The Bearded Tit Part 6

'Come on!'

'Er...I'd probably say, ''Which pretty bird?''

'Exactly. But if I said, 'Look at that greenfinch,' you'd look at the greenfinch.'

'S'pose. But surely that's because it's the name for that bird and if we both know it we can use it to communicate. To be precise.'

'Yes, but the big point is that we both know it. We share a word. We have a shared experience of the greenfinch.'

I would rather have talked about potential shared experiences that didn't involve greenfinches but I admired her wisdom. And the more I thought about it, the more important it seemed. We share our planet with all sorts of animals, some of them human, and plants, some of them human, and up till that moment I hadn't really looked at any of them. The world is a big place, and the more you know about it, the smaller it gets.

'But people know more birds than they realize,' she went on. 'Ask anybody how many birds they can name and you'll be surprised. They will be surprised.'

I couldn't resist putting this to the test.

'Excuse me, do you know the names of any birds?' I asked a man in paint-spattered overalls who was caressing a pint on the next table. After his initial wariness and the obvious pun, he said, 'Pigeon; that's it. Oh, and seagull.' After a little thought he came up with sparrow, robin, cuckoo, eagle, blackbird, goose, duck, swan, swallow, vulture, starling, wren, blue t.i.t, chicken and ostrich. Not a bad list. Seventeen. And he did surprise himself. In fact, his turned out to be the best list of five customers till a middle-aged lady with half-moon spectacles sat near by.

'As a matter of interest, can you tell us what bird names you can think of?'

After a smile and a 'What a very bizarre question!' she said, 'A warbler? Does that count?'

'Of course,' said JJ. 'Warbler's good. There are quite a few of them actually.'

'Yes, let's think,' said the lady. 'There's sedge warbler, reed, Arctic, barred, Orphean, Sardinian, Dartford, Cetti's, olive-tree, olivaceous, icterine, melodious, great reed, river, gra.s.shopper, aquatic...'

Eighty-three birds later we let the visiting professor of ornithology get on with her small sherry in peace.

ICE BIRD.

From the edges of Hertfords.h.i.+re and Ess.e.x, two insignificant streams, the Rhee and the Granta respectively, join together just to the south-west of the city of Cambridge to form the Cam. The river then runs in a north-easterly direction through the city centre out into the fens joining the Great Ouse south of Ely.

Now, that last sentence doesn't feel quite right. Ah yes, it's the word 'runs'. By no stretch of the imagination does the Cam 'run'. It's as near to stagnant as a moving piece of water can be. The Cam sleepwalks. It snakes lethargically through the village of Grantchester, it idles through a meandering green corridor of willows, it gently laps the edges of a few verses of a Rupert Brooke poem, it glides haughtily past the backs of the colleges and the perpendicular Gothic magnificence of King's Chapel, it ambles gla.s.sily on, under the railway arch, under the strident A14 viaduct and wearily lets the Great Ouse carry it off to the North Sea.

That's the Cam.

No white-water rafting here, lads.

But along its length you can occasionally see something extraordinary. Sometimes you see it and shake your head and say, with a sigh, Wow!' Sometimes you just have to tap the gla.s.s with the back of a knife and say, 'Ladies and gendemen, please be upstanding and give a big, warm round of applause for...Alcedo atthis!'

I can vividly recall the first time I saw it. Everybody Everybody can vividly recall the first time they see it. I was walking JJ to work along a short stretch of the frosty banks of the Cam one November morning and we saw a darkish bird flying close to the water. Not very special-looking. It was starling-sized. I thought perhaps it was a starling. can vividly recall the first time they see it. I was walking JJ to work along a short stretch of the frosty banks of the Cam one November morning and we saw a darkish bird flying close to the water. Not very special-looking. It was starling-sized. I thought perhaps it was a starling.

'I think it's a starling,' said JJ.

'Mmm, it was darkish. And it was starling-sized. So you never know!' A moment later: 'There it is again.'

It flew back in the other direction and perched downstream, somewhere round a bend in the river. As we rounded this bend it meant that the slanting early sun was now behind us. The bird was perched close by. Our approach frightened it and made it fly away from us. An electric-blue flash darted low above the surface of the brown water. An unreal turquoise brilliance. Unmistakable. Spectacular. Unique...I had seen my first kingfisher!

JJ's first kingfisher, too.

A special moment shared.

As a child I had drawn a kingfisher many times with coloured pencils. It was a delight to draw. Blue, green, turquoise above, bright orange below. A clear white patch on the side of the neck. Its head tightly barred blue and green. And a long stabby bill. It was almost too exotic to be an English bird. And yet until the sun catches it, you may not even notice it's there. I've heard that some idiots have mistaken it for a starling.

