrylic where nature is distilled down into soulless two-dimensional images attempting to echo life affirming three dimensions. They actually do supplant natures reality, lifeless distractions leaving superficial memorial impressions which are lost by the time we get home, and of course there`s always a possibility they become extinction boards a simulacre of what once was. You don`t get memories from shiny boards.
Not hard then to see which side of the fence I`m on….the one that says freedom for our bodies and minds to roam as no amount of barbiturates can take the edge off stealing nature.
The Raven is symbolic of the freedom, space and nature that is inherent at Swanscombe Marshes. Symbolic of how nature can enthral and excite and allow our spirits to soar, yet each time we let these precious sites slip through our fingers another candle of hope is extinguished and our souls diminished. No amount of mitigation can make up for destruction of nature, as Edgar Allan Po`s Raven croaked it`s `nevermore`.
The silver Honda had seen better days. Battered and forlorn, trundling its way along the park`s entry road, the dents and rust allowing not a second glance, but for the hundred plus gawking, squawking pursuing crows. A Hitchcockian retinue full of sparkling energy; a cascading ball of anticipation, aggression and anger. The car parks up, the doors squeak open and disgorge an equally arthritic aging couple and variously logoed supermarket bags. The cascade proceeds into hyperdrive, a mass of inky black wings and bodies vying for first dibs. I`m absolutely mesmerised by this sensory compellment. At once physically drawn into the high volume visuals whilst mentally pondering the relationship strands tying together this wild engagement.
These highly intelligent birds had learnt that the colour and sound of this car equated to an uber open air delivery of food. Their enthralment had become so habituated that any newcomers to the party learnt their cues from more experienced members, their motivation and reward being a straightforward feeding frenzy, pumped up on an adrenalin based corvidian intoxicant. The motivations for the couple, however, were more opaque; a hotchpotch of anthropocentric and aviancentric ingredients; altruism, control, companionship, nurture, and that multi-layered component, pleasure, seasoned with a soupçon of spirituality. Such complexity within such a simple act. Furthermore this public practice of bird feeding was so very private, a play performed for the couple in which the birds are willing participants, yet ignorant to their star status, whilst the couple occupied their own covert bubble. In this rather extreme example of wild bird feeding, the performance is accidental to the participants, it is only when the observer is observed that this public feeding becomes a show.
For Henri Pol, Le Charmeur d`Oiseaux, the beginnings of his outdoor relationship with birds was a similarly insular practice, a very private activity within a public space, albeit on a more humble scale. The simple act of sitting on a park bench dispensing crumbs of bread broke up the walk to work and provided a welcome distraction from the days travails….a chance of being proximate to nature and a brief respite from the mundane and onerous workings of everyday life. Little did he know that this was the beginnings of a nigh on forty year relationship that developed into performance art.
Henri was a senior clerk at the central bureau de télégraphe in Paris and as a young man in the 1880`s his walk to work from his home on the right bank of the Seine, took him through the Tuileries Garden at around 8 in the morning where his custom was to sit and read his newspaper, relaxing before another kilometre took him fifteen minutes, over the river on the Pont de Solferino to work at the postal telegraph complex at 103 Rue de Grenelle in the 7th arrondisement. The telegraph building still stands, recent renovations have retained the wonderfully imposing 19th century industrial façade whilst the Tuileries are now reached by the footbridge Passerelle Léopold-Sédar-Senghor which replaced, in the 1960`s, the boat damaged Solferino.
Similar scenes would have been experienced in Victorian London, with increased leisure time and the parallel growth in the number of urban parks through the 1870`s, an acceleration in wild bird feeding was experienced, particularly during the very cold winters of the 1890`s. Where once the squalling urban gulls and pigeons would have faced the barrel of a gun they now were receiving titbits from workers sharing their lunch. It became such a common pastime in London that there would be rows of people providing pre-prepared food from the central London bridges.
