THE SPANGLED DRONGO – A lesson in truth
Myth, white lies, folk tales, cultural blindness and downright deception, one thing that seems certain in uncertain times is that the truth lies somewhere below the surface. The Spangled Drongo is a case in point.
The Australian ornithologist and author Tim Low expresses wonderfully In Where Song Began how there has been a historical and cultural tendency to be ethnocentric indeed anglocentric about birds. Tim points out eloquently that the true epicentre of avian life and song is really the eastern bit of what was Gondwana, i.e.: Northern Australia, New Guinea, Indonesia. Similarly bird migration, lest we forget, is a global phenomenon which gives a visible, audible signature to the world that nature is working, even if at the moment we are caught up in some kind of cosmic navel gaze. One world in lockdown, one world in migration, a common global bond in an elemental cycle of life. So while here in blighty we lust over Iberian and sub-Saharan warblers and aerobatic Hirundines our Northern Australian friends are turning down their humidity and basking in a more comfortable vernal climate where Rufous Fantails and Spangled Drongos have moved into the suburbs regaling them with their exotic looks and sounds.
The Spangled Drongo, its common nomenclature displaying an awkward tension between beauty and stupidity has been much maligned through modern folklore. When the migration circus comes to town the Drongo features as a floor clown, all ill-fitting shiny pantaloons and big floppy boots, certainly endearing but ultimately sad. A figure of fun, an idiot, court jester, the magician who always gets it wrong, and often unfortunately linked with a further denigrating descriptor – filthy.
End of story. Well no, enter stage right a racehorse.
There was, truthfully, in the 1930s a racehorse named Drongo. Legend has it that this horse was, well, rubbish, and thus it has continued as an antipodean idiom to express foolishness, someone who doesnt know how to do / get things right, a dad dancer, just plain goofy. If the horse was on stage it would be in a pantomime. It didnt help that they named a race the Drongo Handicap in the 1970s for horses who had never won; well by the end they couldnt all have been Drongos…….. However, Drongo the racehorse was actually not the blindfolded flea-bitten rag n bone dray we are led to believe, despite popular legend Drongo actually came in a plucky 2nd on more than one occasion and inbig` races too. Originally the term Drongo, for racegoers, denoted an unlucky horse but unfortunately it soon morphed degeneratively into colloquial parlance for a no hoper.
Stage left enter the Spangled Drongo. Post rationalisation has reinforced its comic haplessness….it has a tail that looks like a fish whilst amongst its vocal repertoire is the sound of a piano being tuned by a ten thumbed tone deaf oaf whilst the comedy is supplied by its high wire antics diving acrobatically for insects or human thrown pieces of meat which are caught mid-air.
But before the lights come up and the curtain comes down, like all good stories there is a final twist. Which came first the bird or the racehorse? There is no doubt that the bird was named first and the racehorse was chronologically named subsequently. So why was the horse named after it? Could it be that being fast, full of character, and displaying super quick reactions are attributes that would be useful for a successful racehorse?
The reality is that the Spangled Drongo is a winner. A true performer mischievous, endearing, skilful and very very smart. A mimic, comic and acrobat, with an electric personality, more a Harlequin than an Auguste. Its scientific name Dicrurus bracteatus suggesting forked tail and gilt, shining like gold. Indeed the superb iridescence of its glossy black coat with twinkly blue green spots is reminiscent of the European Starling. Sturnus vulgaris. I have a vision of these two rapscallions on a night out strolling downtown with a Dickensian street urchin super urban chic swagger in their charity shop hand me downs. None of this warbling in thickets the Spangled Drongo is a red-eyed centre stage street artist swapping life between mangroves and suburban Brisbane depending on the season. So cool that its nest is reminiscent of a hammock.
So there we have it, in a world of mendacity the Spangled Drongo is a lesson in truth. Now more than ever we need to fingernail the scratchcard of deception to find out what truly lies beneath.
Any star spangled pedlars of fake news please take note.
Dave Clark April 2020 in lockdown
Daves thoughts 