The swallow has always been an important species for me. I grew up in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales. Outside my bedroom window were a pair of telephone wires and, at some time in mid April, one or two swallows would land on the wires and begin their distinctive, quiet twittering song. I was always pleased to see these summer visitors with their blue-black feathers, chestnut forehead and throat and their distinctive tail streamers. The arrival of the swallows generally meant the weather was changing for the better and we could look forward to the lambs growing and the cows being turned out to grass.
Over the next few weeks, the number of swallows would grow and some would begin nesting under the lintel of the barn door which adjoined the house. There were usually two or three or sometimes more nests and, after a few weeks, the parents would be busy with their aerial acrobatics, picking insects off the wing to feed to their growing brood. A few weeks more and the young birds would be ready to fledge.
If we were lucky and the weather was kind, there would be a second brood and then, during August, the swallows would mass again on the wires outside my bedroom window ready for the long migration to Africa. There could be dozens of these tiny, iridescent birds, twittering away to each other. Many would be making the return journey but for others, it would be their first time travelling away from Yorkshire and the north of England. I found it difficult to comprehend how they could all navigate those thousands of miles to their winter homes. And then, suddenly, they were gone!
A few years ago, after an absence of more than 30 years, I moved back to the southern edge of the Yorkshire Dales. Since my return, I have watched intently for the swallows and invariably, in mid April, they arrive. Unfortunately, the numbers are significantly lower than I remember from my childhood with, perhaps, two or three pairs nesting around the cluster of houses. In the past couple of years, it has been around the 24th or 25th of April when I have first noticed them but this year, it was on the 19th of April that I saw my first one. I suspect this early arrival is not, in itself significant as we experienced some unseasonably warm weather in February and I read reports of the swallows arriving on the south coast at that point.
So far, I have only seen a solitary swallow on two or three occasions. I hope this was a scout and that others will follow soon. However, it is now almost the end of April, there have been no other arrivals and the solitary bird must have just been passing through as I have not seen a swallow for more than a week! I keep scanning the skies for them but have, so far, been disappointed.
Why am I telling you all this?
This year, I hope to use the presence of the swallows to mark the passing of the seasons. Over the coming weeks, I’ll report periodically on the swallows, telling you what they are doing. I am not intending to use them as any sort of scientific indicator but just to try and make a reconnection with a small part of the natural world that many of us have lost. The presence of the swallows, their ability of these tiny birds to make the long journey from Africa, the instinct that drives them to find the place they last nested or, for subsequent generations, the place where they hatched, should provide a sense of awe and inspiration. Instead, these wonders of nature, which we find difficult to explain, often pass by without remark.
I hope you’ll come back over the next few weeks for an update on the swallows and I’ll try to provide some of my own photographs to illustrate the posts – although they are probably too quick for my amateur photography skills!
Update 15 May
Thank goodness, the swallows are back. I was beginning to get anxious as I kept looking skyward and not seeing them for days on end. There was an occasional glimpse of a solitary bird darting over the rooftops but then nothing. Finally, as the weather again began to warm at the start of this week there was a couple of swallows flying around, then three and finally, yesterday evening as we enjoyed the last of the day’s warmth, sitting in the garden, there were six or seven flying around.
I was also advised the other day that the swifts that call the village home for a few brief weeks in the summer had also arrived and in the small town just up the valley I saw a few yesterday afternoon.
Perhaps this means summer’s here?