I’ve got a bad case of sparrows. No matter where I am in the house a sparrow isn’t far away. Even now, in my writing room, I can hear the chirpy little birds in the front garden, plus they’re scurrying in the guttering above, and they’re also in the climbing rose around the side. There’s always a squadron of the bloody things in the backyard wattles; from there they can do raids on the chook-house.
I grew up being told that sparrows are awful birds because, like rats, they carry disease. Indeed some people call sparrows ‘rats of the air’, but that’s not an image worth exploring right now.
Because sparrows are clearly a permanent fixture of my house I’ve been reading up on them. I’ve learnt that the common ‘House Sparrow’, Passer domesticus, originated in the Middle East and has been taking the world by storm ever since, apparently by natural migration or ‘seaborne travel’ (don’t tell our politicians). In the 1860s, sparrows were purposely introduced to Australia in an attempt to make the place more European – our forebears really were a bit odd, weren’t they. I’ve learnt that because of their ability to adapt the sparrow was considered The World’s Most Successful Bird, as if it was an electronics company or a type of religion.
However, there’s trouble in paradise: sparrow populations are dwindling. They’ve completely disappeared from central London, though they remain in Paris, which probably just suggests that our little feathered friends have excellent taste in bread and cheese. Populations in Australia are also shrinking, because there are fewer insects to eat due to increased pesticide use and decreased flora diversity. Or because the Indian Mynar is having a good crack at that World’s Most Successful Bird title.
So I’m starting to feel sorry for my own little sparrow population, perhaps even grateful. Old Mr Shakespeare would have agreed: in Hamlet he wrote, ‘There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow’. Further back, the Bible’s Old Testament said, ‘I watch and am like a sparrow alone on the house top’ (Psalm 102:7), which no doubt is the motto of the International Stalkers Fellowship. Jokes aside, I am rather taken with the lyrics of the 1905 Gospel hymn ‘His Eye on the Sparrow’: ‘His eye is on the sparrow/and I know He watches me’. I better go see what the chooks make of that.
(First published in Panorama, The Canberra Times, 29 October 2011.)
Under the counter or a flutter in the dovecote 
12 comments
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October 30, 2011 at 9:16+00:00Oct
Agnes
Please don’t do a post about rats Nigel. It’ll scare the living daylights out of me.
October 30, 2011 at 9:16+00:00Oct
Nigel Featherstone
Roger that, Agnes. No post about rats. It’s only decent.
October 31, 2011 at 9:16+00:00Oct
Gabrielle Bryden
I’ve noticed there are hardly any sparrows around anymore (give me a Sparrow rather than an Indian Myna bird any day.) I did love your stalker joke.
Re what Agnes said – maybe you could do a post on the relationship between seed, rats and snakes – haha – where there is seed there are rats, where there are rats there are snakes – and so it was 🙂
November 1, 2011 at 9:16+00:00Nov
Nigel Featherstone
Damnit, Gabe, I’ve got chook food in the shed. I guess that’ll attract rats, which will attract snakes. Thankfully I keep the chook food in air-tight (rat-tight?) containers, so all should be fine. Plus I have the meanest cat on Earth, so he keeps the nasties at bay. I bloody well hope! In the meantime, I’ll be a little nicer to my sparrows.
November 2, 2011 at 9:16+00:00Nov
nanajo57
My choir recently sang a beautiful version ‘His eye is on the sparrow. To me, there is something about the sparrow which speaks of a simple endurance, or maybe it’s hope, or even that slight humility that makes all the difference.
(Perhaps Europe will consider importing the sparrow back in order to make the place more Australian. )
November 4, 2011 at 9:16+00:00Nov
Nigel Featherstone
Hi Nana Jo, good to hear from you. Yes, despite the fact that the sparrow is a pest in parts of Australia, and they can do terrible damage to the guttering of houses, not to mention they terrorise my chooks (!), they are such resilient little buggers.
I’m glad that hymn is familiar to you!
November 4, 2011 at 9:16+00:00Nov
valli
That is wonderful if you have a Sparrow around constantly then it feels no threat and has a ready food supply. Birds have been more evident in the past 2 years – wetter and more comfortable for birds in general. I have a singing Black Bird – dawn, midday and dusk – she belts out a tune – i feel blessed n blissed by this – how did the Beatles hear a Black bird singing in the dead of night? I wonder
November 4, 2011 at 9:16+00:00Nov
Nigel Featherstone
Valli, thanks for dropping by. I hope you’re enjoying your black bird!
November 5, 2011 at 9:16+00:00Nov
TF
Hi Nigel. Indeed, a sparrow is rare to see these days. In fact, here in Sydney, the Indian Mynar’s time has also come and gone. Current pest bird king is the Ibis – and I fear they’re plotting an Alexander the Great-style takeover of palm trees and junkyards everywhere.
On the surface, they don’t seem that bad – there isn’t much that’s poetic about the Ibis but they’re meek and nonviolent and a little goofy looking. The problem is they have more than a few things in common with a pterodactyl. They also make a mental honking noise, are cacophonous in a group and genuinely stink. Alse, they aren’t afraid to jump in a wheelie bin and needle through to McDonald’s leftovers and coffee dregs, which will ultimately give them the edge they need to succeed in their campaign.
Maybe we should have made friends with the sparrow when we had the chance?
November 7, 2011 at 9:16+00:00Nov
Nigel
Hi Tristan, what a brilliant woosh of words is your reply. I think it deserves a reposting on Lead Igloo.
As to the Sydney ibis – I’ve read about those guys, how they’re taking over the city. In a way, any piece of ‘wild’ life that can inhabit our country’s largest city has to be admired to a degree, don’t you think? I grew up in Sydney, spent the first 18 years of my life in that place. Back then I was a little in love with it, at least some of the bits I knew, like the northern beaches, but these days it’s surely not the most liveable place. But, as you point out, the ibis is having a damn good crack at it. Perhaps the humans should dessert the place for a decade and see what the ibis can do with it, Maccas leftovers and coffee dregs included?
Funny how when I started writing about sparrows I was annoyed by their presence. Now I’m thinking that I might be a lucky. The chooks don’t agree, of course, but they rarely do.
November 27, 2011 at 9:16+00:00Nov
TF
You’re exactly right – the ibis definitely has to be admired, even if they are horrid.
I’ve been thinking about what’s special about Sydney. This line of thought has made me think about why anyone could fall in love with anywhere (or anything, anyone) and I’ve decided it’s because you have to partly feel like it’s yours. Sydney’s such a crowded place, it’s hard to find anywhere you don’t have to share with the masses. I like the quieter parts of Surry Hills and some of our beaches. That’s about it at this point in time – not even the areas where I grew up am I very fond of.
I do have a however. I’m becoming more and more partial to the strange little community where I live. It doesn’t try to be something it isn’t. Just today I had my first lunch at a funky little cafe located in a repurposed garage on one of the side streets near the station. I sat there with a coffee and feeling like I never want to leave. And I think it’s because it’s mine.
November 27, 2011 at 9:16+00:00Nov
Nigel Featherstone
Great response, Tristan. I agree that one of the key criterion for something to love is that it’s not trying to be anything that it’s not (dreadful wording, this sentence). Clearly that’s why you like your local cafe, and why I like Goulburn as a whole. But is Goulburn mine? Not yet. I don’t think.
Having also grown up in Sydney, I do understand what you mean. Overall, the place is a shit-box, but there are little glimmering bits of magic – parts of the harbour, the tucked away beaches, the odd bar and cafe, a little street that hasn’t been dressed up to the nines.
I’m glad you’re still finding good bits.