Robin Prytherch: A Life with Buzzards is a charming anthology of Buzzard scenes sketched by Robin Prytherch and sent out by him to his friends as Christmas cards between 1995 and 2020. These 26 drawings (copied from pen-and-ink drawings or pencil sketches) have been compiled and reproduced here for the first time, along with each year’s accompanying text on the reverse noting Robin’s observations about the single bird, pair, or family unit depicted in each scene. Robin Prytherch (1939–2021) is a well-known name synonymous with Buzzards, having spent over 40 years observing them in a small area of North Somerset, close to his home in Bristol. Although admittedly not a common Christmas card theme, the depth of his knowledge and understanding combined with the hand of a talented artist produced a set of drawings in which the individual personalities of the birds jump off the page. The species’ typical wide variation in plumage is also faithfully depicted, making it easy to match each image to the detailed explanatory description. Watching the birds over multiple decades enabled Robin to build up unparalleled view into their lives and behaviours. The sketches record their changing relationships, territories, fortunes and misfortunes: from Tess, the devoted mother, fledging a staggering 43 chicks over her lifetime, to Gos and his bigamous relationship spanning multiple years. The affection with which Robin held these birds is apparent on every page, making this short book a pleasant and informative read, giving both illustrated and written insight from an expert with real comprehension of Buzzard behaviour.

Dr Fionn Ó Marcaigh is a zoologist from Dublin, who received his PhD from Trinity College in 2023 for a thesis on the evolution of birds on islands. Encounters with Corvids is his first published book. Corvids are a much-maligned family of birds that rarely get much positive attention, and I must admit that I’ve never really looked at them myself in any detail before now. This book sets out to change the public perception of ‘crows’ and the author’s empathy towards the seven species of corvids that are found on the island of Ireland is clear, if anthropomorphic at times. Each chapter is superbly illustrated and devoted to a different species, interwoven with a mix of the author’s personal experiences, associated Irish folklore and some fascinating facts about each species. Who would have thought that the Magpie arrived in Ireland only in the late 17th century, given how common and widespread they are now, or that one of the few endemic taxa in Ireland is the subspecies Irish Jay? Corvids also feature often in Irish mythology, notably the Mórrígan (from the Irish ‘Great Queen’), a Celtic goddess of war, who could take the form of a Crow. This stemmed from these corvids’ habit of feeding on human remains left at battlefields, leading them to be associated with warfare. The common theme throughout the book is that corvids are intelligent birds that have adapted so well to the changing landscape of Ireland. Their ability to prosper across intensively managed farmland has led to Ireland having some of the highest densities of Magpie and Hooded Crow in Europe. The author encourages us to celebrate their success rather than treat them unfairly. Perhaps he has a point.

Endemic. It’s a word that conjures up imaginings of species only found in tropical rainforests or islands. As soon as I read the title of this book I was intrigued. Endemics in Britain. It’s something we don’t often think about. The author, conservationist James Harding-Morris, takes us on his personal journey to discover the species unique to our shores, joining experts working to save them along the way. The book covers species from different taxonomic groups, including plants, mammals, birds, invertebrates and fungi, making you eager to turn every page. The chapters are clearly laid out, so that you can easily dip in and out – however, before I knew it, I was 100 pages in! The language James uses to describe his adventures immerses you into the landscape too. From walks in Scottish pine forests in search of the Scottish Crossbill to meandering along rivers looking for the stonefly Northern February Red and squeezing through dark cave tunnels after the British Cave Shrimp. James is clearly knowledgeable and passionate about wildlife, a true naturalist in all that the word entails. His descriptions of the endemic species he encounters are detailed yet accessible – you can imagine them even if you have never heard of them before. I also appreciated the way James made the species themselves and the experts he met the stars of the work, with his knowledgeable and humorous narration the perfect compliment. There has clearly been a vast amount of research put into the text too. Did you know that the grass Interrupted Brome was declared globally extinct twice? James’ contribution to the fate of the endemics he encountered should also be applauded. From collecting seeds for cultivation to taking the first known photograph of the British False Flat-backed Millipede, James helped further to protect these species. He also raised the question about to what extent conservation is like a beauty contest. The cutest and most appealing species are historically favoured with funding and public support. He questions the perceptions of human value, and highlights the much needed effort to save many endemic species from extinction. Overall, it was a fascinating book, and one I’d recommend to nature enthusiasts. Well actually, to everyone. The work encapsulates the intriguing yet fragile nature of the natural world, and the role we have in its care. I also couldn’t help but wonder what other species there might be still to discover right here in Britain.

