Murder, Mischief and Murmurations
A Murder of Magpie
I am currently reading ‘Magpie Murders’ by Anthony Horowitz and was reminded of the childhood rhyme ….. one for sorrow two for joy …. and so on. I wonder what it would be for 200! For this was the number I counted, before it was too dark to see, coming to roost in willow scrub one winters evening near my home.
Magpie roosts begin to build up from October reaching a peak mid-winter before breaking up in March as the breeding season begins in earnest. They tend to comprise birds from within the immediate local area.
They are scavengers and a bit of a bully in the bird world so for many people their first sighting of Magpie is likely to be at the side of the road as the birds scavenge on roadkill, or as they try to balance on the bird feeders in the garden with much wing flapping and commotion.
Like most ‘crows’ they are very intelligent and inquisitive and have been known to steal jewellery and other shiny objects, gaining a reputation as a thief. However they are also affectionate birds – I remember raising one as a child and rarely went anywhere without it on my shoulder. It would come to call and had its own chatter of greeting and welcome unlike any other of its wild siblings.
However back to the Rhyme ….
Many people have grown up knowing One For Sorrow, Two For Joy, the popular magpie nursery rhyme where the number of birds counted at any one time will determine whether you have bad luck or good luck.
Probably the most well known version recited is as follows:
One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret,
Never to be told.
However, there are a number of alternative versions and a longer rhyme which is local to Lancashire counts up to 13 magpies with an additional 6 lines:
Eight for a wish
Nine for a kiss
Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss
Eleven for health
Twelve for wealth
Thirteen beware it’s the devil himself.
The earliest version of the rhyme was recorded in 1780 in a note in John Brand’s Observations on Popular Antiquities. John Brand was an English antiquarian and Church of England clergyman who was appointed Secretary to the Society of Antiquaries of London in 1784. The phrase “popular antiquities” later became known as folklore, a term coined by William John Thoms in 1846. It was a much simpler version with just 4 lines:
One for sorrow,
Two for mirth,
Three for a funeral
And four for birth.
In 1846 the rhyme was added to in Proverbs and Popular Saying of the Seasons by Michael Aislabie Denham, an English merchant and collector of folklore.
Five for heaven
Six for hell
Seven for the devil, his own self.
Although all these songs and rhymes are most often associated with magpies, they can also be used to count other corvids such as Jackdaw, Raven and Crow.
A Mischief of Raven
Not far from home in Newborough Forest, Anglesey, is the biggest Raven roost in Britain which at one time was the second largest in the world. Some 2000 birds at one time. That’s Awesome.
The roosts appear to be dominated by juvenile and other non-breeding birds and are thought to act as an ‘information exchange centre’ to increase foraging success for birds lacking a territory.
In the Autumn and Winter we have a small roost, up to 30, of Raven in the Pines atop the old hill fort of Dinas Dinorwic which forms the backdrop to our view from the kitchen window.
By late Winter these have dispersed leaving just a single breeding pair. In the IronAge and Roman period the Raven was present all over the British Isles. So this is probably an ancient site with Raven having bred there since pre Roman times.
Just before dawn on November 12, 2017 after a cold wet night, the dogs surprised a Buzzard from somewhere very close by. Couldn’t see it – it was still too dark – but it flew off mewling. A Raven called nearby; and another …. and then with the Dawn, Raven came tumbling out of the Grey November skies ignoring the cold driving rain, sleet, and biting northerly winds.
All day – at one time as many as 30 – they were engaged in aerobatic displays over the trees of the hill fort. Chasing, tumbling, sometimes soaring to quite a height, then falling only to shoot upwards again. Sometimes I thought they had gone but suddenly as if by magic they were there again. Some would settle in the pines for a bit before launching themselves again into the fun and games – for that’s what it seemed to be.
Later in the day as the weather cleared and the sun came out we could see the first dusting of snow on the mountains. The first snows of Winter.
Murmurations of Starling
Acrobatic starlings in the evening sky are another awesome sight. One of the best places still to see this is the Somerset Levels. Here, during the winter months, millions of starlings perform their nightly acrobatics, to the delight of hundreds of onlookers.
Stephen Moss writing in the Guardian remembers seeing great clouds of starlings throughout the British countryside in the ‘60s and ‘70s and listening to vast flocks of them as they gathered on the window ledges of London’s Leicester Square.
Roosts are usually found in reedbeds or sometimes in a dense patch of evergreen trees, these roost sites can be the overnight home for tens, even hundreds of thousands of birds. And their arrival at the roost is one of the most staggering things you will see all year …..
‘Flock after flock after flock of Starling arrive, coming in from all directions to gather together in the skies above their roost site. As the numbers build, with some of the finest ‘murmurations’ (the name for a flying flock of starlings) reaching into the tens and hundreds of thousands of individuals, the flocks take on a life of their own, swirling back and forth overhead. No one wants to be the first to land, as there may be predators about. And indeed there will be: these large flocks attract hunting sparrowhawks and even peregrines, eager to pick a meal from the flock. The ever growing numbers, together with the occasion pass by a hunting raptor, leads to the flocks making amazing shapes in the sky, packing close together and then expanding out, one flock merges into another, zooming back and forth in ever more complex and beautiful patterns. It’s like that game of finding pictures in the clouds, only faster.
And then, just as the numbers reach their peak and as the last of the light fades, as if by a secret signal, the birds suddenly decide the time is right and funnel down into the reeds. One last whoosh of wings, an electric chatter, and that’s your lot. Show’s over, the birds settle down to sleep and it’s time for you to head home.’
Over 150 years ago Richard Jefferies wrote …..
In the thick foliage of this belt of firs the starlings love to roost. If you should be passing along any road—east, north, west, or south —a mile or two distant, as the sun is sinking and evening approaching, suddenly there will come a rushing sound in the air overhead: it is a flock of starlings flying in their determined manner straight for the distant copse. From every direction these flocks converge upon it: some large, some composed only of a dozen birds, but all with the same intent. If the country chances to be open, the hedges low, and the spectator on a rise so as to see over some distance, he may observe several flights at the same time. Rooks, in returning to roost, fly in long streams, starlings in numerous separate divisions. This is especially noticeable in summer, when the divisions are composed of fewer birds: in winter the starlings congregate in larger bodies. It would appear that after the young birds are able to fly they flock together in parties by themselves, the old birds clubbing together also, but all meeting at night. The parties of young birds are easily distinguished by their lighter colour. This may not be an invariable rule (for the birds to range themselves according to age), but it is the case frequently. Viewed from a spot three or four fields away, the copse in the evening seems to be overhung by a long dark cloud like a bar of mist, while the sky is clear and no dew is yet risen. The resemblance to a cloud is so perfect that any one—not thinking of such things—may for the time be deceived, and wonder why a cloud should descend and rest over that particular spot. Suddenly, the two ends of the extended black bar contract, and the middle swoops down in the shape of an inverted cone, much resembling a waterspout, and in a few seconds the cloud pours itself into the trees. Another minute and a black streak shoots upwards, spreads like smoke, parts in two, and wheels round back into the firs again.
On approaching it this apparent cloud is found to consist of thousands of starlings, the noise of whose calling to each other is indescribable—the country folk call it a “ charm,” meaning a noise made up of innumerable lesser sounds, each interfering with the other. The vastness of these flocks is hardly credible until seen; in winter the bare trees on which they alight become suddenly quite black.