Skylarks and their inspirational song

One of my favourite local walks in summer is along a path below Ivinghoe Beacon, then climbing up to the ridge to look out over the extensive lowlands below. In the past, there was an added bonus, as there were several skylark nests in the fields that formed the first part of the walk and it was a joy to listen to their song and then try to spot them high up: very high up, for they take a bit of finding without binoculars. It is only the males that sing in this way and the flight is used to advertise their breeding territory. They may fly up several hundred metres before “hovering” for a minute or two, then descending rapidly. Singing is constant on the upward flight and when the skylark appears suspended at its zenith. 

Sadly, there are no longer skylarks in the fields next to Ivinghoe Beacon; at least, I haven’t heard them. Changes in farming practice and, especially, the time of year when grain is planted is one reason why these birds are now on the British conservation Red list [1]. Grain crops planted in early winter grow too tall for the larks in the breeding season, as they need easy access to the nest. 

Although they are rather dull in colour (see the image above) compared to some other birds, the effect of skylark song (heard in [1]) is far from dull and it has inspired many poets, for example, John Milton and George Meredith:

John Milton: L'Allegro (lines 40-44)

 

To hear the lark begin his flight

And singing startle the dull night

From his watch-tower in the skies

Till the dappled dawn doth rise

George Meredith: The Lark Ascending 

(lines 1-4; 65-70: and 121-122):

He rises and begins to round,

He drops the silver chain of sound,

Of many links without a break,

In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.

 

For singing till his heaven fills,

‘Tis love of earth that he instils,

And ever winging up and up,

Our valley is his golden cup

And he the wine which overflows

to lift us with him as he goes.

 

Till lost on his aërial rings

In light, and then the fancy sings. 

The lines from Milton stimulated Samuel Palmer to paint The Rising of the Skylark (shown below). As Milton’s lines suggest, the lark is high in the sky at dawn, being visible only as a speck identified by following the gaze of the human observer by the gate. It is an idyllic scene and its atmosphere owes something to Turner, recognised at that time for his genius in painting light. Palmer created this Romantic view in 1839 while he was based in Shoreham in Kent, with a house close to the River Darent. 

The valley of the Darent had a special significance for Palmer and it does for me, too, in a lesser way. Not, I’m afraid, for any artistic endeavours, but it was where I conducted experiments on aquatic insect larvae and I collected material from the chalk stream to work on in the laboratory. Having been very keen on Art History since undergraduate years, I always nodded at Palmer’s house when I arrived in Shoreham and parked next to the bridge by his house before starting my collection in the river. 

The quoted lines from George Meredith were inscribed on the manuscript of Ralph Vaughan Williams' The Lark Ascending, that shared its title with that of the poem. It was written just before the outbreak of the First World War, but didn’t receive its first performance in orchestral form until 1921. It has been recorded by many artists and a link to a recent performance is given below [2].

Vaughan Williams’ work was voted to be the most popular of all pieces of music by listeners to Desert Island Discs [3] and also placed first in Classic FM’s Hall of Fame [4]. That is not a surprise, as it has lyrical beauty and feels connected to British, and, more specifically, English folk music; a genre from which Vaughan Williams gained inspiration. Hearing this music in his head must a have been a solace to the composer as he served in both the Medical Corps and the Royal Artillery during the First World War, just as George Butterworth must have found comfort in recalling his lovely The Banks of Green Willow. That piece was also inspired by English folk tunes and was composed just before the war broke out, but, sadly, Butterworth was killed in the trenches [5]. Vaughan Williams survived, but he did suffer deafness from the noise of gunfire.

I love the works by Palmer and Vaughan Williams and their Romanticism touches a nerve with me. Given their popularity, it seems that I am not alone. The drab, but beautifully singing, skylark has been an inspiration for many other poets, painters and composers and I hope that we can do something to keep their numbers up, and even restore them to their earlier abundance. Skylarks inspire us, but we should remember that their song did not evolve for our benefit, but for theirs.

