London's Bird Life in 1900: Sparrows
Arthur H. Beavan made a survey of London birds, in Imperial London, published in 1901, here looking at the humble sparrow:
Most prominent of town birds at the turn of the twentieth century were the sparrows that seemed
to have monopolized London for generations past, to a degree that I believe was
unknown in other British cities.
They were to be seen everywhere, and throughout the year, and no edifice was secure
from their nest-building operations, remarkable for bulk rather than neatness.
London sparrows were much-maligned creatures, looked down upon as "radically
plebeian," and ignored for their supposed homeliness and the "sootiness"
of their plumage.
They did not merit this lack of appreciation.
Should a bird be despised that is sacred to Venus Aphrodite, and the subject of
verse?
"Ye cupids, close your silky wings,
Drop from your heads the festive curl;
Let freely flow the lucid pearl That from the heart of sorrow springs;
My Lesbia's bird no longer sings;
He's gone, the favourite of my girl!"
True he was sociable and fond of company, highly domesticated, an admirable
husband, and a devoted parent; he was also a radical and no respecter of rank and
fashion, but these qualities did not make him a plebeian.
His plumage, if examined downwards, was always attractive, and in spring was an
effective and glossy "arrangement" of deep chestnut-brown, grey, and
black; while as to "sootiness" he was for ever dusting himself or bathing,
even in the depth of winter, and was as clean as any other bird.
As an advocate of equality and of representative government, he liked to make
himself heard in public, and thus originated what are called Sparrow Parliaments,
held in certain localities.
In the churchyard of St. Dunstan's-in-the-East was a large plane-tree, whose
branches towards evening were laden with sparrows, each endeavouring to talk down
the other.
The noise was tremendous, but as darkness descended, or some Speaker called the assembly
to order, there was dead silence, not broken until the following morning.
Other smaller parliaments - borough councils we may suppose - could be seen and
heard in various places; one in a tree in Church Street, Chelsea, west side; a
small one in a holly tree in the grounds of St. Mark's College, King's Road, Chelsea;
another in a couple of trees at the side of the High Road, Kilburn; and one in
the garden of the Observatory House, Honor Oak, packed every evening.
Wary as London sparrows were, they become wonderfully fearless when once they
were sure; and even street-boys learned to welcome rather than to molest them.
They could be seen even in crowded Seven Dials sitting quite unconcerned in the
road, looking at a distance like stones that might be kicked; but near cab-stands,
particularly the large one in Piccadilly, where hundreds of perfectly tame sparrows
congregated along the railings for nearly a quarter of a mile, or in the parks,
in Lincoln's Inn Fields, the Law Courts, Temple Gardens, the British Museum, etc, they almost let one touch them with the hand.
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