Magpies
ALONG the road the magpies walk
with hands in pockets, left and right.
They tilt their heads, and stroll and talk.
In their well-fitted black and white
they look like certain gentlemen
who seem most nonchalant and wise
until their meal is served – and then
what clashing beaks, what greedy eyes!
But not one man that I have heard
throws back his head in such a song
of grace and praise – no man nor bird.
Their greed is brief; their joy is long,
for each is born with such a throat
as thanks him God with every note.
Wright, J., “Collected Poems”, Angus & Robertson, 1971
The Australian Magpie (Gymnorhina spp.) is a bird which is as cheeky as our magpies but distinguishes itself by its beautiful, melodical song. On many a morning campers will know that dawn is about to break, when they wake up to the Magpie’s early morning concert. However, as soon as the breeding season comes along, our musical genius turns into a wicked fighter, falling out of the sky, swooping down on you and swishing past your head, narrowly avoiding an ear or becoming entangled in your hair. l have never seen it do any damage but on a few occasions I’ve felt the sharp sting of a flapping wing racing past. “Attacks” always come from the rear which means you hardly ever escape the first strike once you have unknowingly entered the bird’s territory. Then the best defence is simply to watch and turn your head at the appropriate moment: as soon as the magpie spots your eyes, it will stop its dive and quickly soar to saver heights – only to plan another wicked swoop a minute later. Before I had set off from Adelaide I had been told that spring walks in parks can turn into a minor nightmare with magpies diving swiftly from all directions and that, as a protective measure, some whizzkidd had invented a hat with eyes painted on its back.
Well, I surely could have done with one of these hats when one member of the species decided that this something on spoked wheels, moving slowly without sound, was about to commit a most serious violation of territorial rights. I had left Riverton at around 8.30 a.m. in absolutely sparkling sunlight, yet struggling against a heavy northerly headwind. About halfway to Auburn, I approached a slight dip in the road with a group of gum-trees huddled together. Wind and fine dust were still sandblasting my ears, and my legs were definitely going to demand a tea break at Auburn. I had just begun to enjoy the relief of a short downhill stretch, when, above the wind, I could make out a distinct swishing sound, a sudden crack and for a split second the air passing my left ear went in the opposite direction, against the heavy wind. Only then could I see a pair of wings eagerly gaining height again. Well, for the next two kilometres the magpie’s beak spat out insults at the rate of a machine-gun and attempted more “sorties” than the Allied Forces in the Gulf-War. However, now that I knew he was there, it was easy to deal with the “air-raids’. At first, I turned my head round and, my eyes facing his direction, he angrily aborted his dives. Finally, his navigation was confused by a bicycle pump held straight above my head. He still swished around, heavily pouring out abuse but kept his distance.
This specific instinct-led territorial fighter plane had been a Black-backed Magpie (Gymnorhina tibicen), as later research revealed. It has three close relatives, the Long-billed Magpie (G. dorsalis), the White or Organ Magpie (G. organicum) and the White-backed Magpie (G. leuconota). The magpie in general is described in ‘A Dictionary of Australian English’ as
“… a black and white Crow-Shrike. … He resembles the English Magpie in general appearance but has not the long tail of that bird, though he shares with him his kleptomania. He is often called the ‘Bush-magpie’ by townsfolk to distinguish him from the tamed specimens kept in many gardens, or in cages, which are so easily taught to talk. “
Morris, E. E. “A Dictionary of Australian English”
The many sides that shape this bird’s ‘personality’ have ensured him a safe place in literature. The above poem by Judith Wright, an Australian poet born in 1915, captures the magpie in such a way as I had experienced a number of birds early this morning, that is, of course, before one of them turned wicked. Then there is H. Kingsley, for example, who describes the bird as early as 1859 in his novel ‘The recollections of Geoffrey Hamlyn’
“Magpie… Of all the birds l have ever seen, the cleverest, the most grotesque and the most musical. The splendid melody of his morning and evening song is as unequalled as it is indescribable.”
Kingsley, “The recollections of Geoffrey Hamlyn”, (vol.ii.p. 314)
However, my own favourite text is the following poem by Douglas Stewart.
Between the night and morning
Oh hear the magpie sing, my love,
Between the night and morning,
And if he says, it’s four of five
That’s true enough my darling.
But there’s no thought it the sweet bird
That while the moon’s still shining
Would drive us out of our warm bed
With song that’s meant for warning.
Oh no, his far faint silver flute
Soft through the moonlight floating
Is only for his own delight
And chimes so with our loving.
It seems the whole wide world is one
In light or music ringing,
Now in our love, now in the moon,
Now in the magpies singing.
So if he says how rich it is
To wake at four or five
In bed or in the moonlit trees
And find oneself alive,
Or if he says in that bright tree
That all things live and breathe
At last in one big harmony
Of song and light and love,
Then while I hold you so my dear
In love’s soft music moving,
How right he is this shining hour
Between the night and morning.
Stewart, D., “Overland”, 1983
View Larger Map