[1] https://www.rspb.org.uk/birds-and-wildlife/wildlife-guides/bird-a-z/skylark/

[2] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZR2JlDnT2l8&ab_channel=RichardBrittain 

[3] https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p04qpmw9

[4] https://www.udiscovermusic.com/classical-features/vaughan-williams-lark-ascending/

[5] http://www.rwotton.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-banks-of-green-willow.html

My thanks to Alexander Wotton who was the (unknowing) catalyst for this article.

 

Palmer’s painting is held by the National Museum of Wales: https://museum.wales/art/online/?action=show_item&item=1436

The full poem L’Allegro by John Milton is available here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44731/lallegro

The full poem The Lark Ascending by George Meredith is available here: https://allpoetry.com/The-Lark-Ascending

 

Origami doves

I attend an Art History group run by our local U3A. Last month, we looked at examples of Japanese Art and some in the class brought along examples from their own collections. We met again last Monday and our leader, Val, didn’t make the usual prior announcement of the art we would be discussing: we were just told that there would be visitors. All very intriguing.

On turning up at the Quaker Meeting Place in Berkhamsted, where we hold our meetings, I was surprised to find two tables, with chairs arranged around them, and the visitors all wearing T-shirts with “Dacorum Heritage Trust” written on the front. They were to lead us through a session making origami doves, so there was a connection to our previous subject. We were given paper sheets that had been cut to shape and which had lines drawn on them to show where we should make folds. I quickly completed two doves and handed them in. 

The doves from our group will be added to many others to form an installation in an empty building in Hemel Hempstead [1]. Each dove (see below for an image from the Dacorum Heritage Trust) will represent a soldier who died in the First World War and we could select his name from the thousands available. I chose at random and was given the names of Private Albert Harrowell and Lance Corporal Frank Harrowell, two brothers who were brought up in a cottage in the centre of Berkhamsted. After visiting the road where it was located, I’m fairly sure that this cottage no longer exists.

Albert operated a Lewis gun and was injured during an attack at Ypres on 31st July 1917, during which he was recorded as missing. He was married to Florence and was aged 31 when he died, his grave being at Ypres (Menin Gate) Memorial [2]. Frank was also a machine gunner and he was killed at Loos in France on 5th May 1918, aged 34. He was married to Ada Jane and, Frank being the elder brother, the couple lived in the cottage where Frank and Albert grew up. Frank’s grave is at the Loos Memorial [3], 43 km from Ypres. I don’t know more about the family and I can only imagine the grief suffered by the wives of the two men and the loss felt by William and Lizzie, their parents. I wonder how close they were as brothers? What were their occupations?

The brothers are commemorated on the War Memorial at Berkhamsted (see above) and, if it hadn’t been for the Dacorum Heritage Trust initiative, they would just have been names to me among many others. Now I feel differently and, on Remembrance Sunday, I will remember “my” Albert and Frank. I look forward to seeing the installation of all the origami doves. It is a little like the display of poppies that made such an impression at the Tower of London and I’m sure it will have a similar impact on the residents of Dacorum.

Doves are symbols of peace and help us to reflect on the horrors of war and each of us who made an origami dove now has a soldier (or soldiers) who is special to them. It is a lovely, and involving, thing to do and I realise once again how lucky I have been in not having to go through the horrors of war that the Harrowell family suffered a hundred years ago.

Many thanks to the Dacorum Heritage trust for letting me be a part of this marvellous initiative.

[1] http://www.dacorumheritage.org.uk/dht-news/commemorating-peacetime-in-dacorum/

[2] https://www.cwgc.org/find/find-cemeteries-and-memorials/91800/ypres-memorial

[3] https://www.cwgc.org/find-a-cemetery/cemetery/79500/loos-memorial/

A Naturalist during the First World War

E Ray Lankester (shown above in an image from the Grant Museum of Zoology) wrote regular pieces on Biology and Natural History in the Daily Telegraph and these were collected into three volumes, the third of which is entitled Diversions of a Naturalist, Lankester liking the title Naturalist to describe his interests [1]. The Preface of this third collection was written in June 1915 and begins [2]:

At this time of stress and anxiety we all, however steadfast in giving our service to the great task in which our country is engaged, must, from time to time, seek intervals of release from the torrent of thoughts which is set going by the tremendous fact that we are fighting for our existence. To very many relief comes in splendid self-sacrificing action, in the joyful exercise of youthful strength and vigour for a noble cause. But even these, as well as those who are less fortunate, need intervals of diversion – brief change of thought and mental occupation – after which they may return to their great duties rested and refreshed.