It perches near the water, or hovers above it, before its stiletto dive into the water to catch small fish, amphibians and insects.

Slowed-down film reveals that just before it hits the water, it moves its head from side to side to allow each of its eyes a view of the prey so it can work out how much the refraction of the water has apparently altered the position of its target.

And you can't say it's not well named. 'Kingfisher'. Though the name would not be my automatic choice for an Indian lager, you have to say that any a.s.sociation with this creature adds cla.s.s.

The Germans call it Eisvogel Eisvogel, the 'ice bird', which I love.

The Greeks call it Alkyona Alkyona. Now, you must have heard of Halcyon Days Halcyon Days. It is a play by Steven Dietz or an alb.u.m by pianist Bruce Hornsby or a song by the band Whisky Priests. And, of course, a composition by the Baroque composer Henry Purcell. So what are these halcyon days, then, that have so inspired writers, composers and artists? What are these days of the kingfisher? Days of joy, prosperity and tranquillity. Usually calm before a storm. And, of course, being a Greek name means halcyon halcyon has an ancient and weird story attached to it. has an ancient and weird story attached to it.

And it goes like this. Once upon a time there was a magic bird that could calm the seas and allay tempests. This bird carried the soul of a beautiful girl called Alcyone. Alcyone was the daughter of Aeolus, ruler of the wind. She was married to Ceyx, the King of Thessaly. One day, Ceyx was s.h.i.+pwrecked in a storm and drowned. In her grief Alcyone threw herself into the ocean. But she didn't drown-instead she was carried to her husband by her father, the wind-king, who calmed the waters so his grandchildren could be born free from danger.

And if that's not a true story, I don't know what is!

So this bird, the halcyon, legendarily lays its eggs directly on to the sea and charms the winds and waves to be calm during its nesting season, the fourteen days before the winter solstice.

Halcyon ultimately derives from the Greek word ultimately derives from the Greek word hals hals, which means 'salt', or by extension 'sea'-remember in chemistry 'the halogens', the salt-makers? Alcyone herself probably was not a kingfisher, though. She was clearly an ocean-going bird: maybe an 'auk'; ah yes, 'auk' (Latin alca alca) from the word alcyone alcyone.

Wonderful stuff!

Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen, let's hear it for the kingfisher!

(HUGE APPLAUSE).

...And an old boatman, on the river Test in Hamps.h.i.+re, once told me this: 'If you see a kingfisher, you know it's going to be a special day...but if you've seen a kingfisher, it already is a special day.'

And I was with JJ, so it was already a special day for me anyway.

THE HOLY DOVE.

'The dove is a symbol of the soul and the Holy Spirit. It signifies purity, constancy and peace. Doves mate for life. They are devoted. Why else would the turtle dove become a symbol of eternal love?' I paused nervously. Dr Fletcher was glaring at me, unimpressed. As Senior Tutor of the college he represented considerable authority. My Catholic schooling had left me unfas.h.i.+onably deferential to, and frightened of, authority figures. Third-years and graduates were sneering about any authority within the college. My friend Mick, a graduate physiology student, was deeply scathing about the dons.

'They're big fish in microscopic ponds, Rory, they can't harm you. This isn't the real world. Academics live in an unreal, cloistered world. They're living out a perpetual adolescence, obsessed with in-fighting and petty rivalries. Undergraduates larking about don't interest them in the slightest. They're more concerned with who gets to sit next to the master at High Table. You should spit on that pillock Fletcher.'

He was probably right, but that pillock Fletcher was making me decidedly uncomfortable as I rambled on about doves. ''So turtles pair that never mean to part.' Florizel to Perdita. The Winter's Tale The Winter's Tale, sir.'

No reaction.

'You know. Shakespeare, sir.'

'I know who wrote The Winter's Tale The Winter's Tale, McGrath.'

'Sorry, sir, with you being an engineer and all that, I-'

'We're not all illiterate morons in the Faculty of Engineering, you know,' he snapped, adding, with a private sneer, 'Though there are a quite a few, it has to be said.'

I went on. 'In heraldry, the dove, interestingly enough-'

Fletcher cut in. 'No, not interestingly enough. Quite dull, in fact. Now, listen, the Christian Union in the college-'

Kramer interrupted. 'Before you go any further, Mr Fletcher-'

'It's doctor.'

'Sorry, Mr Doctor,' Kramer replied, obviously thinking that chutzpah might be the best weapon against the academic. 'The dove is deeply relevant in any matter of Christianity. The dove is the Holy Ghost. Do you know how many times the dove is mentioned in the Bible?'

'No, Kramer.'

'Tell him, Rory.'

