BIRDS AND ARTILLERY FIRE 133 



and I remember at St. Eloi seeing a blackbird drop dead from a tree under which 

 (sL shell had burst. One wonders how many other creatures suffered the same 

 fate. 



Kestrels and Little Owls were exceedingly common in the firing-line, particu- 

 larly on the Somme, although I cannot think they nested in that land of 

 unrest — for there were no trees and no buildings that would serve as nesting- 

 places. 



The wily magpie also stuck nobly to his accustomed breeding haunts, 

 and we used to watch a pair of them, not far from the ruins of Ypres, building 

 their nest at the top of a battered tree within 200 yards of our front-line 

 trenches. 



Considering that the war was presumably over in the late autumn of 1918, 

 and that eighteen months later our recollections of its ghastliness had already 

 been partially dimmed, I was perhaps justified, whilst rook-hawking in the 

 wide open spaces of the West of England, in experiencing a kind of minor shock 

 when I suddenly found myself gazing through my glasses at a collection of 

 shell-torn trees that recalled about as vividly as anything could recall in that 

 peaceful spring of 1920, the shattered remains of Thiepval Wood in 1916. 



Away over the chalky undulations — so absolutely typical of the Somme 

 country, and silhouetted against an evening sky — the gaunt stems looked curi- 

 ously silent and deserted. And yet . . . could those dark lumps amongst 

 the remaining branches be nests of some kind ? 



A closer examination showed that, far from being silent and deserted — 

 and in spite of heavy Artillery fire two or three days a week — ^the trees were 

 crowded with busy, noisy life. For on the top of their bare stems, or among 

 their broken limbs, a colony of Rooks, clinging to the accustomed nesting-site 

 with a tenacity that is tjrpical of their race, had placed their nests. 



Within 500 yards were undamaged trees in plenty — ^trees, one would 

 imagine, that could offer every inducement to a pair of matrimonially inchned 

 Rooks — ^but they were bare of nests. 



Oddly enough, some trees, such as one generally finds in the garden, and 

 which, in fact, at one time formed part of the little farmstead that stood on the 

 spot, were positively crammed with Rooks' nests. 



It would seem that the Rooks, obeying the homing instinct which is so 

 strongly developed in many birds, preferred to construct their nests amidst 

 the branches of any tree or bush that happened to grow within the favoiu:ed 

 area, rather than take advantage of the shelter of tail beeches and pines that 

 were within such easy reach. 



For not only were fruit-trees encumbered with the great piles of branches 

 and twigs, but even elder and yew bushes (one cannot dignify them by calling 

 them trees) were similarly utilized. 



Certainly this was the most extraordinary Rookery that the writer has yet 



