'I Miss The Birds' Caitlin Moran in The Times Magazine

Magazine
I miss the birds

Caitlin Moran
Published October 11 2014
When I was a child, the dawn chorus was a sudden explosion of sheer creation joy.
Now my garden is empty
When I was a child, I li!ed in a world of birds " they filled the hedges, the trees, the
s#ies, the lips under the roofs.
$o step into the garden was to propel an indignant flurry of sparrows upwards,
outwards, from their dust%bath " they would scold me li#e tiny parents, before
returning. I #new, absolutely, that sparrows could be my friends one day " I would lie
still on the ground for hours with bread in my hands, waiting for them to come to me.
I #new their li!es& we shared the same house. In spring, their empty half%shells fell
from the ea!es nests as their chic#s hatched, often followed by the chic#s themsel!es.
Chic#s fall from nests a lot. In their youth, they are dumb. 'nd dead. We would
gather around their tiny chic#en%s#in bodies " huge, unopened eyes li#e blue planets
" and then gi!e them splendid, mournful funerals, their coffins made of fig boxes.
We #new all the birds( the crac# of a snail on a stone by a thrush& the cuc#oo%cloc#
call of the cuc#oo& the incongruous pin# of the fat, aggro bullfinch " loo#ing li#e the
beefy men up town, trying to get into nightclubs in their pin# )red *erry tops. 'nd
they made us #now them( for the dawn chorus e!ery morning was not some mee#,
placid cheeping " it was a sudden, !iolent explosion of sheer creation joy& loud, wild
and unstoppable, with fluid lines of melody I could sing to you, e!en now, and which
would wa#e you, awestruc#.
+oes birdsong coax the sun into returning e!ery morning, *erhaps the sun is in lo!e
with the tiny, racing hearts of birds " it would not come to us, were it not for them "
and the uni!erse is run on the unre-uited lo!e of stars for birds.
$hirty years later, and I ha!e my own house now. In the past two years, I ha!e spent
all my money constructing a garden as full of joy as the one I had as a child. I planted
my childhood gardens trees " ha.el, apple, lilac, hawthorn " and I waited for my
birds to come and fill it. I built an orchestra pit for my own dawn chorus, because
gardens are for birds.
/ut my garden is empty. ' fifth of /ritains birds ha!e disappeared since 0122. 3es,
there is a magpie, and three bra!e blue tits, and, sometimes, the soft, forlorn
thudding of wood pigeons on the conser!atory roof. /ut the hedges do not bustle with
sparrows& the worm%pulling industry of the thrush and the robin is absent.
$he seething, swarming business of birds " rattling the lea!es, filling the s#y, digging
the earth " is gone. 4itting in this grand, bird%empty garden is as sad as sitting in a
castle, with the candelabras bla.ing, and the waiters standing in line with trays of
champagne " and no one coming. I am 5atsby, alone.
I thin# of all the things my children do not #now. I!e ta#en them on a train that goes
under the sea, they can tal# to people across the world on their phones, they!e eaten
6eston /lumenthals Won#a puddings " and yet I would cheerfully exchange all of
that if they could wal# into a garden full of sparrows, and be scolded by them. $o
ha!e a child and not ha!e it li!e among birds nags at me as a thing undone " a thing
done wrong. $hey are growing up in a world where humans will be lonely. $hey will
not #now the companionship of animals.
$en years ago, unthin#ing, I bought my children two cats " so that they might #now
the companionship of cats. /ut when the cats climbed into the wrens nest and #illed
the baby wren, the wrens ne!er came bac#. $he apple tree where they once bustled is
totally silent, and dar#. I ha!e learnt that the companionship of cats comes at the loss
of birds. Cats #ill 77 million birds a year in the 89. I will ne!er own another cat again.
In the choice between tiger eyes and fur, and bead eye and song, I ha!e pic#ed my
team now. I am for the birds. I dont care if I come bac# to a house that is empty, if I
can step outside and find the s#y full.
In the hours where I wish to treat myself " after I ha!e paid my alms and gi!en my
than#s for good fortune " I s#ul# around websites, wondering if Ill buy myself a pearl
nec#lace, gold curtains, a pair of green brogues. /ut what I really want to do is buy
myself birds " tens of birds, hundreds of birds. $o greedily clic# on cuc#oo, and
sparrow, and finch, and thrush " to ha!e a box arri!e, by hatted courier, and to cut
the #notted strings, and watch a cloud of them rise up, bursting, and fill my garden
with the rightful things of a garden( feather and song& the crac# of a snail on the
stone& bro#en eggshell& the hymning of rain and sun.
/ut my garden is empty. I am 5atsby, alone, melancholy " playing birdsong on my
laptop, by birds that died a long, long time ago.

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I miss the birds

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