“I am not a memoirist” declares Nic Wilson at the start of her new book. But we do indeed learn a lot about her life in the ensuing 13 chapters, although some details are pieced together with help from other people’s memories, since her own have been lost. This loss emerges to be a result of the trauma of living with chronic illness – not just the author’s own, but her mother’s too. The book explores how women’s health in particular can be dismissed, and how damaging internalising this has been for the author. The book is not written chronologically. It flits back and forth, but along the way covers the author’s childhood, adolescence, university years, her career and her experience of motherhood. Nature is a theme throughout, often in terms of how her knowledge and experience of it has helped her cope with her illness. However, it does not only feature in that way – BTO volunteers might appreciate the account of her father’s nest recording, for example. We also accompany the author on a thorough exploration of the places she’s lived, learning about their ecologies and geologies, and former residents including naturalists and poets. I found I had to concentrate to fully follow the scope of the book, especially in the passages that venture into poetry, and the dreamlike sequences the author uses to convey her experience of pain, anxiety and dissociation. However, I did appreciate the contrast with other nature writing, which can be very expansive, while this focuses on the intimacy with which you can get to know a place, especially when confined by young children, or bedbound by illness. I hope writing this book has been a healing process for Nic Wilson.

In Bird School: A Beginner in the Wood, Adam Nicolson charts his journey to learn more about the natural world surrounding his home of over 30 years in the Sussex Weald. From the vantage point of the shed he built in a forgotten field, he takes the reader with him to ‘bird school’ – an exploration prompted by the sights and sounds of the bird life he encounters. Over the course of 13 chapters, he covers a huge amount of information: from individual species such as the Wren with whom he shares his shed for a time, to the broader concepts of migration, rewilding and human intervention. The book closes with a useful chapter on how to attract birds to your garden written by his wife, the horticulturalist Sarah Raven, and a roll-call describing the birds found in his part of Sussex, each with a QR code linking to the appropriate page on the Xeno-canto wildlife sounds website. I first encountered Adam Nicolson through his wonderful 2014 publication The Mighty Dead: Why Homer Matters, and his wide-ranging interests are evident throughout Bird School from classical references to Homer and the pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus to quotations from Shakespeare and Wordsworth. However, at the same time this is a well-researched book packed full of ornithological facts, backed up with data including population graphs adapted from BTO’s own Bird Trends Explorer. Bird School is a fascinating and easy-to-read book, which contains as much of interest to someone starting out with birds as for those who have been attending ‘bird school’ for some time.

In this book, author Michael Warren takes us on a journey across England (and a bit of Wales) and through time to explore the connection between English place names and birds. Especially interesting are those less obvious connections. It is not a difficult leap to see how Hawkhurst derives its name but the derivation of Yaxley (the Cuckoo’s Lea in the title) or Wroxton is fascinating. This book is far more than a simple gazetteer of ornithological toponomy though. The author visits the places and traces the old haunts of the birds, in many places sadly gone and replaced with industrial estates and as he poignantly puts it “litter-leaks”. The author’s skill is bringing the ghosts of the past to life so the reader can vividly picture the great fen before it was drained or medieval villages now completely wiped from the map. As well as the places, the author goes in search of the birds themselves, from Swallows and corvid roosts to more challenging species like Goshawk and brings these encounters to life with words that will resonate with birders. I was left with a sense that the place names explored in the book celebrated the natural world. In contrast, today’s ‘Skylark Ways’ and ‘Bunting Roads’, found in modern housing estates, feel like a hollow tribute - the developers’ ironic nods to the very wildlife their projects have displaced. The pace of the book occasionally lags, and some of the quoted Old English passages may challenge modern readers. However, for anyone interested in England’s natural and geographical history, this book is a rewarding and enriching read. Lastly, congratulations to artist Matt Johnson on his exquisite cover which really complements the spirit of the words within.

