Swallows come back to their birthplace

SWALLOWS have been here for nearly a month now, but none in our village yet; were they delayed on the trip from Africa?

A reader from east Cork reported three hirundines arriving in over the sea between Ardmore and Youghal on March 23, and another reader from Charleville, far inland, wrote to say: “Our swallows arrived on April 3.”

I can understand how a householder or barn owner might feel a familial relationship with swallows or house martins. The new arrivals were likely born on the premises and can be greeted as old friends. While interference with wild birds’ nests is to be discouraged, it would be interesting to have an expert slip a brightly coloured ring on each of a clutch of fledgling swallows born in one’s outhouse, and then to see if they returned the following year.

Hirundines - swallows, house martins and sand martins - are, as readers will know, site-faithful. They return year after year to the barns, eaves, rooftops or cliffs where they were born. So, also, are swifts. This is a good survival strategy; if you were successfully hatched and fledged there, it is likely your offspring can also expect a safe passage from egg to flight.

While the nurturing air of Ireland may deliver insects in plenty to feed the young, the long migrations - to the south of Africa in the case of Irish swallows - takes its toll. Many never return, falling victim to hawks, hunters, inclement weather and sheer exhaustion en route. On average, they survive no more than two migrations; nevertheless, I read that one swallow reached almost 16-years-old, the oldest house martin reached 14, the oldest sand martin nine years, and a swift survived to the grand old age of 21.

There are Alpine Swifts at Ballycotton in east Cork and Bray Head in Wicklow. A rare species here, they are even more spectacular and faster than our familiar swifts, their larger size and white breasts making them easy to spot as they Whizz about the sky. A small flock provided memorable aeronautical displays over Cork city in April 2002, roosting near the Metropole Hotel.

Sandwich terns are singularly graceful birds and marvellous to watch as they hunt by plunging vertically into the sea, often half-spinning just before they hit the water. One of the earliest migrants to reach here, they nest in colonies, especially along the west coast. Later this year, they will pass with their fledged young, feeding them on the wing for three months as they fly south, following the sun to Africa and the Indian Ocean.

I suppose many Irish parents now do the same - fly south in winter but still feed the young, although they stay behind to study at university and the feeding continues for three years or more.

As anyone out walking the byways will have noticed, it’s a great year for primroses; they are seen in gay profusion everywhere. Swathes of wood anemones brighten the verges of woodland roads; each flower is solitary but they forms carpets in places.

‘Wild garlic’, ramsons, are also opening in the woods, star-like flowers with broad, spear-shaped leaves, and the other ‘wild garlic’, the Triquetrous garlic that grows in ribbons along road verges, is now in full flower in West Cork. No bluebells yet, but stitchwort, scurvy grass, wood sorrel, violets, wild daffs and wild strawberries are all in flower. We found a back road with ditches colonised by ‘hurts’ - whortleberries - on both sides, some of the stems already bearing small, red, bell-shaped flowers. There’ll be a feast there, when the berries ripen. From what my wife tells me, the search for ‘hurts’ in the roadside ditches often made West Cork children late as they walked to school.

How uplifting it is to roam the Irish countryside in springtime! In winter, I’m tempted to migrate every second day. However, if I spent the winter under sunny skies, would the Irish spring still be so inspiring? Maybe the contrast with winter is the thing - no gain without pain.

If, like the terns, we could follow the sun south of the Equator, we’d enjoy eternal spring, but I think that’s an oxymoron. The essence of spring is renewal and a thing can’t be renewed unless it’s become old, like the “old year”. While Ireland would be overtaken by renewal after its long winter, would we also feel renewed if we hadn’t experienced winter at all? Spring isn’t just buds popping and birds twittering; for us humans, it’s spring fever and the endorphins bubbling in the brain. I’d hate to miss it. How glad I am I didn’t spend the winter in Tahiti - the Irish spring wouldn’t be the same!