'Er...loads,' I stammered, then I remembered a quote. ''And Noah sent forth a dove from him to see if the waters were abated.' That's Genesis.'

'Side one, track four,' added Kramer.

Dr Fletcher stood up and stared out of the window for a few moments, then suddenly spun round and barked, 'Kramer and McGrath!' This theatrical gesture was clearly calculated to make us jump. And, sadly, we both did.

'Last Sunday, the Christian Union were preparing for a prayer breakfast and when they opened the fridge, a pigeon flew out.'

'A miracle!' Kramer exclaimed.

'How do you explain this?' asked Dr Fletcher.

'We couldn't get a live lamb into the fridge, sir,' Kramer replied, persisting with his cheek even though it was falling on very stony ground.

'This is a serious matter for a great number of reasons, and for a great number of reasons, punishment will ensue. Did neither of you dwell on the possible cruelty of enclosing a wild bird in a refrigerator?'

'It wasn't wild,' I said quickly.

'It wasn't over the moon, though, was it?' Kramer added.

'It was only in there for a couple of minutes. Max. And the door was left slightly open.'

'A pigeon is a pigeon,' said Fletcher.

'Very good, sir. You're obviously a bit of an ornithologist, then, Dr Fletcher,' Kramer smirked.

'It was a feral pigeon,' I continued. 'That is, it was once domesticated but has become wild.'

'I think Dr Fletcher knows what 'feral' means,' said Kramer. 'He does eat in the Engineering Department canteen.'

Dr Fletcher rounded on Kramer. 'Please do spare us the sub-Marx Brothers wisecracks, Kramer. Now, listen, it is within my gift to punish you severely for this. In one of several ways. You could be banned, for example, from the college bar.'

Mmm, yes, that would be a punishment, but one we'd get over, I thought.

'Or possibly, McGrath, I should ban you you from Blackwaters bookshop.' from Blackwaters bookshop.'

This was a stab wound. The wily old don had rattled me. I wondered how much he actually knew.

'Blackwaters?' I asked, trying to sound baffled. 'I hardly ever go there.'

'Three times a day, every weekday?' he smiled menacingly in my direction. This was deeply disturbing.

'Otherwise, how could you have run up such a debt and be so over your account limit that they've written to me to see to it that you repay the debt immediately, and that you do not enter the shop until you have?'

I wasn't prepared for a blow like this. In my mind I was hastily putting together a defence when Kramer thankfully jerked the conversation off on a different tack.

'They put swastikas on their milk bottles, you know!'

'What are you talking about, Kramer?'

Kramer was centre stage now and was going to make a meal of it.

'Let's not beat about the bush, Dr Fletcher. I am Jewish. McGrath here is a devout Roman Catholic.'

I nodded with hypocritical enthusiasm. Kramer warmed to his theme.

'For some reason, we've ended up on the Christian Union staircase. They clearly don't want 'our sort' as their neighbours. They want their own kind: Spotty Miller, the King of Zit. Or Halo Neville. Or any of those Bible-and-bishop bashers, but not us. That's why they put swastikas on their milk. It's persecution. McGrath hasn't forgotten Cromwell and the Pale, have you, Rory?'

'Er...I can't remember.'

'Suffice it to say,' Kramer concluded, 'they won't be happy until we're off that staircase.'

Fletcher maintained a steely composure throughout this.

'Mmm. This all sounds like so much flim-flam-flummery to me. I shall spend twenty-four hours considering my next step. In the meantime, you two can get out of my sight. Good day, gentlemen.'

The stairs leading down from Fletcher's chambers were gloomy with pessimism. I felt something unpleasant was about to happen. After a minute or so of his customary tutting, headshak-ing and shrugging, Kramer said, 'Well, look on the bright side.'

'And what is that, exactly?'

'I never thought I'd hear anyone say 'flim-flam-flummery'.'

DUCKS.

A duck is a duck is a bird bird. This is less obvious that it seems. To birdwatchers, new and old, it's very easy to discount a duck. They are so familiar. We know about ducks from a very early age. Unless you were actually delivered to your parents by a stork, or were unfortunate enough to have your eyes pecked out by an arctic skua when you were in the cot, it's most probable that your first experience of 'a bird' will have been of a duck.

'Let's put the baby in the buggy and go and feed the ducks.' Ah yes, an appealingly low-maintenance way of spending time with your child.

And what's the first bird children encounter in picture books? It's going to be a duck, isn't it? Not a black-bellied sand grouse. Down on the Farm Down on the Farm, where dogs go 'woof, cats 'miaow', cows 'moo', sheep go 'baa' and ducks go 'quack, quack'. And it'll no doubt be a cuddly, plump white duck with an orange bill. Not that there's anything to recommend cuddling a duck.