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V.
MY CHRISTMAS GARDEN PARTY. ⁶

Norwich is proverbially a City of Gardens, and many of the houses in St. Giles’s Street, including my own, are fortunate enough to share in the advantage of possessing one of these valuable urban appendages.

As regards the birds that frequent these gardens, the neighbourhood of Chapel Field, with its trees and shrubs, is, or should be, an additional attraction to them; but I am bound to say that I have not observed so great a congregation, or so large a variety of birds, in Chapel Field Gardens as might have been expected.

My own garden consists of a plot of grass of fair size, with one large apple tree in its centre, a double laburnum tree close by, and with several other trees of good size on its confines. Some of the boundary walls are covered with ivy. In my neighbours’ gardens are also both trees and shrubs, whilst Chapel Field is in the immediate vicinity, just beyond my stable yard.

There is thus a considerable variety of shelter for the birds, and, doubtless, a proportionate variety of food for them at the proper seasons.

In ordinary years, and in average seasons, the following birds come into my garden: —

1. Our constant town friends, the Sparrows.

2. Blackbirds and Thrushes (a pair of each of which usually build and hatch with me, though I am sorry to say that their labour and pains are usually devoid of result, as the young birds are got by the Cats, either in the nest, or as soon as they leave it).

3. Starlings.

4. Robins.

5. Jackdaws (occasionally – from the neighbouring church steeple).

6. At rare intervals I see a little Wren, or Tom-tit, busily engaged on the above-mentioned laburnum tree, evidently getting a good meal from what it finds in the bark.

7. In the prolonged frosty or snowy weather the garden is occasionally visited by the Missel-thrush, and now and then also by

8. A Rook.

In the ordinary way, and in open weather, the number of my bird visitors is not large, but in the cold winter weather, and in response to my invitation, this number very considerably increases, so that at times I must have had as many as thirty-five or forty feeding in my garden at the same time. The increase of numbers is chiefly made up of extra Sparrows and Starlings; and when it occurs the scene is often a very lively one; the whole of the thirty or forty birds being often assembled very closely together in active movement; and the grass or garden path on which they collect is sometimes quite black with their feathered life.

The prolonged frost of the past winter is fresh in all our memories.

On January 6th, when I specially noted the assemblage of my bird friends, we had had intermitting frost and snow for about five weeks, almost continuous snow (with occasional yieldings of the frost) for a fortnight, and a complete snowy covering up of the garden ground for a week, with sharp frosts, and often low temperatures at night. There had been no sun, and, therefore, no melting of the snow by the wall, or by the hedge edges, and, consequently, doubtless the natural animal food of the birds was very scarce and difficult to obtain. Some food had been thrown to them daily during the greater portion of this severe weather; but for the preceding week they had been fed pretty regularly twice daily.

My usual times for feeding had been about 9.30 (after my breakfast), and about 2 p.m. (after luncheon).

When first fed, the birds – beginning with the Sparrows – seem only to find the food thrown out by accident, and would drop down by ones and twos, as their instinct or sense of far-sight appeared to show them that there was food to be had. But very soon they seemed to remember these fixed hours, and many of them, especially Starlings, would then be seen collected on neighbouring trees, or elsewhere, before these times, evidently ready and waiting for what they were expecting.

The Sparrows would be chirping in the ivy. The Starlings would be seen sitting on the watch on a neighbouring tree or trees, and as soon as the food was thrown down they would immediately begin to descend upon it.

Yet not all at once, or without due and proper precaution and inspection. First, the Sparrows – as the boldest – would drop down singly, but in rapid succession. Then the Starlings would draw nearer one by one, and carefully look down and inspect the ground. And when one had summoned courage to descend, the rest would quickly follow. But, of course, the slightest noise would make the whole flock suddenly flutter up again into the trees, or into the next garden, as quickly to return when the alarm was found to be groundless.

After a little further time, a Thrush or a Blackbird or two would join the group. Later still, always late, a little Robin – quiet, silent, and pathetic – with its half timid and half confiding manner, would come into view. Again, after a further interval, occasionally one of the Jackdaws would appear upon the scene. And now and then, last of all, a huge Rook would suddenly descend and carry off some large crust which the smaller birds had left uneaten – reserved for more deliberate pecking at when the crumbs and smaller portions of food were disposed of.