I know that there are many who find a never-failing source of happiness in acquaintance with things belonging to that vast area of Nature which is beyond and apart from human misery, an area unseen and unsuspected by most of us and yet teeming with things of exquisite beauty; an area capable of yielding to man knowledge of inestimable value. Many are apt to think that the value of “Science” is to be measured mainly, if not exclusively, by the actual power which it has conferred on man – mechanical and electrical devices, explosives, life-saving control over disease. They would say of Science, as the ignoble proverb tells us of Honesty, that it is “the best policy.” But Honesty is far more than that, and so is Science. Science has revealed to man his own origin and history, and his place in this world of un-ending marvels and beauty. It has given him a new and unassailable outlook on all things both great and small. Science commends itself to us as does Honesty and as does great Art and all fine thought and deed – not as a policy yielding material profits, but because it satisfies man’s soul.

I offer these chapters to the reader as possible affording to him, as their revision has to me, a welcome escape, when health demands it, from the immense and inexorable obsession of warfare..

When Lankester wrote this Preface, the second Battle of Ypres had already begun - with the first use of poison gas - and even worse was to follow with the Battle of the Somme one year later. As Sargent's emotive painting of casualties of battle reminds us (above, upper [3]), it is doubtful that soldiers who fought in the trenches (above, lower [3]), thought too much about the wonders of the natural world. There is such a contrast between the "joyful exercise of youthful strength and vigour for a noble cause" and the dreadful reality of warfare. Lankester must have written that for patriotic reasons as, in a letter to H. G. Wells dated 29th June 1915 (just after he had written the Preface), he wrote this of his attitude to the War [1]: "[It] is too much for me. It has laid me flat. I am too old for it. I shall never recover."

People of many nations lost relatives in the First World War - sons, grandsons, brothers, husbands - and the ever-present anxiety of those at home needed relief. Lankester’s thoughts in the Preface must have been intended for this audience and many readers would appreciate that there is a wider realm than that just of humans, although human influence dominates everything. Nature can indeed be comforting.

While growing up, I had to cope with both the death of my mother (when I was 13) and father (when I was 21). Their funerals were both held at the local Baptist Church, followed by cremation, but I had already left organised religion and had no wish to attend either the church services or the delivery to the crematorium. Perhaps that was selfish, or a bad idea for me in coming to terms with the loss? It didn’t feel like that at the time as, on both occasions, I went for a walk in the Devonshire countryside before returning to join family and friends who had attended the funerals. There was something about the connection to the continuity of life that was all around me that appealed to my adolescent self and it made the immediate bereavement just a little easier to deal with.

A final point comes with Lankester’s statement that: “Science commends itself to us as does Honesty and as does great Art and all fine thought and deed – not as a policy yielding material profits, but because it satisfies man’s soul.” Too often we regard the natural world as something that we can exploit for human gain yet, with consideration and control, it is vital that we do exploit it. However, we also have a responsibility to maintain the quality of the environment and this would be easier if more of us had a sense of wonder about all that we see around us. I don’t mean that we should just receive information from polished Natural History programmes and documentaries, but have more of the “what’s that?” or “look at that” feeling that walks in nature provide – with no presenter, background music, tricks or high production values – yet an abundance of things to see, smell, hear and, occasionally, taste. And then there’s the additional pleasure of gentle physical exercise in the open air...

[1] Joe Lester (edited by Peter J. Bowler) (1995) E. Ray Lankester and the making of modern British Biology. British Society for the History of Science Monograph 9.

[2] Ray Lankester (1915) Diversions of a Naturalist. London, Methuen & Co.

[3] These illustrations are from the Imperial War Museum Collection