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A Country Year - Thaw on the Marshes.

January 19th to February 5th

Eastern Evening News A. Patterson (1893) - The frost sprite has relented, and - mayhap for a moment - has turned his back upon us. His icy fingers have loosened their iron grip upon the waters, and the snows which he has scattered broadcast have softened themselves into moisture, for a season of thaw-time has set in. Save for the presence here and there of a patch of whiteness, which marks a drift or a hollow where the stubborn snowflakes have held out as if anticipating reinforcements; and for a long, narrow ice-margin moored to the feeble reed-stems in the ditch and broadland, the rambler might imagine snow-time had not been so recent, or that it had left us altogether.

The soil, too, has lost its rigidity; and the earthworm has already dotted the marsh with his "casts," as if eager to come to the surface for his night gossip; whilst his invertebrate foe, the mole, has shown signs of renewed activity by the hills he has thrown up in his tunnelling - self-erected monuments, indeed, to his own characteristic industry. Nature has prompted both to such timely action - not only for their own apparent benefit but hers, for are not both these insignificant creatures her useful allies in draining the surface of the land of excessive and accumulating moisture?

And how fare the birds now - think you? Why! right merrily, to be sure, for they have once again, for a short season at least, reverted to their old mode of life, glad, no doubt, to find their provender with far less searching, and of the sort that suits their likings best.

We shall not trouble to wander beachwards in search of them, for we shall find little difference that way in their doings, and for certain we shall see fewer of them, for the wader has hastened back to the marshes; the wildfowl are not so restless, and are now prone to be distrustful of us, and the gulls will be as busy, but a trifle shyer, in their movements to and fro over the still rolling, but less, white-fringed waves.

The crows are still broad-arrowing the sands in their searchings up and down the tide mark, and an odd dunlin or two, and perhaps a vagrant knot may be doing the same thing, content with fragments their bigger neighbours pass by unnoticed or turn their mandibles disdainfully away from.

The snowbunting have separated into smaller parties, and are busily seeking seeds of dune plants; and the lark occasionally so far forgets past inconveniences as to mount upwards for a snatch of song, but checks himself as if he deemed this light-heartedness premature, and returns again to forage. The wren clatters her garrulous notes more cheerfully in between her more silent explorations among the furze-stems that now look black and dead as they stand out contrasted by the yet snow-covered ice fragments margining the ditch sides. We will pass by these, and saunter or shuffle and slip - our progress will be a little better - along by the Bure side.

As we leave the town we can but note how distrustful and wary have the birds become. We look in vain for the thrush and the blue-tit; they have retired to where the hedgerows grow thickest. Even the quarrelsome sparrow have grown shy of us, and, despite the squabble they have been enjoying in the muddy roadway, fly off in alarm as we stop to watch their angry antics. The starling, perched on yonder chimney-top, has met with some good luck to-day - maybe at a fresh-made dunghill - or he would not now be so contentedly piping and whistling as he is. He has been keeping strange company of late, very likely on the "flats" of Breydon, for we detect in his mimicry the wail of a curlew, the shrilly call of a dunlin, and the softer note of the ashy-plumaged knot.

A Country Year - Thaw on the Marshes.

January 19th to February 5th

The hawthorns are not so crowded by the redwings which but a few days ago were gleaning up the remnant of mellowed berries, and the chuckling notes of the fieldfare are not heard here to-day, for both have hied away to the marshes in search of earthworms, or a hunting in the less inhospitable hedgerows which form a network over the fields in the quiet country. Woe to the unwary snail or slug that shall be found by them essaying a slimy rumble up the decaying bracken stalks, or the awakened insect daring to run the gauntlet of those keen black eyes! The greenfinch and the "spink" have ventured back into the market gardens, hoping to find a few soft, scattered seeds that may still be lying upon the soil unburied, caring little whether they be of the plantain, the white-goose-foot, or the radish; and are content to eke out the short supply with a bit of groundsel or other weedling again exposed to view from the melting snow.

See! that unwieldy big-headed sparrow-like fellow sitting on yonder thorn spray. He is none other than a wandering hawfinch; and by no means a frequent visitor in this locality, although now and again in the winter months he is hardly a rarity. The sprinkling of hawthorn berries has attracted him hither. The hawfinch is a migratory species - a few it is true, nesting a little to the southwards of East Anglia - giving us a look when the majority of the land birds have hastened southwards. With such a ponderous head and bill, and such an apology for wings and tail, the passage across cannot be otherwise than a dangerous one for him. A couple of linnets start out from some decaying thistle, a titlark and a pied wagtail zig-zag along by the ditch bank, the latter settling himself momentarily upon a little grass knoll, apparently there deciding what next to do, whilst the other overtops the river bank and begins running in as erratic a manner as he has flown upon the soft brown mud, and then as if dissatisfied with the chances the spot offers him for a meal te-wit-wits across the equally brown water which is slowly gliding down to the ocean, and alights upon the other side.