The manners of these various birds differed strikingly. The Sparrows, of course, would be first and boldest, and everywhere.

The Starlings would often form a compact group around the outspread food, one of them occasionally darting off with a big morsel or savoury bone.

The Thrushes and Blackbirds would arrive quietly from over the wall; they would hop about usually on the furthermost outskirts of the crowd, and as near as possible to their habitual corner. And the Blackbirds would waggle their tails in their own quaint manner, and perhaps give their peculiar cry, whilst both Thrushes and Blackbirds would evidently indicate their consciousness of superior manners and their greater dignity, if not their actually more retiring dispositions.

The little Robin, solitary and observant, would come nearer to the house than the other birds; but his advent was usually too late for anything but the bare dry remains of the feast left by the rapacious Sparrows and Starlings.

The Jackdaw would fly straight to the apple tree, perch upon it, then suddenly descend and seize upon the biggest remaining morsel; then as quickly fly up again into the tree and try to eat it there. In this respect, in marked contrast to the Rook, which in the worst weather would occasionally suddenly arrive and help himself to the biggest crust left, but he would always at once fly away with it in his capacious maw.

I am sorry to say that my garden party friends have displayed a very considerable amount of selfishness. Each kind of bird, of course, selects first the kind of food most appropriate to it. But there is clear indication that the law of force prevails amongst them, and that might carries the day against fairness and right. And it is most clear that neither Communism, nor Socialism, nor Equality with Fraternity, is a doctrine in favour with them – at least in practice. As long as there is a good supply of the best eatables, my friends are most communistically amiable to each other. But as soon as the available supply begins to run short, then the most barefaced selfishness is the order of the day. The strong sparrows drive away the weaker ones, or pursue them and steal from them any dainty little morsel they may have secured and flown away with. The Starlings dart at each other and scream, or go through continual “fluttering duels” in their efforts to steal their neighbours’ goods; whilst the Jackdaws and Rooks have no reserve in displaying their views as to their practical agreement with Rob Roy’s well-known maxim.

I have not observed either the Blackbirds or Thrushes to fight for their food as the Sparrows and Starlings do.

The Starlings exhibit some other very peculiar ways. Before descending to feed they will sit upon neighbouring trees in an attitude of pensive watchfulness – one irresistibly reminding one of an old man leaning his head upon one side and resting it upon his hand. Their peculiar waddling walk or run and extreme liveliness of manner are well known; but when all the food is gone, and they return for a short season to their trees, they will often resume their philosophic or contemplative attitude – very soon, however, to disappear to “other fields and pastures new,” or in plain English, to some neighbouring and equally hospitable garden. And their capacity for food appears to be very great.

The kinds of food which I have thrown to my feathered friends have been bread and large crusts, oats, the refuse of meals, scraps of meat, bones of fish or fowls, herring skins, cheese rinds, portions of fat; and I have found that the animal matters are very greedily seized upon by nearly all of them, scarcely excepting the Sparrows. And it is remarkable what large bones of fish or fowl are rapidly and entirely disposed of; whilst still larger bones from a joint are picked and cleaned to the last available particle. Like bird-cannibals that they are, I observed that some bones from my Christmas Turkey thrown out to them, appeared to be very specially and particularly relished by them. When very hungry, not only will Sparrows eat some kinds of animal food; but Robins, Starlings, and Jackdaws will all eat bread crumbs and bread crusts.

It is sad to think what a mixed world this is even for birds; and that even such a happy and interesting town gathering as I have described is not without its drawback, and this a very serious one.

Whilst the birds are making the most of their opportunities, gratifying their natural tastes, and exhibiting their peculiarities, a Nemesis, or vengeful fate, is constantly hanging over them, ever ready to overtake them in case of any relaxation of their habitual watchfulness, in the case of our own or neighbours’ Cats. For these fat and feline creatures seem to be on the watch for their own good Christmas bird cheer; and with crouching, stealthy steps, and wagging tails, they actually do now and again succeed in stealing upon their unsuspecting victims, and in illustrating the inexorable law, as to food, of animal-feeding creatures.

