Sing Something Simple

I love birdsong. For me it’s one of the most relaxing and evocative sounds, so many memories associated with it. I’m not sure that the screeching of seagulls could be classified as song but nevertheless they are birds and I presume they’re trying to communicate with each other - maybe it’s even tuneful to a seagull - so I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and include them in this week’s blog.

When we moved to Blackpool in 1976 I vividly remember the first morning in our new house, being woken early by the noise of the birds circling outside. In my half asleep state I wondered why I could hear seagulls screeching, when our flat was in Leeds. It took me a few moments to remember we had actually moved near the sea.

I’ve had a bit of a love hate relationship with these giant birds ever since. I do love to hear them shouting, it reminds me that I’m still in this magical place called the seaside, and I do love to photograph them, particularly in flight. However, they are the boldest, greediest, most opportunist birds I’ve ever known, fighting for discarded chips, animal carcasses and anything that looks vaguely edible. On reflection, if reincarnated as a bird, out of all of them - the dainty little bluetits, the friendly robins and the beautifully tuneful nightingales, I think I’d have to be a seagull. Loud and greedy. So I can’t really criticise them.

seaside starlings waiting to murmurate

My most lasting memory of beautiful birdsong is the day we moved into a new house when I was eleven. We were near a large park, the garden was long, the trees were tall and well established. It was quite a contrast to our previous small square of grass and mud. I walked outside and the first thing that hit me was the sound. It was a chorus of wonderful twittering and tweeting. I remember just standing there, taking it all in. For the next sixty years this was the family home. I left at seventeen to go to art college, but I returned frequently. Sitting on the low wall outside, with a brew and my thoughts, early morning, or at dusk, birdsong was always my accompaniment.

We buried my dad’s ashes in that garden, on his birthday in Spring. We’d debated whether to have some music in the background, but then forgot all about it and traipsed down to his vegetable plot with just the urn and our thoughts. We should have known the birds would be welcoming in the season. It was all the sound we needed.

When my mum, at 92, finally left that London home I felt my heart was going to break. So many memories of happy times. Some time before the move, I wandered out into the garden. I was getting the washing in but I found myself videoing the shrubs and trees, so lovingly tended to over the years. As I began to record, I heard the sweet sound of birdsong (linked here: Birdsong in my Mum's Garden ) and was transported back to that first day so many years before. I stood there whilst I’m sure I felt an arrow pierce my heart.

Sing Something Simple

I was eleven
With a burgeoning interest
In boys and makeup
Pop stars
The Beatles
And not much else
But that first day
In a new garden
Awakened something in me
It was, quite literally,
Music to my ears
I couldn’t tell you
Which birds were in the chorus that day
And which birds sang solo
There was no conductor
To keep it all in tune
No bows to the audience
No furtive glances left or right
That wasn’t necessary
Nature had done her job
I stood and listened
Heart soaring
High as the glorious song
As it rose and fell
And rose again
Pure happiness
A memory planted
And hidden deep within my heart.

Thanks for reading......Jill Reidy