13 hours ago
Country diary: Between the chiffs and the chaffs, a cheerful little burble
Up the hill, right at the fire station, cut through the housing estate, cross the road, into the wood. And relax. A regular short walk to the nearest green patch in our little corner of south London, the muggy June warmth amplified by suburban tarmac and concrete.
The little wood offers shady respite, and there is added uplift in the form of two repeated syllables from a nearby oak puncturing the early afternoon peace. Chiff. Chaff. Chiff. Chaff. Chiff. Chaff. It's a chiffchaff.
In March, it's the most welcome sound in the world. The sound of hope pinging round the canopy, a teaser for the glories of spring.
In June, the sound is the same, but the joy is dulled by repetition. 'Learn another song, will you, pal?'
It's an uncharitable response. A singing bird is always welcome, and if the sound now feels monotonous I only have myself to blame. Vowing to listen more closely, I pick out a cheerful little burble – per-ep tcher-ep per-ep – muttered between chiffs. As if to reward me for my attention, it gives me the benefit of the doubt and pops down to the tree's outer branches. The view, albeit brief, is a privilege. Most often all you get is a trembling of leaf and a glimpse of an indistinct blur.
Even with a good view you might struggle to differentiate the chiffchaff from its cousin, the willow warbler, by sight alone. The field guides are clear about the differences – the chiffchaff has duller plumage, darker legs, shorter wings – but it's much easier to listen. Compare the simplicity of the chiffchaff's two-noter with the soft downward lilt of the willow warbler's song, and doubt is expunged.
Both birds are migrants, the chiffchaff's shorter wings an indicator of its shorter journey from the Mediterranean and north Africa. Nowadays, too, more of them spend the winter here – a few of our 1.8 million breeding pairs stay, taking advantage of milder, survivable winters and saving themselves a journey.
Despite my grumbling, I'll enjoy those two syllables as long as they last, then keep an eye out for them through winter. And come next March, that simple, perky sound will lift the heart again.
Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian's Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at and get a 15% discount