High overhead a bunch of wild ducks, as likely as not of pochards, are flying Breydon-wards, and yet higher a steady moving V-shaped of gulls are going in the opposite direction, making for the open sea.

Gracefully moving hither and thither are about half a dozen white pinioned gulls. How easy and without seeming effort do they glide, scarce moving their pale blue wings, until, dropping down upon some floating edible which we have failed to distinguish, and dipping into the water but the tips of their red mandibles and the toes of bright vermillion feet, they rapidly winnow themselves into the air again, to repeat these manoeuvres again and again.

How muddy our path becomes! It takes one's time now to keep in anything like a vertical position; and how tenaciously the accumulation of greasy mud sticks to one's boots, until it is with difficulty one foot can be persuaded in front of the other, and to remain in the spot it is placed in, whilst the other gets in turn in advance of that! On the marsh on our right a number of starlings are probing the soft soil with their sturdy mandibles, and a bit beyond the the rooks are similarly employed.

The clouds, which have been driving up from the westward, are now dropping down upon us, and everywhere around, a cold damp drizzle. We hesitate a moment whether we should go further, but a naturalist surely in not dismayed by trifles of this sort.

A Country Year - Thaw on the Marshes.

January 19th to February 5th

It evidently troubles yon dabchick but little. See! he is disporting himself in the river. Ah! he has espied us, and down below the surface dived he, thinking himself safer there than in too close proximity to us above it. A few moments elapse and we see the buoyant creature come to the surface - a long way ahead - so suddenly that we imagine it must have been far easier to keep above than remain there so long, and to navigate himself below.

We cross the stile at the bend of the river, and find the mud, if anything, more sticky and "squashy." How barren is all around us! Far away, on every hand, stretches the denuded marshland with its sickly green carpeting grass, here and there relieved by a gloomy waste of rough brown soil or stubble, left bare again by the melted snow, to the great delectation of the lapwings busily searching for a dinner in scattered parties.

How bare are the ditches of vegetation, the few brown, brittle reed stems, that have survived till now in the sweep of the north and north-east winds, are bruised and tottering. The purple Michaelmas daisy, the yellow iris, the coltsfoot, and the water plantain that aforetime gave brightness and variety are represented now by a layer of grey, sodden, half-submerged litter, clinging to the frail reed stems which point their tuftless, hollow stumps heavenwards.

Hark! that was the harsh note of a hungry heron. See, far away as yet is the bird himself. Keep quite still, he may be coming hither in search of prey - we question if he will find any. Fortunately for us we are unobserved. With another harsh cry he alights at the far end of the ditch. How gracefully grotesque are the postures into which he puts his long, lank self. Motionless he stands "knee-deep" in the ditch, patiently meditating upon the scarcity of food in general, and the food of his sort in particular. But patience has with him become a virtue. The eels are buried in the mud, the Breydon crabs and "butts" have retired into deeper waters - the very water-beetles and frogs and newts have aped the sluggish eels, and there is not a water-vole to be had for love or - the catching. Ah! poor little reed-bunting, why did not you "look before you."

The rain patters down in a more determined manner, and we yet plod on. Hailing a friendly eel-picker, plying his oars downstream. we are put across the river, and make our way through the "miry clay" on the Breydon walls, disturbing from the tangled patch of small flowering rushes a couple of snipe; and a flock of golden plovers dash by us as on wings of wind. What a "slough of despond" is the gateway of the last marsh we come to! But we are not disposed to beat a retreat, and we cannot be muddier than we are! Now across the railway metals, a clamber up the walls, and we obtain a cheerless view of Breydon in one of her vilest moods, for the outlook below is but a mass of mud, and in front the same, for the tide is out, and rain blurs the horizon. A few grey gulls sit disconsolately hunched and bunched on a distant "flat," the cry of the knot is distinctly heard, and the "shrilly notes of the 'stints' bespeak a goodly crowd of vocalists, which become louder still as the distant boom of a punt-gun tells death to some wretched tufted duck or golden-eye, or, maybe, pintail, or yet more rare and desired game.

In a crowded phalanx the frightened dunlins shayle past us, a couple of grey plovers bearing them company, whilst the round-up of gulls, with vociferous O lawk, O, lawk! mount into the air and hasten seawards, until the flood tide makes up, and they shall find it worth their while to come back again to forage. Let us hasten homewards.

A Country Year - Thaw on the Marshes.

