The children stomp across the non-slip chicken wire on the wooden bridge, laughing and clutching their pads and pencils. I follow the path that winds around the Sussex Wildlife Trust reserve, past reeds and meadow flowers, and find a secluded bench by the pond, shaded beneath the trees from the harsh afternoon sun.
I close my eyes and listen to each sound: the mew of a distant buzzard, a chiffchaff singing, a tuneful garden warbler in a nearby bush, and the shrieks of the adult coot calling to its softly whistling chicks.
The sounds of birds are in the trees all around me: the chirrups of blue tits, a great tit, the repeating high-pitched whistles of long-tailed tits. I look up to see a young long-tailed tit feeding in a branch by my head. Then another soft and soothing song begins in the background, barely perceptible – the gently rising and falling purr of a turtle dove.
Now rare and elusive, the turtle dove was an ancient symbol of love and fidelity, pairs remaining faithful to each other from one year to the next. It is estimated that a staggering 90% of these summer migrants have been lost in the UK since the 1960s.
The story is similarly dire across Europe. Last month the RSPB reported the results of tracking a bird all the way to its wintering grounds in western Africa and back. The research will help to understand the causes of the bird’s decline, which possibly include intensive farming, hunting and habitat loss.
“Whirrrrr, whirrrr, whirrr.” The bird is somewhere in the tall tree above me. I stand up and walk around the path for a better view of the upper branches.
The small dove is sitting on an outer branch, unusually unhidden. It has blush feathers, a bright pink eye, and a large white-and-black-striped patch on the side of its throat. Circles of light shine on its wing, picking out the dark-centred feathers, edged in gold like intricate marquetry.
I walk away, listening to the purring behind me, and wonder how we might explain to future generations why we lost such a beautiful bird.
