From my garden in Old Town, Eastbourne, I have been listening to the many birds singing.
Here is my identification guide to help you discover what is quite literally in your own back yard, or out on a woodland walk.
Here is my identification guide to help you discover what is quite literally in your own back yard, or out on a woodland walk.
I’ve given you underlined links to the website British Bird Songs, which is particularly useful as it also has the other calls that a bird may make, such as an alarm call or call when in flight. There are a couple of YouTube links as well. I can’t, of course, be responsible for the content or adverts featured on external sites.
The drawings are from the RSPB website, which will give you much more information about the birds.
The drawings are from the RSPB website, which will give you much more information about the birds.
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No-one can mistake a robin, both male and female having the unique and characteristic bright red breast. It’s also the bird most likely to come and join you if you are gardening. Did you know its name used to be “redbreast”, before the Victorian fashion for personification made it “Robin redbreast”? We have since shortened it to Robin.
Spring is the only time you’ll see two robins tolerating each other’s company, as they are fiercely territorial. If you see two, they’ll be a pair. Robins have a warbling whistle, which always reminds me of a grandpa whistling while he digs the garden. They will sit quite still near the top of a tree or bush to deliver a burst of song. Listen, and you will probably hear another robin replying, before your robin sings again. Sometimes, with a bow and a flick of the tail they will change direction and sing out to another robin in a nearby territory. Listen hard and you can discover how many robins have territories near your garden. |
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From March we will be hearing chiff-chaffs, a summer visitor from Africa. They are mostly a woodland bird, but for a chiff-chaff, any clump of trees counts as a wood, so you could well hear it. I can hear them in the trees that skirt the Downs. Like a robin, you can hear them calling, then listening to a reply, then calling again. One of the easiest birds to identify by their call, as they say their name. The only thing you might get it confused with is a great tit or coal tit, but the chiff-chaff's notes are less varied. Listen to all three, to distinguish them.
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The smartly dressed great tit calls “tea-cher, tea-cher”, often starting with “-cher”. He calls in variations of this theme.
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Blue tits chatter and move about high up, calling, amongst other things, a really, really high-pitched “tsee tsee too-ooo-ooo-ooo”.
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The wren has a loud, high pitched warble and trill, repeated. The Victorians added Jenny to the name, though this has not persisted. If you can’t see it, but it’s making a heck of a loud noise from a bush somewhere, it’s probably a wren. The wren is the second smallest bird in Britain (after the goldcrest). Small but noisy!
Here’s how Robert MacFarlane describes it in The Lost Words: |
When wren whirrs from stone to furze the world around her slows, for wren is quick,
so quick she blurs the air through which she flows, yes -
Rapid wren is needle, rapid wren is pin – and wren’s song is sharp-song, briar song,
thorn-song, and wren’s flight is dart-flick, flick-flight, light-flight, yes -
Each wren etches, stitches, switches, glitches, yes -
Now you think you see wren, now you know you don’t. "
Compare it with the call of the chaffinch - both calls have a similar pattern, but the wren’s is faster and sweeter. The dunnock also has a similar, loud call, again from somewhere unseen, but its calls are more varied than the wren. A dunnock looks similar to a female house sparrow. I can't hear sparrows from my garden, sadly, but they love the hedge outside Milton Grange.
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I learnt the chaffinch bird call from Enid Blyton, (Five Have a Wonderful Time,) when I was about eight years old. She describes him as saying “chip-chip-chip, cherry–erry–erry, chipee–oo-ee-ar.” Said fast enough, it’s pretty accurate! The males have a lovely pinkish breast and blue–grey cap. They often all a sharp "pink! pink!" which reminds me of their colouring. The females resemble sparrows, but look out for white stripes in the tail as they fly away to tell it's a chaffinch. The chaffinch often sings from an exposed branch, so it's quite easy to spot.
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Tell your wood pigeon and collared dove apart by the pattern of their calls: the wood pigeon is “hoo HOO hoo, hoo-hoo", whilst the collared dove is “coo-COOOO, coo”.
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The noisiest ones in my garden today are the goldfinches. Their calls are a varied chattering, not particularly tuneful, but very uplifting. They often move across the tops of trees and bushes, in a group, chattering like excited children to one another. They are conspicuous, especially in their bobbing, twittering flight, with the flashes of gold on their wings.
Listen to this enchanting song about the goldfinch from The Lost Words, with illustrations created by the artist Jackie Morris. Collectively, they are “a charm of finches." Country Life magazine has an interesting article on the collective nouns for British Birds. |
Corvids (not a spelling mistake): The term refers to members of the crow family, nothing to do with any viruses.... Larger birds, omnivorous, large bills and raucous calls.
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A magpie looks like no other British bird. Its call is a sharp “chacka”, often repeated quickly This is another bird whose name had a Victorian addition – they were previously known as pie, or pie bird, before the addtition of “Maggie”, shortened to “Mag”.
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Rooks proclaim a loud “caar”. These are the birds who nest in the trees on Albert Parade. Distinguished from a crow by a white ring around the base of its bill. They are, unlike crows, very sociable birds, and like many corvids, highly intelligent.
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Jackdaw repeats a chattering “cha”. I often watch then swooping in flocks above Old Town, tumbling and twisting in the air for the very joy of it. Listen to a group together, you can almost interpret their speech as they vary the length of the pauses and tone. You can distinguish them by their grey necks.
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If you are near a wooded area, you might also hear:
- The gorgeously coloured jay which has a typical corvid harsh screech (a bit like a squirrel call.)
- Great spotted woodpecker, calling “tak”, like a squeakier magpie
- The green woodpecker’s high pitched laugh, usually 7 or 8 notes
- The nuthatch, who descends tree trunks head-first whilst looking for insects to eat, calling a high pitched “hooitt”
and flying anywhere near the Downs, a welcome return for the once rare raven, whose "honk" might have you looking up to see geese....
- The gorgeously coloured jay which has a typical corvid harsh screech (a bit like a squirrel call.)
- Great spotted woodpecker, calling “tak”, like a squeakier magpie
- The green woodpecker’s high pitched laugh, usually 7 or 8 notes
- The nuthatch, who descends tree trunks head-first whilst looking for insects to eat, calling a high pitched “hooitt”
and flying anywhere near the Downs, a welcome return for the once rare raven, whose "honk" might have you looking up to see geese....
Some for the evening.....
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The song thrush often sings loudly in still weather, morning and evening, from high places, it’s clear call sounding out over many gardens. It repeats phrases twice, and sounds a bit like a slightly harsher blackbird.
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Ah, the blackbird. Arguably the finest songster in Britain. A very varied, musical whistle, with long phrases. First to sing in the morning, mostly quieter during the day, and last to sing at night. It then issues its alarm call as if to say, “That’s it, I’m off to bed, I’m not on the look-out any more, take care everyone. See you at first light.”
The Beatles “Blackbird” is my favourite song of all time. I once woke up in the dead of night, in anxious teenage years, to hear a blackbird singing. It has stayed with me ever since. 
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Take a look at the events page for bookable birdsong events. We will move slowly and gently through their worlds, listen to their interactions, find their preferred singing spot. I like to end such a walk on the Downs, where, pouring from the sky, comes the liquid song of the lark.