It is pitiful to see a Sparrow or a Blackbird thus hopelessly engaged in the clutches of a Cat; and it is a sad interruption or ending of the scene of joy, if not always of harmony, I have just described.

Our own pet Cat, though over fed, cannot resist the temptation of thus stealing upon these birds when the chance occurs, and its excited movements when watching them through a window, but unable to get out, are a study in themselves.

To a certain extent the Starlings have now and then a sort of sentimental revenge; for when very hungry these bold birds will descend into the kitchen yard close to the house, and carry off bones and scraps placed there for the use of the said Cat, who has been seen to watch their theft of its food through the kitchen window in a state of trembling but helpless excitement, and evidently of intense disgust.

During all the time of my feedings I could but notice the wonderful instinct which the birds exhibit, of discovering the presence of food. Sparrows are everywhere, and therefore it is not surprising that our home friends should be on the alert, and should quickly descend upon the feast prepared for them. But how do their neighbours and more distant friends so quickly know of it? How do the Starlings, who are not usually so near at hand, discover the good things available for them? How does the Jackdaw in the steeple learn of the meat or bones thrown upon the garden path? Or the Rook in the distant tree or field of the large crust which the lesser birds have been unable to dispose of?

It is clear that neither sight nor sound, as we understand them, would be sufficient to inform and direct them; and that the most delicate sense of such perception would be insufficient to enable them to perceive food placed, say, behind a garden wall.

I have observed that the birds usually arrive pretty constantly in the following order: – Sparrows, Starlings, Thrushes, Blackbirds, Robins, Jackdaws, Rook; though sometimes neither Jackdaws nor Rook will appear, and often the little Robin is so extremely late in his arrival that all the suitable food is eaten up.

The Tit, or Wren, or occasional Finch, seen now and then in the garden does not condescend to join or associate with such a mixed Christmas party as I have described, but comes at his own time, and in his own way. But these little birds have lately been such rare visitors, that I have not had the opportunity of making any exact observations upon their manners and customs in the parish of St. Giles.

I should scarcely have ventured to read these very simple and very superficial notes to this Naturalists’ Society this evening had I not had reason to believe that they would form the starting-point of far more scientific information about birds from one or more of its members now present.

Note, 1907. – Some other birds have occasionally visited my garden, such as Nuthatches, Redwings, Blackheaded Gulls, and a few others. As to the Gulls, in January, 1907, after a very heavy and prolonged fall of snow, some fifty or sixty of these birds, in their winter plumage, visited my garden and greedily fed upon food (bread or animal) thrown out to them. And almost filling, as they did, the grass plot, they formed a very beautiful sight. Some of these birds in their food-hunting would come almost up to the drawing-room window.

VI.
MY CITY GARDEN IN A “CITY OF GARDENS.” ⁷

Norwich has long been known by the designation of a “City of Gardens.” How long I know not, but we do know that Evelyn, on his visit to Norwich in 1671, spoke of the “flower gardens in which all the inhabitants excel.” He also wrote in his diary that at this visit he went to see Sir Thomas Browne, whose “whole house and garden was a paradise and cabinet of rarities.” This garden, I believe, at that time extended from his house in the Market Place (where the late Savings Bank stood) to at least as far as the present Orford Hill, but no portion of it now remains.

It is much to be regretted that so many of the old Norwich gardens have fallen a prey to the requirements or encroachments of the builder; and that where ample space and air for flowers and shrubs, and even trees, formerly existed, there is now nothing but manufactories or houses with small back premises, or at the most, little gardens so surrounded by walls as to be little more than wells, with stagnant air and frequent showers of chimney blacks. Still, in spite of the rapid increase of the city, and the gradual absorption of building spaces, we are glad to know that – even in the central parts of the city – some of the old gardens do yet remain, and that they are still able to produce much floral beauty, and in many other ways to contribute to the interest and pleasure of those who are fortunate enough to possess them.

Of course, my present reference is only to gardens situated in the older parts of Norwich. Those who live in our suburbs will doubtless be able to cultivate and utilise their present gardens as the citizens of Norwich did theirs in the “good old times.”

I am glad to say that I (in common with others dwelling in St. Giles’s Street and on St. Giles’s Plain) am still one of the residents in older Norwich with a garden of considerable size. And in my case this advantage is considerably enhanced by the immediate proximity of Chapel Field. For this large open space of seven acres not only provides a great circulation of air, and so a more healthy vegetation, but also – by its numerous and lofty trees – invites a large amount of varied and varying bird-life.

As I have now been a dweller in St. Giles’s for many years, it has occurred to me that a few current notes – however imperfect and superficial – on the capabilities and possibilities of such a central city garden, as illustrated by these, might possibly be an acceptable contribution to the proceedings of this our Norwich “Naturalists’ Society.”

The real object of the paper is to show in a simple way what a large field these home city gardens, according to their size, may still afford for observation and intelligent amusement; and how even in the limited space and depreciated air, which naturally belong to many of them, they yet afford great opportunities for the observation of both vegetable and animal life. The simple grass-plots themselves, however small, when carefully tended and shaven, are in themselves a constant source of pleasurable satisfaction; whilst the very worms which inhabit them, and the birds which feed on these, afford much room for study of some of nature’s methods and instinctive tendencies.

Doubtless the larger space which I possess gives wider opportunities than smaller gardens. But these must be small indeed which do not offer full repayment for observation of the varied life which exists within them, or which may be imported into them.

My garden is about 60 yards in length, by about 26 yards in width. It runs nearly north and south. It has walls of varying height on its several sides. Near to the house these are covered on one side by trained wisteria and white and yellow jessamine, but the greater part of the other portions is covered with ivy. The area of the ground is principally laid with grass, with a broad gravel walk around it.

Under the east wall is a long terraced rockery, well covered with suitable plants; and along the west wall runs a broader bed devoted to very small shrubs and to flowers. The south end, under a stable wall, contains some very ancient and still productive apple trees, also two or three beech trees, and an old pink May-tree, under the shade of which some of the commoner ferns flourish abundantly.

A vinery, and a verandah utilised as a summer conservatory, complete this note of the arrangements of my city garden, and from this brief record it will be seen that an effort has been made to make every use of the available space and of its several possibilities.

I do not propose to detain you with any detailed account of the flowers and plants which can be grown, or which flourish fairly at the present date in this limited city garden. There are many which are hopeless by reason of the city air and city soil. And I have found the more delicate flowers to be so uncertain as to be scarcely worth the trouble of planting out. Others again fall inevitable victims to the myriads of autumn slugs. But spring bulbs, the autumn hardy flowers, and some annuals, as well as the robuster ferns, do well, and fully repay the trouble of cultivation.

As to ferns, in my former and more open garden higher up the street, I once had as many as forty different varieties growing abroad; but, of course, these gradually died out, so that at the end of four or five years only the common and hardier sorts remained. Some of these, which were removed, are still very fine specimens, and have lasted in their new home, as such, for many years.

It would have been very interesting had any list or catalogue of Sir Thomas Browne’s “paradise” of vegetable rarities been left to us, for a comparison of the possibilities of a city garden two hundred years ago with those of the present day, but none such is known to exist.

I have mentioned the fact that several old apple trees exist in my garden, possibly as old as the house itself, which is understood to have been built 160 or 170 years ago. And I would just mention here that beyond the roof of my stable buildings, and seen conspicuously from my garden, rises – nay, towers up towards the sky, that grand old Aspen-poplar, which is, perhaps, the greatest ornament of the adjacent Chapel Field, though I think scarcely adequately appreciated. This tree has a girth of some 15 feet about a yard above the ground, is 90 to 100 feet high, and was so remarkable even fifty-eight years ago as to have been then pictured by Grigor, in his “Eastern Arboretum,” as one of the most notable trees in this district. In its later state a photographic sketch of it is given in my book on St. Giles’s parish, published in 1886, although I fear that this scarcely adequately pictures its grandeur.⁸

Blomfield states that the great avenue of elm trees in Chapel Field, also partly visible from my garden, was planted in 1746 by Sir Thomas Churchman, who is understood to have then lived in my present house, and who, I believe, then hired the open Chapel Field of the Norwich Corporation. It may be interesting to state here that some three or four years ago one of the largest of that row of elm trees was blown down in a gale. When this tree was sawn across, I took the trouble to count the rings which this section displayed. The outer ones were so thin and irregular that it was not possible to tell their number quite exactly, but as nearly as I could count the total number was between 140 and 150. This number, added to the few which would exist on the young tree when planted, would give a date approximating very closely to that assigned by Blomfield. This is an interesting historical fact, though, perhaps, somewhat irrelevant, and its mention will, I hope, be excused on this ground.

In my own garden the various trees appear to be healthy, but some of them increase very slowly. A small pear tree planted against the ivy-covered wall some twenty years ago is scarcely larger than when planted there, even although it every year sends out a full quantity of fresh green shoots. And a pink thorn tree, transplanted into it a few years ago, actually remained perfectly quiescent, as if dead, for a whole year, and then resumed vitality and growth. It is now a vigorous healthy tree, sending forth every year its normal shoots and blossoms.

Animal Life. – Such a garden as mine affords a considerable opportunity for observing the ways, and habits, and manners of many animals, none of which are uninteresting. Shall I weary you by mentioning the cats, which so often make it their playground, and their afternoon as well as their nightly meeting-place? Although I cannot say that caterwauling is harmonious, or equivalent to the strains of the bands which so agreeably discourse music in the adjacent Chapel Field on summer evenings, yet there is much of interest, as well as amusement, to be derived from noting the varied yet distinct language, and from watching the very curious customs of the cats themselves, familiar as these may be to all of us. I am favoured with visits of cats of all sizes and all colours – black, grey, cyprus, sandy, grey and white, and almost all intermediate shades. And it is certainly curious to watch the manifestations of their loves and their hates, their friendliness and their jealousies, their sunny enjoyments and their predatory instincts, and their methods of attack and defence. These latter, though often very noisy, by no means necessarily consist in open fighting, but are very commonly carried on by what Mr. C. Morris calls the mentality of latter-day life. These hostile cats (as you have probably observed) will very constantly settle their relative superiority, not by biting and scratching, or actual fighting, but by what is actually a “staring match,” in which the influence of mind over matter is well demonstrated. They place themselves a few feet apart, and stare at each other, until one of them confesses himself beaten, by slowly backing away from his opponent, and then suddenly turning round and running away. This is a form of duelling which might well be copied in human life; and, still more, might properly be adopted in the case of nations, where “mental” arbitration, from a steady calculation of strength, would take the place of bullets and bayonets.

As with Cats, so with Sparrows; it may be said that they are constant friends that are always with us. Yet, though so common, they are a never failing source of interest in a city garden, if only because they always provide some conspicuous life and motion; and in mine, because they may nearly always be heard chirping or quarrelling in the ivy, which covers so much of the garden walls.

I am sorry that Miss Ormerod gives them such a bad character as to their appetites. But not being personally engaged in agriculture, I can only rejoice that nature has provided them with such strong constitutions, and healthy and active digestions. Beyond this, it is certainly a pleasure to a townsman to note their chatterings, their amicable, if noisy, contentions for the best places in the ivy, their demonstrative courtships, their dust-baths in the dry ground, or their water-baths in the pans provided for them for this purpose, and their evident love for the neighbourhood and companionship (at a properly regulated distance) of mankind.

What a contrast there is between the active, fluttering, often noisy House Sparrow, and its quiet, retiring, and gentle-mannered neighbour, the Hedge Sparrow.

This was well illustrated in the early part of last December, in this way; the Hedge Sparrow (or Dunnock or Accentor) does not often visit my garden, but one of these pretty birds did come at this time, and having incautiously entered the open door of my greenhouse, got shut up in it. Next morning, on my entering, it was, of course, somewhat frightened. But instead of violently fluttering about, and dashing itself against the window, as the House Sparrow will do in like circumstances, it very quietly and gently flew away from me, and then at once dropped down behind the brick flue, where it remained quiet and concealed, in spite of my efforts to find it, as I desired to do in order to give it its liberty. The same thing exactly happened on some following mornings; and being fed regularly, it has remained there to the present time, i. e. the date of this paper.

