March 2015 -- a Mistel thrush and Galanthus nivalis

When I haven’t seen a kingfisher for some time, I experience a feeling that something is missing. One day a few weeks ago, however, at 4:40p.m., I peered over the low wall flanking the culvert in front of Strinesdale water treatment works. As the light began to fade and a salmon-hued wash coloured the sky towards Oldham, a small olive-brown bird sailed into flight and shot away round the curve of the stream. What distinguished the bird and made it special was the diamond-shaped panel of blue light adorning its back – it was a kingfisher.

Mistel thrush

    Another common yet elusive gem was visible near the lower reservoir recently. Goldcrests re usually highly active, so it made a welcome change to gain a prolonged view of one. The overused adjective ‘exquisite’ is perhaps the best descriptive term for Northern England’s smallest bird. As I watched it pecking for insects on the bark of a young willow, the head was lowered to reveal a clear yellow stripe, identifying the bird as female. According to Collins Guide, the male has some orange in there as well as yellow.

    During the frosts of January, the longed-for advent of spring seems somewhat distant. As February proceeds, though, signs of new life are heard. A blackbird sings hard at 6a.m., demonstrating subtle and inventive variations, while the minor twitter of Christmas-card stalwart, the robin, is heard everywhere. A Mistle thrush heard in the distance is repetitive but with a golden quality, and afternoon song thrushes are almost at full throttle. Or should that be throstle?

    If increasing birdsong foretells the coming of spring, the humble snowdrop signals that winter is half done. I was admiring some in the lower reaches of Greenacres Cemetery, planted on or around a few graves, and thinking how well thes3 small waxen blooms had come through the cold and snow without damage. Remarkable, in this over-busy age with its thunderous traffic and digital communications madness, there exists a frenzied enthusiasm for growing them. A modest number of species has given rise to dozens of named varieties, each having an individual and distinctive charm.

Galanthus nivalis

While these sometimes command high prices for a single bulb, the ordinary species, Galanthus nivalis, is as good as any. The name translates as ‘milk-flower of the snow’. John Sales, a retired gardens advisor to the National Trust, grows 250 different sorts. Having discovered a sturdy snowdrop which flowers reliably at the beginning of the year, he has playfully named it ‘January Sales’.