It’s not my soundscape of choice, but it’s what we have. Rumble of bus. Clatter of drill. The background hum of south London traffic. Such is the lot of the urban birder. But walk two minutes, from high street to cemetery, and the background din is replaced by a more welcome sound: the agitated muttering of a hundred birds.
Most of them are starlings, chatting a load of who-knows-what, their jabbering punctuated by clicks, buzzes and whistles, excitable as pre-assembly schoolchildren. There are redwings, too, gathered in a nearby tree, their pre-migration babble more subdued. Parallel gangs – not enemies, but not fraternising either. The redwings will leave soon, slipping away without warning – so rude – and then we will know winter is done. Not before time.
