t4 
LAND & WATER 
May 3, 1917 
Nesting Mothers of the Battle Zone 
By H. Thobiirn-Clarkc; 
TIIK war witli its upheaval of most of our ideas of 
tlio effect of {junfire upon the ha])its of the nature 
folk, does not apjwar to have troubled the migrat- 
ing resident birds of the Western battle zone. 
Already airmen have encountered vast flocks of migrating 
waders, ducks, and other birds flying at an immense altitude 
far above the sound of our massed artillery, and this year 
great Hocks of green plover have settled in the marshes, ami 
appear likely to stay for a while. Until early in March I had 
only seen two or three green plovers at ir time during all my 
two years wandering »ip and down the battle front. Now 
they liave settled down Iicrc in dozens, but, so far, I have not 
seen any of their absurd attempts at a nest, although they 
are wheeling, dipping, and fluttering in their dainty love 
flights over the marshes. 
I.ast year wild ducks nested among the reed beds to our 
left, and brought off large families of young ones. One family 
numbered ten when it first came off the nest, and it was most 
amusing to watch the tiny balls of fl\if( waddling uj) and dmvn 
an almost submerged stuni]) of a tree tiiat liad been felled 
by our gunfire. The mother duck would swim up and down 
^ watching them anxiously, making angry dashes every now 
and then at the coot that was occupied with a family of 
seven black velvet balls of fluff, on the other side of the reeds. 
'the two mothers would meet with a rush ; the duck would 
grip hold of a beak full of feathers, while the coot would fight 
with beak and claws. The fray generally lasted for a few 
seconds, then the motliers would race back to their broods, 
each evidently considering that she had triumphed over the 
other ! The scene was rejieated at intervals, day after day, 
but alas, the two broods grew daily smaller, until each motlur 
had only one nestling left. 'Probably the rats harl killed and 
eaten the rest. 
A Young Coot 
\t another time I captured a tiny coot and took it to my 
dug-out. I hoped to tamo it, but the wee mite developed 
most extraordinary climbing powers. It literally raced up 
the walls of the dug-out, hurled itself out of boxes and througli 
the entrance, and tore off making by instinct in the direction 
of the river. It was caught and brought back, but nothing 
would tame its restless spirit. So in the evening I crept down 
to the river, with the small coot carefully tucked into my 
pocket. I could see nothing of the old bird and lier brood. 
She had apparently left the scene. However, I took tlie little 
coot out of my pocket, and allowed him to call. Almost 
immediately I heard a reply from the reeds on the other side 
of the river, and the mother coot came swimming towards me. 
1 let the little beggar go, and the la.st 1 saw of him was a small 
black object swimming througli the moonlight. He joined 
his mother, and they both vanished into the shadows of the 
ojiposite bank and I saw tlieni no more. 
Our gun i)ositions are favourite nesting places for many 
birds. Whenever we remain in the same place for a few weeks 
they take possession of the " structures" wr use for masking 
the guns. Last autumn a blackbird built her nest in the 
sand bag parapet, and in spite of the storms andtherejieated 
liring of our gun she hatched out three eggs, and I believe 
reared the young ones successfully. At another ])osition — 
in an orchard this time— another blackbird made her nest 
among the teandbagi* ; this time only about four feet to the 
side of the muzzle of the gun, and stuck tight during the whole 
time we were strafing the Germans, and successfully hatched 
all four of her eggs, a suiprising feat when one considers tlie 
concussion. Not vcn,- far away a pair of blackcaps had built 
their nest in the gnarled stiunp of an old aj)ple tree. Then' 
were unfortunate, for a well aimed shell during a (jerman even- 
ing strafe, demolished the apple tree, and the nest. ApparentI v 
the blackcaps did not trouble for they built another nest iii 
the next tree sttunp and hatched out and brought up 
their young ones safely. 
Ainmunition waggons have a great attraction for the birds. 
A pair of sparrows endeavoured to construct a n^t in an empt\- 
one during a dinner hour, when we were resting, and actually 
followed us to the next rest, but the move on the next day 
discouraged them and they left us. During one of our stays 
in a certain part of the front a pair of wrens succeeded in 
building a nest, and when we were moved half a mile further 
on the two birds came with the waggon and would no doubt ]ia\e 
hatched out their young ones if the fortunes of war had not 
]uevented it. A hedge sparrow had her home in a ruined 
waggon, and when I found her nest,- she was patiently feeding 
a large cuckoo larger than herself. The hedge .sparrows and 
tlicif fi.-h r cliilil (ic-.ni>i('(l till" watri-'on f'>t- ;i Inn;,' tinv- nnfi 1 
have watched the two patiently feeding the cuckoo while the 
shells were bursting in all dfrections. At another time I 
lomid the nest of a hedge sparrow in the hub of a broken 
wheel lying in a position that was continually being shelled 
by the Germans. Evidently she must have stuck tight for 
at the time the nest was discovered it had four young ones in it, 
and the parent birds were feeding their nestlings with serene 
indifference to the dropping of shrapnel and bursting of shells. 