January 19th to February 5th

From the Norfolk News, Last C. Farman (1904) - The morning is exceptionally calm; there is scarcely a breath of air to be felt, and a hazy atmosphere. Scarcely have I planted a foot on the first marsh grass blades ere I catch the sound of old familiar friends, the lapwings, who are having a jolly time of it amongst the worms this open weather. Parties of lapwings are scattered all over the lowlands, and are now enjoying the company of a few fieldfares. What havoc the moles are making. The rascals are literally ploughing the soil up everywhere, and filling the small drains with monstrous heaps. Like the lapwings they seem contented and happy, having matters entirely their own way. I catch the sound of a plover's whistle - one single note, a warning to his fellows, a signal of danger. This note is altogether different from the one used whilst on the wing, and those accustomed to his ways can easily distinguish the difference. Some fifty plovers are standing, still as statues. Not another sound is heard, yet some sign must have been given. The flock rise as one bird. Their swift flight speedily takes them from view. The recent heavy rains have formed little pools of water on every marsh. Thousands of starlings are madly rushing about squabbling and fighting noisily, every individual seemingly endeavouring to get the largest share of the grubs and wireworms, both of which abound. What busy fellows they are, never still from early morn till the shades of evening appear. As darkness comes on they wing their way to the woods in the distance to sleep the sleep of the just. Like others of the feathered tribe they have their faults, but in spite of these the farmer has not a more useful bird on his holding. A number of rooks are combined with the starlings. They generally manage to get on very well together. The rooks are alarmed at something. Once a peregrine or any of his tribe shows up. away go the darkies puffing and grunting. Not a word is spoken till the dangers past, and then everyone seems to try to make the most row possible, as though boasting of his own particular bravery.

A heron flaps lazily out of a ditch, scattering the lapwings in all directions. The latter evidently do not appreciate the society of daddy longlegs, and a general scamper heavenwards is made. Several golden plover can be detected amongst them. The note of the snow buntings rings upon the ear, and I see a large flock, some 200 or more. A dozen yellow hammers leave the long dead grass with their usual jumpy flight. Crossing the road we take to the marsh again, disturbing more yellow hammers and a couple of tits. We hear a curlew in the distance. Twenty-one plover pass overhead in the V shape of flight, a minute later coming down with a rush. Now we have some surprises. The whistle of a couple of green sandpipers overhead somewhat startle, and at the same time please, us, as it is very unusual to see this bird in January. We are, however informed that this species has put in an appearance every month in the year. These two pipers drop into the next marsh. Perched upon some thistle stumps singing sweetly sat eight goldfinches - truly a treat to see so many these days.

A Country Year - The Cobble-bird.

January 19th to February 5th

From the Norwich Mercury E. Kay Robinson (1904) - For the last few days a pair of hawfinches have been feeding on some fat which I hung on a string for the tits from an acacia tree. The hawfinches climb down the string to the fat, and on one occasion there was a hawfinch above and a blue tit hanging below, both feeding vigorously. Although comparatively few people are familiar with the hawfinch the number grow annually, because hawfinches are undoubtedly becoming commoner in most parts of the country, and when green peas are ripening their presence in the neighbourhood is conspicuously advertised by the rows of empty pods hanging where yesterday's promise of an early dish of green peas had gladdened the owner's eyes. To the gardener the hawfinch is particularly obnoxious at such times, because it is difficult to get up early enough in the morning to catch the bird at its breakfast, and its appetite is huge. Nevertheless the male hawfinch, with his handsomely contrasting shades of buff and umber, glossy black and white, and his great flesh-coloured bill, which turns to a discreet indigo in the breeding season, is a bird of distinguished foreign aspect, and makes a welcome addition to the company that one may hope to see at the bird-table.

From British Birds by William Henry Hudson (1896) - The hawfinch has a somewhat curious history in this country. It was always believed to be an accidental autumn and winter visitor until, a little over half a century ago, the naturalist Doubleday, of Epping, discovered that it was a resident all the year round, and not a very rare species in that locality. Later it was found breeding in other places, and it is now known to inhabit all the Home Counties and various parts of England. At present the belief is general that the bird is increasing in numbers and extending its range. This would seem the most natural explanation of the fact that the bird is often seen now in places where it was not seen formerly; but it must be taken into consideration that nobody looked to find the hawfinch when it was not known to be a British species, and that now many sharp eyes watch for it. As it is, we are seldom rewarded by a sight of it, even in localities where it is known to exist. Its excessive wariness prevents it from being seen even if it is not rare. No other small bird is so shy with us, so vigilant, and quick to make its escape at the slightest appearance of danger. When not feeding it passes the time in woods, plantations, copses, at a spot where the woods grow thickest and the foliage is most dense. Its love of concealing itself in the deepest shade is like that of a nocturnal species. When away from its obscure place of refuge it is extremely alert, perching in the top of trees to survey the surrounding scene, and from which to drop silently into any garden or orchard which may be safely visited.

Hawfinches are rather silent birds: when flying from tree to tree in small flocks they utter a call-note with a clicking sound. In autumn and winter the hawfinches feed on seeds of various kinds - hornbeam, beech, yew, and hawthorn. The kernels only of the haws are eaten; and, in like manner, cherries and other fruits are robbed for the sake of the kernel, the hard stones being split open with the powerful beak.

From Birds Beasts and Fishes of the Norfolk Broadland by P. H. Emerson (1895) - The Hawfinch or Cobble-bird. Mere glimpses of this handsome bird against a grey background is all we get in the Broadland, brief glances scarce worth recording, and the proud-looking bird with the curly feather is gone, so we know little of him and his ways.

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