However the prime recipient of this largesse was the House Sparrow, a bird that has been historically associated with human settlement since the bronze age. Its scientific name, Passer Domesticus, was first coined by Conrad Gessner, a Swiss naturalist, in 1555, demonstrating the link that this species has to humans and its sedentary lifestyle, rarely moving outside a radius of a hundred metres during its entire life cycle. Predominantly granivorous, food was everywhere in rural France and England, barns, kitchens and fields all providing the necessary seeds and nutrition for survival. Their ubiquity, opportunism and perceived boldness often landed them in trouble yet equally gave rise to charming nicknames such as spadger, spuggy and chummy.
Henri Pol winter scene in Jardin des Tuileries
This ubiquity prevailed as urbanisation advanced. Horse drawn transport dominated in both London and Paris until 1912 providing plenty of feeding opportunities for these granivores, from horses feed and faeces, whilst the numerous inner city parks and gardens supported the necessary insect life for the chicks during breeding season. It is this continuum of pervasiveness that allowed the Sparrow to have an exalted emotional status, and although potentially a nuisance it provided an important link, across both cultures, to the rural past, a nostalgic reminder of a simpler, less hectic time, creating a bucolic romantic vision, triggering deep-seated memories of an era when our relationship with nature was much closer.
The cheeky cockerney sparrer became an endearing colloquial urban London name for this captivating, bright, sparky, likeable chap an anthro-avian nick which continues to this day. Similarly in Paris the charming soubriquet, Le Pierrot, is a nod to a famous 17th century Italian pantomime troupe, Comedie-Italienne. In both cultures these names intimated performance and showmanship, music hall in London and the stage in Paris where the touring Pierrots were famed and feted. This anthropomorphic behaviour and naming projected our desires and aspirations, Sparrows were perceived as little people, they had two legs, an upright stance with bright staring eyes; small bundles of sparkly mannerisms and nervous energy with the added bonus of being able to provide aeriel acrobatic tricks.
In Paris Henri soon realised that by displaying patience and gentleness he could coax the birds closer, to the point that he would regularly have them eating from his hand and alighting on his arms, hands and head. It was at this juncture that Henri traversed the divide from private to public…..he was now perceived as a one man circus, an open air ringmaster, labelled `Le charmeur`, not only a performer but a magician encompassing elements of mysticism, exoticism, a la snake charmer, and magic, a thaumartage working with nature to create wonder and awe amongst the growing crowds.
Henri was certainly not the first `charmeur`, in 1868 Charles Yriate wrote Les celebrités de larue where he spoke of over ten charmeurs performing around the Tuileries area. He noted that most were `retired gentlemen` yet Mademoiselle Henriette (in his words) `surpassed all her predecessors with her special influence on the Wood Pigeons.` At this time the Tuileries Garden had the formidable backdrop of the ill fated Tuileries Palace which stood until 1871 when destroyed during the uprising of the Paris Commune. The gardens however still act as a tourist attraction in their own right and provide a pedestrian connection to La Louvre.
A `charmeur` from the Celebrities de la Rue
Henri, twenty years later, however, became the stand out `charmeur` benefiting from his persistence and the rapid social changes of the late Victorian / Edwardian period. He developed more sophisticated catering, preparing small dough balls by soaking bread in the gardens pools, supplying millet seed and even, it was noted, gooseberries. Henri would name the Pierrots and female Pierrettes often after famous people or topical events; Le Petit Boer, Rougel de l`Isle (A French soldier and writer of the La Marseillaise, Garibaldi, Nicolas (after the Russian Tsar) or used colloquial phrases; La Belle Etoile (beautiful star), Quat’sous (five centimes, equivalent to our thruppenny bit), Poil aux pattes (Hair on the legs), Tape-à-l’oeil (Flashy) and Coeur de fer (heart of fire) to name but a few. With the increase in European tourism his fame transcended mere local renown, stories of his avian delights were recorded in Parisien papers and magazines, French provincial papers as well as articles in the broadsheets of England, Ireland and Germany.
