A notice appeared on a lamp post in our lane, an application to remove a conifer. While that tree was not a thing of great beauty, I knew it was important to our birds. Blackbirds and thrushes used it as a song-post, proclaiming their territories, and it provided cover for small birds travelling down from Kendal Fell into the gardens to feed.
There was cover for fledglings too – I knew this because of watching the fortunes of our garden blackbirds and their broods over the years. I knew too that there were blackbirds nesting in the hedge in the lane. I’d seen the telltale signs of one bird feeding at a time, taking beakfuls of insects back to the hedge, the male adopting his swirling, banking flight, and on one occasion winging past my ear, zooming away uttering his alarm call, letting me know I was in the way.
I called the council to arbitrate on behalf of the birds, but the tree officer said there’s no precedent in law to preserve trees for wildlife, and without a tree preservation order there’s no way of safeguarding any particular tree. It’s illegal to fell a tree containing active nests or to disturb wild birds, but the responsibility for surveying lies with the owner or tree surgeon. In the past five years there have been no prosecutions for nest disturbance in Cumbria.
A few weeks later, the growl of a chainsaw. Two Land Rovers had arrived and a chipping machine – the latter parked immediately adjacent to the nest. I went out to tell the men about the site, pointing to it. They were polite, though the machine stayed where it was. Then the deafening noise began, and the tree was dismantled.
That afternoon a singular keening note pierced the air, the call blackbirds used to contact the young as they fledged – either to entice them from the nest, or to call to them from their newfound territory once they’d flown. The next day the two adults appeared together feeding in our garden; the nest was clearly lost. Resilient birds, they will no doubt begin again.
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