Barely a week goes by without another book appearing on the shelves which delves deep into the personal way that nature, in one way or another, has impacted on the writer’s life. Often self-reflective and equally self-reverential, there’s clearly a market for this type of writing.

My last BTO book review focused on a book that was about the relationship between flowers and birds. Of the Trees and the Birds carries on in a similar vein. However, as the title suggests, this particular book focuses on the relationship between trees and birds. In many ways, I know even less about trees than I do about flowers. However, over my 20+ year birding career, I have learnt a few things about the relationship between trees and birds. This includes the colourful Jay’s habit of burying acorns that sometimes grow into Oak trees, or the complex relationship that Golden Orioles have with the types of trees that they nest in (I used to work at RSPB Lakenheath Fen, where this species bred until 2009). Although this book is mainly text, there are some high quality colour photographs in it. It is written in a very accessible way, and the author keeps the scientific terminology to minimum. This is particularly helpful to people like myself, who do not have a professional background in science. The book details various different types of relationships between trees and birds. This mainly focuses on incidents such as a bird species ‘just’ using a particular species of tree to nest in, and the aforementioned example of a ‘mutual’ relationship between Jays, acorns and Oak Trees. Although my personal interest lies in UK birds, there is also some fascinating information about bird species from across the world and their relationship with trees. Whether this refers to the claws of the “pungent” Hoatzin of South America, or the gigantic nests of Cinereous Vulture, I have learnt a great deal from reading this book! As well as lots of information about the relationships between particular bird species and trees, this book provides a valuable insight into the ‘mechanics’ of a tree. This answers questions such as “How do trees become hollow?” and “what does a tree do to repair holes that form within them?” Admittedly, these are not things that I have given much thought to until now, but I am glad that I have read this book to find out. I would thoroughly recommend this book if you have an interest in the relationships between trees and birds. Although not a particularly long book, there is so much interesting information in it!

People who didn’t already know Hannah Bourne-Taylor could hardly fail to notice her bold method of getting Swifts on the political agenda, walking through London adorned only in artistic body paint to launch her petition to make Swift bricks mandatory in November 2022. Her latest book charts the journey of the author’s campaign, from the conception of the petition and the agonising wait for it to get the required number of signatures, to the various frustrations, delays and obstacles in getting a small and simple measure enshrined into law – and no, there is no happy ending where it all comes good. Her account provides a fascinating insight into what goes on in the corridors of power, and the various officials, government ministers, and especially lobbyists, do not come off well from it (although Zac Goldsmith emerges a knight in shining armour figure). It is also interesting to read about how the author worked with other well-known campaigners and found inspiration from their predecessors. Although the author convincingly makes the case for Swift bricks, she makes it clear that they are no panacea – securing the species will also require ensuring the birds can find sufficient food, for example. It is evident that the author is driven by a genuine love of birds and other wildlife, which is reflected in the various passages of general natural history writing and lamentations on humanity’s loss of connection with, and knowledge of, the natural world. Although the author has an in-depth knowledge of Swifts, she makes a point of saying she isn’t an ornithologist, and this is betrayed in the odd small slip, like when she describes Nightjars as one of the earliest-arriving spring migrants. Those small details aside though, you definitely root for her as she documents the time and energy she has invested in her campaign, and the toll it has taken on her health. I read this book in late April and early May, just as Swifts were returning to scream and dart through the skies above Thetford. I love Swifts too and feel devastated by their loss. I am grateful to Hannah for giving so much of herself to the cause, but she can’t do it alone. As her book title says, nature needs us all to step up. Get inspired and get involved.