EDITORIAL
Out in the countryside, in woodlands, parks and even in our own gardens, July, as far as bird song is concerned, is probably the quietest month of the year. The Yellowhammer is perhaps the only consistent singer, and unless you are in ever diminishing Yellowhammer habitat, you are not even going to hear that song. It is probably the only month of the year when the Robin doesn't sing. As it undergoes its annual moult, it skulks around in the undergrowth, apparently afraid of being seen. Just its ticking alarm call occasionally betrays its presence. Then, as if by magic, in mid-August, the Robin reappears, resplendent in its new plumage and bursts once more into song.
It's often said that the Robin's autumn song is melancholic, compared to its song in the breeding season. Since it's palpably not possible to hear the two songs together, it's difficult to know if this is true. I suspect, personally, that they are identical, and that the melancholy is the figment of the audience's imagination. After all, the Robin's autumn song is associated with the short days and gloom of winter.
Still, there are compensations. By the time you receive this newsletter, the new season of evening lectures will be underway, hopefully transporting us to sunnier times and places.
In response to several requests, we are running a mid-week field trip for the benefit of members who have too many other commitments at weekends, but have free time during the week. This will be a fungal foray, led by Joyce Riley, details of which can be found at the back of the Newsletter. Please support this initiative if you are able.
I would also like to make my annual plea for articles for the Newsletter. As I say elsewhere in the Newsletter, we are currently involved in producing the Millennium booklet, so it would be helpful if the content of the next two or three editions could be provided by members.