The Nuthatch is often first noticed because of its unique habit of climbing down the trunk of a tree. They will then notice its beautiful colouring, its blue grey back and its stunning buff coloured chest and belly and the striking black eye stripe.
Not a particularly melodic singer it announces its presence with a sharp “tee whit” which can carry a long way in the woodland setting.
Tradition has the bird as industrious, thrifty – using what is there, it is known to store food.
This photo was taken by Steve Allanson in a forest in Galloway.
A lament on the decline of the Common Starling. The full poem will feature in the forthcoming book Songs of Field and Garden. The image is a detail from the full image by Adele Croxall-Ellis which will appear alongside the poem in the book.
If Only We Had Listened (First and last verses)
I heard you in the morning in the roof above my bed, I heard you chatter, prattle on—not knowing what was said, All day you sing your heart’s desire, your courtship message sent, They call you dull, a pest, unloved, but you and I dissent.
…
But now we’ve sealed the cracks you used to bring your young to fledge, We’ve kept you from our towns at night with spikes on every ledge, We’ve cleansed our fields of food you eat, with a poison holocaust, If only we had listened as your murmured dance was lost.
Starling numbers in the UK have declined by 80% in the last 50 years. Murmurations are fewer and smaller than ever.
Here we are in the middle of a gloomy February in the UK. The rain seems to have been relentless throughout January and has not improved yet this month. There are over 100 flood warnings live and it’s due to turn even colder this coming weekend – but still with only one day of sun forecast.
And yet…
Just four or five short weeks away and these wonderful birds will begin to return to their breeding colonies around the UK. The nearest to me are at Flamborough and Bempton, I’ve certainly seen the birds there from mid March.
Of course the best time to see them is from May to July – and that’s certainly when you might expect some warm days and maybe even be tempted to take a dip in the sea for yourself.
The beach at Flamborough North Landing is pleasant and sheltered. There’s a good car park, cafes, shop and the best ice cream cone 99s in Yorkshire. The walk from here round to the lighthouses offers some of the best opportunities to see puffins, as well as kittiwakes, razorbills, guillemots and more. I have also seen dolphins off the coast and the sight of gannets flying past on their way to or from their feeding grounds and their nest sites at Bempton is wonderful.
So, despite the gloom of another wet day, the cold, the mud and the seemingly endless winter, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Days of ice cream and sun, the glorious views and the search for puffins on the limestone cliffs all accomanied by the sound of the kittiwakes and the gulls.
A detail from my latest poem “The Garden Tympanist” destined for the forthcoming book “Songs of Field and Garden”. A collaborative blending of poetry and illustration.
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This year the shells were gone; you were not here,
spring’s budding hedge now quiet where you sang,
no holes in ornamental leaves, no food for young.
I heard you sing,
I miss your song,
I’ll listen still,
for your return.
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If you think you could illustrate this poem with a pencil, watercolour or other rendering of the bird in question and would be interested in hearing more about the collaboration then please comment below or send a Contact Message.
A forthcoming illustrated poetry collection exploring some of our favourite British birds. This will feature poetry which brings each bird to life, its lifestyle and behaviour, song and calls, its relationship with humand past and present and in particular the folklore of the species.
Each bird will feature an illustration by a talented artist…
Part of a pencil drawing of a robin by Time Mason
Alongside the poem…
A Stanza from the poem – The Garden Sprite.
Fresh-turned soil, his pride of place,
The gardener’s mate with watchful grace,
A flit, a jink, a cock of head,
Then perches on the garden shed
I am still looking for a few more artists to collaborate with the project, if you would like to be considered please contact me using the contact form
If you would like to receive news as the project progresses please sign up to our newsletter
A line of white weaves across the sky, a sinuous wave reflects the swell below. Drawn closer they resolve a chequerboard of ivory and sable, Rendered clear by gathering age.
Raucous din repeats, Noise washing over all. Males flex wings and raise sun washed heads to dance as if no-one sees. Or gather grass, uncaring close beneath our feet.
Azure ringed orbs Of midnight centred white. Black on black, survival’s legacy.
From circling sky a hunter falls, Plunging without fear. Wings back, legs tucked, A living fishing spear. To pierce the waves, to reach the depths, A thrust, a miss, so near.
the surface regained, Ungainly now, a fleeting loss of grace. An effort to reclaim the air, To pull, to climb, to soar once more. The hunter returns, the circle turns.
Copyright Steve Allanson February 2026
I often travel to Flamborough or Bempton in the breeding season to watch these magnificent birds. They are overshadowed in popularity by the delightful puffins but they deserve their own place in our consciousness.
Gannet in flight, Bempton, UK
In recent years, avian influenza has devastated gannet colonies across Britain. Survivors can be identified by the loss of the distinctive pale iris—their eyes turn entirely black. ‘Black on black, survival’s legacy.’
Majestic, striking, the gannet is a large bird and unafraid of humans. In fact, if you see them gathering nesting material along the clifftops at Bempton – mere feet from the crowds watching and filming them, you might come to the conclusion that they dismiss our presence as irrelevent.
In folklore they are often seen as messengers of the sea, signals – of course – of the presence of fish. They are seen as symbols of endurance and resilience, as well as of commitment. Their hunting dive is one of total resolve; spearing the sea at speeds of nearly 100 kilometres per hour. Their reinforced skulls absorb most of the impact but, nevertheless, as they age their eyesight can suffer from the repeated shocks.
There is a tale, which can be found in Adam Nicholson’s wonderful book “The Seabird’s Cry” which should, apocryphal or not, serve as a caution. It tells of a beach somewhere in the south of England where, when the tide is out, the exposed wet sand can appear from above as a continuation of the nearby open water. The gannets, apparently can make this mistake and dive to crash into the sand and injure or kill themselves.
The story tells of a man who, coming across an injured bird, picks it up in the hope of taking it somewhere for assistance. He sensibly took the head in his hand as he carried the bird, but was distracted by a dog yapping at his heels and let go – at the cost of an eye!
That beak is razor sharp.
Let’s hope the bird recovers from the impact of Bird Flu, and survives the other challeges we throw at it (Plastic in the sea, getting tangled in fishing gear, climate change) so that we may continue to admire it.
