65 
The Swifts, 
By Aubrey Edwards. 
Head before the Zoological Section, 
December 7th, 1912. 
T HE Swift has always seemed to me to be the most wonder¬ 
ful of our British birds. It is not, as generally supposed, 
one of the Swallow tribe, but belongs to another family of birds, 
and is related to the Nightjars and the Humming-birds. It is the 
most highly specialised of our birds, and is developed for a life 
in the air. Its shape is very much like that of a fish ; there are 
no projections to catch the wind, the streamlines of the body 
are perfect. Its weight is only iioz., its length 7jin., and the 
spread of its wings reaches the enormous comparative length 
of i5|in. It is quite a large bird as compared with the Swallow, 
it holds its wings stretched out in flight, not folded back like a 
Swallow. Its shape in the air may be likened to a slightly bent 
bow with the body forming the arrow. The colour, which looks 
black, is really a dark olive brown, all except the chin, which is 
white. 
The scientific name, Cypselus apus , suggests that it is with¬ 
out feet, but some of those who have handled Swifts have reason 
to know better. The claws, all four of which point forward, are 
very sharp, and pierce the fingers of the incautious , when the 
bird gets a good grip. And it won’t let go. The best way 
to hold a Swift is to place the back; of the fore-finger between 
the wings, with the tip of the finger pointing to! the tail, and 
then to grasp the wings with the thumb and second finger. The 
bird is then quiet and harmless. The sole of the' foot extends 
to the joint above. The feet are black, and the claws will bend 
double with the sole at the end joint of each toe. The feet are 
formed for clinging on to rocks and walls. 
The nursery window of the Vicarage where I was born 
looked out on to the Church and Churchyard, and one of the 
earliest sounds I can remember is the joyous screaming-chorus 
of the Swifts as they flew round and round in merry rings between 
the Church and Vicarage—the most merry of all the summer sounds 
I know. The Swift has only one note, rather a harsh scream, 
but there is no monotony in the chorus. The joy of it is like 
children in the distance screaming for happiness. As the sound 
approaches the window crescendo and recedes diminuendo , it has 
that pleasing, wild quality of moving sound which marks the 
superiority of a church bell when properly rung over one that is 
stationary and struck by the clock hammer. A number of birds 
would gather together and fly in close order, with quivering wings 
skimming over the long roof of the nave, turning at the chancel 
round to the left and back to the Vicarage again and again, 
each bird screaming for joy. In a good year as many as forty 
pairs of Swifts would nest in or quite near the Church, and so 
K 
