At the heart of the shopping centre, a courtyard opens between the shops and restaurants. A row of ornamental silver birches rises from the concrete paving, their pale trunks reflecting the glow from the storefronts. I was passing through on my way to meet friends for dinner when a burst of sound pulled my gaze upwards. The crown of the nearest tree was alive with movement. Pied wagtails were arriving from all directions, tails flicking like metronomes as they congregated. The flock’s chatter was punctuated by clipped, high‑pitched “chizzick” flight calls, as more birds streamed into the roost site.
Most shoppers hurried by without a glance. I had time to linger, so I leaned against a pillar and watched. For 10 minutes or so, the flock remained unsettled. Birds shuffled along the branches, displaced one another, then lifted together in a brief, swirling cloud before dropping into a neighbouring tree, only to rise again. Their white faces caught the artificial light, glinting like snowflakes.
On harsh winter evenings like this, the courtyard offers everything the wagtails need to survive the night. For small birds that lose heat rapidly, food, shelter and warmth are critical. Floodlights draw insects like winter gnats and moths, while the surrounding buildings block the biting wind and store the sun’s warmth, acting like giant radiators. Heat also spills out from shop doors as customers come and go. Within this sheltered pocket, the trees provide elevated perches, safely beyond the reach of prowling cats and urban foxes.
Communal roosts are shaped by competition and subtle negotiations. Each bird seeks the prime position for warmth and safety, but there are other advantages. By roosting together, wagtails can observe the condition and foraging success of their neighbours, information that helps guide them to productive feeding grounds when the flock disperses at dawn. Although they usually feed alone, in winter they often form temporary alliances, with females and juveniles tolerated as subordinate satellites to territorial males.
As the darkness deepened, calls faded to a whisper as the flock, now several hundred‑strong, settled across two adjacent trees. When I returned later, the birds were silhouetted along the branches, conserving warmth in companionable silence.
• Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount
