“Looks like a Mistle Thrush,” said someone next to me. “You don’t see many of them.” “I don’t think so,” I said. “It’s not pale enough.” “Hmm. I think it is.” “Plus,” I said, “It sounds like a Song Thrush. Mistle Thrushes don’t sound quite that demented.” He frowned. I was doubting myself by now, inevitably, but I said, “Tell you where you can see Mistle Thrushes quite often, though: along the carriage drive at Charlecote.” He frowned again. “Jays, as well,” I said brightly – trying to be helpful rather than confrontational, because… well, you know. “Oh,” he said, and walked away. I went back to my camera, trying – and repeatedly failing – to capture one of the berrying birds in the yew tree actually taking a berry.
There was nothing visible when the next people arrived. “What you got?” said the man. “Anything good?” “Thrushes, berrying,” I replied. “There are some Redwings, though someone’s yapping dog put most of them to flight a few minutes ago. And a couple of Song Thrushes – oh, there you go…” as this one reappeared. “A guy came through a few minutes back who thought it was a Mistle Thrush, but I don’t think it is. Not pale enough.” “Not big enough, either,” said the man. “Definitely a Song Thrush. You don’t see many Mistle Thrushes these days – where is it we go for them?”, turning to his wife. She named a place in the Malverns that I’d never heard of, and I mentioned Charlecote, and then they went, and I belatedly remembered that I also see Mistle Thrushes from time to time in the show garden at Hillers. When I got to the café and joined R for a final coffee before home they were sitting at the next table, but by that time, having a brain about the size of a Song Thrush’s, I’d forgotten the conversation completely, and still didn’t mention Hillers to them.
Anyway, this is a Song Thrush, looking for berries in one of the yew trees by the lake at Croome. Definitely. I still didn’t get the all-important berry-in-the-beak shot though, so I’m not going to get too smug.
R: L2, C2, D6.