It, is extraordinary how fond the birds are of certain 
localities, and quite a large number of different varieties 
will nest together. In one wood, somewhat to the rear of our 
]>osition, during last summer, a vast number of pigeons, 
magpies, rooks, and crows were nesting in the taller trees, 
while various warblers, tree creepers, and tits built their 
dwellings in the undergrowth. Yet in the early days of the 
war the wood had been heavily shelled, and still bore marks 
of gunrtre in the shajjc of fallen trees. The conflict had been 
severe enough to have driven the birds to seek some safer 
abode, but evidently they had clung to the old place and 
declined to nest anywhere else. The numbers of pigeons seem 
to increase at an extraordinary rate. Probably the destruction 
caused by warfare does not equal that in times of peace, 
while the quantities of mice and rats afford sufficient food 
for the kestrels, and other birds that might prey upon the 
young nestlings. Sometimes in the height of the nesting 
season the noise of the nestlings in the various nests was 
almost deafening, all clamouring loudly for food the instant 
they heard the beat of their mother's wings. One would almost 
imagine that each bird's wing had a different sound, in that 
respect resembling the tread of the human footsteps. 
I have always associated the nightingale with a certain 
railway cutting in Berkshire, where it is possible to hear 
thein singing all night through, but almost impossible to find 
their nests, and exceedingly difficult to see the bird itself. 
Out here, however, the shyness has vanished. I have heard 
of nests in the front line trenches ; of eggs being hatched 
during a furious bombardment ; while close to our billet six 
pairs had l)uilt in a ruined garden, and we watched their 
nesting with keen pleasure. A blackcap literally sang us to 
sleep at nights. It perched in a saphng that screens a gun 
and sang constantly, its vivid notes punctuated with the boom 
of distant firing. At another place, a reedy remnant of a 
ruined moat, ten cHfferent kinds of birds were nesting in the 
weeds and rushes that clothed the bank. Tits, far bluer than 
any British bird, reed warblers, garden warblers, blackcaps, 
several greenfinch.es, and many other warblers. 
The martins and swallows are, I think, more numerous than 
in England, arid appear'as pleased with the ruins as the spar- 
rows and starlings. I have seen house-martins nests built under 
the cornice of th<' ruins of a highly decorated drawing room, 
pink cupids and blue love knots contrasting strangely with 
the mud of the nest. In most villages the peasants are 
\evy superstitions about the swallows and house-martins, and 
consider that ill luck will follow the destruction of a nest. 
So the swallows and martins are free to build where they like, 
and 1 often wonder Whether when the ruins are reconstructed 
they will endeavour to reconcile the birds to a change of (bvell- 
ing. .At present their nests are everywhere. One built on 
the rack where we hung our clothes, another on a rafter in our 
harness room, while several' occupied a shed in which the 
gunners were billeted during a " rest." The shed was strafed 
and a shell broke a large hole in the roof, but failed to explode. 
The swallows had previously used the doorway as an entrance, 
but they at once saw the convenience of the shell hole, and 
almost before the dust of the broken roof had subsided they 
were calmly flying in and out with food for their young ones. 
Possibly young swallows and martins require more food than 
other nestlings, for the parent birds were feeding them from 
the earliest dawning until it was almost too dark to see the 
birds. Yet the baby birds never ceased squealing for more. 
Shells might burst and shatter the adjoining sheds, even a 
■■ dud " piercethe roof that sheltered them, but still they cried 
insistently. Perhaps that is why the nesting mothers of the 
battle fields take matters so placidly. They have no time to 
waste, but must feed their young ones in spite of war's wild 
alarms, and, after all, it is the quantity of food that matters 
with the wild folk, and they have enough of that in all con- 
science at the Front. 
Since the sun has shone again, the Zoological Gardens in 
Regent's Park arc in higli favour. Much foolishness is talked 
about the cost of feeding the animals. AVIien it becomes npccssary. 
in the Food Controller's opinion, to destroy alP private dogs 
and cats, then it will be time to denounce the Zoo, which may- 
be fairly ca,llcd the most popular pleasure garden in England. 
Meanwhile, sensible cconomv i-* in force there. 
