Birdwatch: A song thrush connects me with the great-grandfather I never knew
No other bird speaks to us quite so directly, its serenade conjuring memories of old family tales I wake early on these bright summer mornings
No other bird speaks to us quite so directly, its serenade conjuring memories of old family tales I wake early on these bright summer mornings. And now that the birds in my garden have mostly fallen silent, only one is still serenading me at this hour: the aptly named song thrush.
Its measured, deliberate repetitions – which this particular bird has provided without a break since the turn of the year – are unmistakable. Whenever I hear a song thrush, I’m taken back in time.
First, to my childhood, when the first sign of spring was when thrushes started singing from the roofs of our suburban housing estate as I walked home from school in the dim light of a February afternoon.
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