Henri Pol circa 1910 Le Petit Journal 22 Jan 1911
Aiding the spread of his reputation was the rapid growth in the use of postcards. They became the hip communication channel of the period with cheaper translation of photos to print, allied to increased social mobility and leisure time fuelling their success. They were a comparatively rapid form of pictoral communication, the Instagram of their day; with up to six postal collection and deliveries a day a card could reach London from Paris within twenty four hours. Henri developed his own cottage industry, of producing cards with various images of feeding birds in the Tuileries, often with a backdrop of an audience. In 1897 the Lumiere Brothers feature Henri in one of their classic social history movie shorts whilst Henri is mentioned in the famed semi-autobiographical novel of Rainer Maria Rilkes `TheNotebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge` published in 1910, Rilkes expressionistic style lending itself to influence Sartre`s existential writings. Henri received an award from the French institute for aviculture for his services to birds before passing away in his 80`s, on June 17th 1918 at a retirement home in Chardon-Lagache in central Paris.
`L`Extreme Confiance` – Henri Pol – postcard circa 1912
During Henri`s time animals were increasingly being used within the circus and street theatre and birds did not escape this captive exploitation. Victorian London had many such acts including one wag who dressed small birds as soldiers, the show culminating in one bird lighting a toy cannon whilst the rest of the troupe pretended to play dead, completely unedifying and verging on the grotesque. Latterly in the 2000`s Don Crown, the Budgieregar man, was a regular feature amongst the South Bank buskers plying their trade between Waterloo and Westminster bridges in London, whilst the most famous Budgieregar exponent was Norman Barrett who was actually awarded an MBE for his ringmaster and budgieregar skills in 2010……….only twelve years ago. It was not until January 2020 in England that the use of wild animals in circuses was banned under the Wild Animals in Circuses Act 2019. And before I get off my high prancing horse we must remember that in watching circus animals we were all party to that exploitation, willing participants reinforcing the prejudice, against, and the spiritual distance, from, nature.
So for Henri receiving an award from the equivalent of our caged bird society is somewhat telling of our historical perception of birds and animals. Henri would have been viewed in some quarters as no different to the more overt examples of showmanship described, suggesting a fine line between altruism and exploitation.
Can we ever be truly altruistic? After all there`s always some gain even if the advantage is purely spiritual with the most benefactory philanthropists seeking a profit. Did Henri cross the rubicon into abuse? The definition of wild vs domesticated provides the answer. After the lights go down, the curtains are closed and the greasepaint wiped, performing animals were caged and utterly dependent on their captors for food and drink. For our urban birds they are wild and utterly dependent on their own instincts, for better or worse. No doggie beds, cages in warm parlours, or vets for them but completely reliant on their own capacity to survive, whether the night be cold, wet or both, the benefit is freedom, free to fly and able to act on their own volition. Indeed Henri was never fully in control of their perceived performances, the movements being natural and random. We now know that supplementary feeding has the potential to effect the natural processes and compromise the lifestages of birds but Henri was innocent to this modern day science any negative outcomes were more than made up for him providing a channel to access to the wonder and mysticism of nature to thousands of Parisians and tourists.
Our current epoch has been described as the 6th extinction a time when our domination and destruction of natural processes and life leads ultimately to human downfall. E. O. Wilson the eminent US biologist recognised our continued distancing from nature and had his own description for this current period, the Eremocine – the age of loneliness, where we have lost our primal instinct (driver) to link with nature. Our Honda couple, and our charmeurs may indeed be lonely, eccentric or perceived as just plain mad but they have recognised the need to bridge this divide. To be close to nature is special, to touch nature is very special; a recognition that we all should have to inscend nature and not to control, damage or extinguish. We all need to stare more into the fountain and flames of nature for this inscendence to be fixed.
In Henri`s self penned pamphlet describing his relationship with birds, he stated:
`They love me because they trust. To please is to be supported. The art of charming birds is to be happy with them. They are good little servants of agriculture, and without them the most beautiful landscape would be of great sadness`
He showed us that exhibitionism does not have to lead to exploitation indeed he provided a tool for us to retain a link with nature, an enabler, a catalyser using awe and wonder to inspire. He might have made a few centimes along the way but there was no swishing of tops n tails for Henri more squashy fedoras, trenchcoats and cardies, all fusty bonhomie and battered old Honda.
As I watched the couple and the crows in the local park I was that lucky lad in the postcard, all arms akimbo, flat cap and short trousers, all big round eyes, full of awe. Guess what I saw today.
Daves thoughts 