Winters Heralds 



WHEN in November, while north winds do blow, we 

 see flying overhead a flock of greyish thrushes, that 

 might be missel-thrushes, yet are a little different, 

 and utter as they fly a peculiar note of their own, a 

 harsh, throaty kind of chuckle, like " chack, chack, 

 chack," we know that the fieldfares have arrived from 

 Scandinavia. And at once we have a sign that winter 

 is at hand. 



The first sight and sound of fieldfares in late autumn 

 is as a landmark of the seasons. And what forgotten 

 memories are stirred in some of our minds by their 

 presence among us once again memories of boyhood's 

 days, and plains of snow, and frosts so hard that even 

 these wary birds had seemed to lose their spirit and 

 watchfulness, so that they allowed us to walk up 

 quite close ere they fluttered feebly to shelter. Field- 

 fares suffer much in the cold, but at other times are 

 renowned for their vigilance. 



They come in late autumn to spend the winter with 

 us, and stay until spring is well on the way, some 

 flocks dallying on the coast perhaps all through April 

 before departing to their northern summer haunts. 

 Not for us is their love-song a wild, sweet warble, 

 they say it is or the chance to scale a high pine tree 

 for the thrush-like, clay-lined nest. 



But we see much of these interesting, mysterious 

 birds in winter, and all country people know them, 

 often speaking of them as " fulfers," or " foreign 



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