MY London BIRDWATCHING EXPERIMENT

I’ve always had a passing interest in birds, but found

myself increasingly intrigued during lockdown. As the pandemic hit and I was ordered to stay home, I noticed the cacophonous morning songs – with less

competition from other noise (cars, primarily) it was

deafening. There were parakeets that darted past each morning; a nuthatch spotted feeding its young; the jackdaws I’d always assumed were crows; a peregrine falcon flying over a London street. I don’t have a garden but luckily live near several parks – one of the best things about the capital. Just yards away lies Queen’s Wood, the site of daily walks. Where once these

were accompanied by podcasts, now I took in my

surroundings. Queen’s Wood is an ancient woodland, once part of the Great Forest of Middlesex, and is not intensively managed compared with most London parks, therefore boasting excellent flora and fauna. With several ponds, gardens almost all around, thick tree cover and dense shrub, it is perfect for birds.

David Darrell-Lambert, of Bird Brain UK, surveys areas for planning applications (Olympic Park; HS2) and is an expert on Queen’s Wood’s birds. “It’s prime real estate, chock-a-block with birds,”

he explains. Populations here are relatively stable, because their rich dietary needs – insects, fruits, seeds – are met. The local great and blue tit population requires

two million caterpillars every five weeks, DarrellLambert says. Coal tits also flourish, as do wrens and song thrushes, currently on

the RSPB’s red list for threatened species. There’s a nesting pair of tawny owls

(which I’ve heard), sparrowhawks and hobbies. This in mind, I set out one morning before sunrise, binoculars in hand. To enter the park at 7.30am is to be met by piercing volume: the birds have just woken and are hungry. I find a bench overlooking an

opening, and wait.

I try to identify by song, but I’m useless – it’s like a symphony orchestra tuning

up, sounds at every pitch, multiple rhythms, from each direction. I could swear one is laughing at me. Half an hour and nothing. Well, nothing new. There are pigeons, crows and magpies; the odd smaller bird too quick to identify. Then, as if a switch is flicked, things happen.

Firstly, a robin, nothing rare. But it’s 6ft away, attempting, wholly unsuccessfully, to devour a worm three times its length. On a muddy path 30ft to my right, something light brown. With binoculars I see its speckled stomach: a song thrush. It darts to a branch, and I can clearly watch its throat movements as it sings – exhilarating. There are more successes. Several jays, beautiful, if common. Coal tits, at least 10,

chirp on a nearby tree. Incessant drilling is everywhere, but I can’t find the source. Finally, five minutes after scouring the same few

trees, a great spotted woodpecker, one of our most beautiful birds. On the walk home, I finally see great tits – five – in a garden, proving how much you can see with

just a little green space.