There are plenty of other birds whose visits and whose peculiarities would provide abundant material for a paper much longer than I can venture now to inflict upon you. But they are all welcome for the sake of the varieties of life and habits they present – as well as for what Tennyson so prettily describes as their “singing and calling.”

My grass-plot is the feeding-ground of the greedy and quarrelsome Starlings, which will often come for their meal of worms or other food at quite regular hours, usually at ten or eleven o’clock in the morning, and three to four in the afternoon. And occasionally the Jackdaws, from our neighbouring church-steeple, where they live and breed, will venture – most carefully and cautiously – to alight on the grass in search of food. Whilst even the Norwich Rooks will, when hard pressed in bad weather, occasionally dart down from a tree for crusts of bread or other edible matter obtainable in the garden.

Thrushes and Blackbirds are chiefly in evidence during the nesting season; and it is noticeable how tame or rather incautious they appear to become during this period. It would almost seem as if the sitting process produced in them (as has been noted of other birds) a dullness or partial stupor of intelligence. Whilst after hatching, the urgent and continuous calls of their young ones for food evidently renders their desire to satisfy these imperative and destructive of prudence. This very year a full-grown Blackbird ventured along the grass in search of worms almost up to the house verandah, in which, unfortunately, a cat lay basking; and, as a matter of course, the bird was instantly pounced upon. She escaped, however, almost by a miracle, but she left nearly the whole of her feathers behind her, and almost in a state of nudity.

It is curious to observe how the Blackbirds and Thrushes will not only provide worm-food for their nestlings, but how they will prepare these worms and make them fit for swallowing down the young throats. They will often, when they have tugged a worm out of the grass, proceed to peck it into small and suitable lengths, and will then carry these, arranged in their mouths in suitable bundles, to the nest.

Blackbirds appear not to gain knowledge by experience, at least in some particulars. I witness almost every year a repetition of what I may term “the tragedy of the Blackbirds.” Evidently the same old birds will yearly build a nest in almost the same portion of the ivy on one of the walls, and not more than six or seven feet from the ground. Well, this is all right so long as the old birds are merely sitting and make no noise, so as to attract feline attention. But as soon as the young birds are hatched, and begin to make vocal demonstrations, of course they fall victims to their natural enemies and “bird-fanciers,” and the nests and their occupants are ruthlessly dragged out from their positions and destroyed. This occurs year after year. I believe that then the birds will sometimes build again elsewhere. But they certainly return to almost the same locality in the following spring, and their offspring again become victims of the inappropriateness of their selected homes.

Plenty of other birds also come to the garden at various times and seasons, and add to its life and interest —Robins, Bluetits, Nuthatches, Redwings, Missel-thrushes, and others – but of their behaviour in the winter season, and when habitually fed, I have already discoursed to this Society, so will not further trouble you now with their noticeable peculiarities.

Reptiles. – Perhaps it would scarcely be expected that the Reptile race would provide much of interest for a city garden. Yet it may be truly said that this class of creatures has done almost more than any other to provide my garden with material for this.

As this Society will know from my previous communications to its “Transactions,” I have long kept two Tortoises, and year by year noted their habits and most remarkable peculiarities. These have been already fully described in the Society’s records, and I can only now add to what I before stated, that they still continue to increase in size and weight, and at about the same rate of progression as twelve or thirteen years ago. They still gain 1½ to 2 ounces in weight in each summer, and lose about 1 or 1¼ ounce in weight during each winter hybernation. The total result is, that whilst they weighed respectively 2 lbs. 10 ozs. and 2 lbs. 5 ozs. in September, 1886, they weighed in October last 3 lbs. 13 ozs. and 3 lbs. 8 ozs., having thus each gained in weight during this period 1 lb. 3 ozs., or on an average about one ounce and a quarter in each year.