Notes & Queries response - What do birds do with their spare time?
This is my response to a question that appeared on the Notes & Queries page of The Guardian website on 4th December, 2022.
The Guardian is apparently no longer happy to host my comments on their site, so it is appearing here instead.
This blog is obviously not affiliated with The Guardian. Its reference to a question that appeared in Notes & Queries is presented here under the terms of fair use.
“They are usually quite easy to spot at this time of year. I'm not sure where they've all gone,” said Delacoe, apologetically.
“Returned to the Crimea, maybe,” ventured Wiggins. “Help with the war effort over there. I say, George, you must think us a crummy bunch of twitchers. You with all your gear, and the three of us sharing a pair of binoculars, and not a very good pair at that.”
“When I was eking-out a living as a writer in South Dakota, I used to supplement my income as a hunter, chasing animal bounties,” said Lambie. “I am well used to biding my time.”
The years that he had spent in the States had graced his cultured public school accent with an American directness. It proved a useful tool in arguments, enabling him to knock his opponent off their stride in mid-sentence. After he had gone back home, we each voiced the opinion that he had become rather over-assertive.
“It's not so much that he has a low tolerance for bullshit,” said Wiggins. “It's more that he assumes that whatever position you are attempting to formulate will be bullshit, and therefore he doesn't have to wait for you to finish before he responds.”
But all that happened later, and it isn't quite the parting of ways that I have made it out to be. We are simply men who have reached an age where we no longer have the energy or the patience to be overly polite, or too concerned about what other people thing of us. We express our opinions freely and often ineloquently. Our friendships, while sincere, are careless and commonly taken as read. We could perhaps all be a little kinder and more appreciative of each other.
Back in the gardens surrounding Gannon Hall, Peter Delacoe was pulling together the bones of a true tale of conflict and migration:
“They arrived in Great Britain with the soldiers who were returning from the Crimean War, so mid-1850s,” he said. “They were extremely abundant over there. There are accounts of gigantic flocks turning the sky above the battlefield red, as if the blood spilled by the fallen have taken to the air.
“Some of the men kept them as pets. They sing very sweetly when they are quarantined, as if they are begging for their freedom. Some just came back on the boats with the supplies. This place used to be a convalescence home for badly wounded soldiers, before it reverted to being a private residence. It's not surprising really that there is an established population around and about.”
“I read something about the church refusing to acknowledge their presence in the UK,” said Lambie.
Another change that we had all noticed in the man was that he no longer asked questions. Instead he made speculative statements.
“The problem is,” said Wiggins, “that, in the Biblical Apocrypha, the Crimean Finch, as we know it – they call it the Blood Finch – was the one thing on the Earth to be created by Lucifer, before the fall. To Christians of a certain bent the entire species in an anathema. To even acknowledge the bird's existence is regarded as blasphemy.”
“Must have presented you with a few ethical conundrums,” said Lambie, absently pointing his high-powered binoculars in the direction of an unpopulated cluster of dangling bird feeders.
“Well, it's more of an issue for anyone who leans towards the Old Testament,” said Wiggins. “Back in the mid-late1800s, when the influence of the church was more pervasive, whole communities would refuse to acknowledge the existence of the birds. There was a Reverend Hyde in Barnes, whose vicarage garden was positively infested with Crimean finches, that he doggedly insisted weren't present, even though their tweeting used to wake him up in the morning. The most egregious example of someone refusing to acknowledge the truth, when it manifests directly in front of them, was the newspaper editor, Cathal Winer, who refused to print a story concerning a flock of the finches that turned the sky red above Buckingham Palace for an entire afternoon, the day before the coronation of Edward VII.”
“Well, if any of the men in the Crimea had strong religious leanings that might conceivably prevent them from acknowledging great flocks of red-breasted birds, it certainly didn't stop them using from using the nest flints in their flintlock firearms,” said Delacoe.
“I'm sorry, I don't follow,” answered Lambie.
“Somehow the finches in the Crimea had developed a taste for snails,” said Delacoe. “And because they lacked the appropriate beaks to get through the shells, they had to improvise, which they did by graduating to tool use and making more efficient beaks from slithers of flint. They rub them up and down against boulders until they are razor sharp. It's a skill they brought with them to England. I have often seen a finch fly past with a flint in its beak. When they are not using them, they create little arsenals under loose pieces of bark. I've got some upstairs. I'll show them to you.”
We never saw a single Crimean finch that day, nor the next morning. Lambie speculated that a pocket of local Christians had willed them all out of existence. As a consolation, Delacoe parted with some of his nest flints, which I hear drew the attentions of US customs on Lambie's return to South Dakota. I do wonder if he will ever visit the UK again.
