Magical creatures
AN APPRECIATION OF ROOKS
The rook on the ‘Welcome to Rooksbridge’ sign isn’t very, well, rooky. Its beak is too big and too black and more like that of a carrion crow. It’s an understandable error: the two species – closely related members of the corvid family – are easily confused. With a good view, a rook can be recognised by the bare, bone-coloured patch at the base of its thin, pointed bill and by the scruffy feathers at the tops of its legs that suggest it’s wearing baggy shorts.
But what of black birds seen from afar – are they crows or rooks? There’s a country saying that can help: “A crow in a crowd is a rook, a rook on its own is a crow.” And this adage usually holds true: the carrion crow is mostly encountered alone or as a pair, while rooks roost, nest and feed together in large, sociable parties.
Omnivorous and opportunistic, rooks eat everything from earthworms and insects to roadkill, eggs and seeds. Consuming the last of these has earned them a bad rep with farmers: that tatty scarecrow isn’t meant to guard cereal crops from the solitary crow, but from flocks of its grain-guzzling cousin. Revenge was once a dish served hot – rook pie used to feature on the menu in many a rural pub.
As I walk through the Somerset village of Rooksbridge, wondering how many other places in Britain are named after this common and widespread bird, I come across an impressive stand of horse chestnuts. In the tops of the trees, half a dozen twiggy bundles stand out against the skeleton of bare branches. And when I peer up, a couple of rooks silently swoop in to claim ownership of the biggest nest.
Rooks are early breeders, returning to their communal nest sites on the edges of woodland and in farmland copses not long after the year has turned. Rookeries range in size from a handful of nests to a thousand or more and can be used by generations of birds for decades or even centuries. By the end of February, rookeries are fully occupied, with birds noisily squabbling over the best places to breed. They begin by repairing any damage done to last year’s nests by autumn gales, or they build a new one from scratch. I watch as one of the Rooksbridge pair (most likely the male) carefully rearranges a few stray sticks in their treetop des res, while his partner looks on.
In densely occupied territories, rook pairs will routinely steal nesting material from their neighbours. According to folklore, these thefts aren’t tolerated by the colony. Rooks are said to hold court-like hearings, known as ‘parliaments’, where birds are tried and – if found guilty – punished by having their own nests torn apart.
It’s supposed to be good luck for a place to be blessed with a rookery and a bad omen for it to be deserted. Given the changes in farming practice and the number of species that have suffered as a result, it’s heartening to see the small rookery of Rooksbridge springing to life again. As I leave the village, another sign and another sort-of rook thanks me for visiting.