It was unmistakable: at dawn, through the bedroom window, a voice of declarative power and pure tones with a volume to rattle the glass. Did-uu … did-uu … did-uu, chwit, chwit chwit. It was a song thrush, and one of those rare occasions when I’ve heard one singing this side of Christmas. I’m tempted to add the “wrong” side, but we’ll come to that.
The customary seasonal order for our three breeding thrushes starting to sing is mistle, then song, with blackbird a month later. However, if we are ranking them in terms of vocal merit then that sequence is usually reversed. It must be added instantly, however, that if the vote were purely on mass approval then the song thrush would come first.
Some of its public acclaim, which previously led to it topping a poll as the nation’s favourite, is surely based on those recurrent phrases. They make it an easy song to learn, and our knowing the performer lends conviction to our positive judgment. Yet we should note that Robert Browning thought the repetitions were a sign of wisdom. In Home-Thoughts, From Abroad he wrote: “That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, / Lest you should think he never could recapture / The first fine careless rapture!”
It might contain repetition, but the song is far from simplistic. The average individual has about 130 different songs, and many are peppered with mimicry, including the sounds of lapwing, snipe, redshank, oystercatcher and curlew. What song thrush song seems before anything else is joyous. With Dr Pangloss, song thrushes say this is the best of all times in the best of all possible worlds. It not only says it, it believes it passionately. There is a willpower in the emotion.
So, can the happiest of sounds also be a bringer of bad news? Could my thrush be speaking of a time when the seasons are out of kilter? I suspect not. In the winter of 1947 and 1957, thrushes in the southern counties were lured by mild weather to begin song. Mine was probably a bird of the year, tempted to tune up by this month’s unseasonal warmth, and now it’s ended, so has the song.
• 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