I hope this is of help.
The Guardian is apparently no longer happy to host my comments on their site, so it is appearing here instead.
This blog is obviously not affiliated with The Guardian. Its reference to a question that appeared in Notes & Queries is presented here under the terms of fair use.
~
What do birds do with their spare time?
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| image generated by Craiyon |
“Returned to the Crimea, maybe,” ventured Wiggins. “Help with the war effort over there. I say, George, you must think us a crummy bunch of twitchers. You with all your gear, and the three of us sharing a pair of binoculars, and not a very good pair at that.”
“When I was eking-out a living as a writer in South Dakota, I used to supplement my income as a hunter, chasing animal bounties,” said Lambie. “I am well used to biding my time.”
The years that he had spent in the States had graced his cultured public school accent with an American directness. It proved a useful tool in arguments, enabling him to knock his opponent off their stride in mid-sentence. After he had gone back home, we each voiced the opinion that he had become rather over-assertive.
“It's not so much that he has a low tolerance for bullshit,” said Wiggins. “It's more that he assumes that whatever position you are attempting to formulate will be bullshit, and therefore he doesn't have to wait for you to finish before he responds.”
But all that happened later, and it isn't quite the parting of ways that I have made it out to be. We are simply men who have reached an age where we no longer have the energy or the patience to be overly polite, or too concerned about what other people thing of us. We express our opinions freely and often ineloquently. Our friendships, while sincere, are careless and commonly taken as read. We could perhaps all be a little kinder and more appreciative of each other.
Back in the gardens surrounding Gannon Hall, Peter Delacoe was pulling together the bones of a true tale of conflict and migration:
“They arrived in Great Britain with the soldiers who were returning from the Crimean War, so mid-1850s,” he said. “They were extremely abundant over there. There are accounts of gigantic flocks turning the sky above the battlefield red, as if the blood spilled by the fallen have taken to the air.
“Some of the men kept them as pets. They sing very sweetly when they are quarantined, as if they are begging for their freedom. Some just came back on the boats with the supplies. This place used to be a convalescence home for badly wounded soldiers, before it reverted to being a private residence. It's not surprising really that there is an established population around and about.”
“I read something about the church refusing to acknowledge their presence in the UK,” said Lambie.
Another change that we had all noticed in the man was that he no longer asked questions. Instead he made speculative statements.
“The problem is,” said Wiggins, “that, in the Biblical Apocrypha, the Crimean Finch, as we know it – they call it the Blood Finch – was the one thing on the Earth to be created by Lucifer, before the fall. To Christians of a certain bent the entire species in an anathema. To even acknowledge the bird's existence is regarded as blasphemy.”
“Must have presented you with a few ethical conundrums,” said Lambie, absently pointing his high-powered binoculars in the direction of an unpopulated cluster of dangling bird feeders.
“Well, it's more of an issue for anyone who leans towards the Old Testament,” said Wiggins. “Back in the mid-late1800s, when the influence of the church was more pervasive, whole communities would refuse to acknowledge the existence of the birds. There was a Reverend Hyde in Barnes, whose vicarage garden was positively infested with Crimean finches, that he doggedly insisted weren't present, even though their tweeting used to wake him up in the morning. The most egregious example of someone refusing to acknowledge the truth, when it manifests directly in front of them, was the newspaper editor, Cathal Winer, who refused to print a story concerning a flock of the finches that turned the sky red above Buckingham Palace for an entire afternoon, the day before the coronation of Edward VII.”
“Well, if any of the men in the Crimea had strong religious leanings that might conceivably prevent them from acknowledging great flocks of red-breasted birds, it certainly didn't stop them using from using the nest flints in their flintlock firearms,” said Delacoe.
“I'm sorry, I don't follow,” answered Lambie.
“Somehow the finches in the Crimea had developed a taste for snails,” said Delacoe. “And because they lacked the appropriate beaks to get through the shells, they had to improvise, which they did by graduating to tool use and making more efficient beaks from slithers of flint. They rub them up and down against boulders until they are razor sharp. It's a skill they brought with them to England. I have often seen a finch fly past with a flint in its beak. When they are not using them, they create little arsenals under loose pieces of bark. I've got some upstairs. I'll show them to you.”
We never saw a single Crimean finch that day, nor the next morning. Lambie speculated that a pocket of local Christians had willed them all out of existence. As a consolation, Delacoe parted with some of his nest flints, which I hear drew the attentions of US customs on Lambie's return to South Dakota. I do wonder if he will ever visit the UK again.
I hope this is of help.
 |
| image generated by Craiyon |
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