A Tiding of Magpies… or a Mischief….

I

n early spring before the buds have burst, a twiggy shape begins to appear in the topmost branches of the tallest Sycamore. We watch each day as it grows and develops into a domed ball of twigs reaching skywards. We watch each day in fascination, as the Magpies, who have paired for life, bring sticks and twigs snapped from other trees or occasionally stolen from other early nest building corvids. We watch each day as they create their own round little world in the sky. Then the March winds come with storms and rain, and we wonder just how this little world stays, stuck fast, so high up. We worry for the brave black and white bird sitting tight on her eggs surrounded by her twiggy cage now hidden by fresh leafy greenery as it swings and sways with every blustery gust.

Come July, the schools are out and mothers fret with children at their feet to entertain and feed, we are amused to see that the Sycamore and surrounding trees are host to families of demanding young crows and among them are several black and white youngsters. They bounce from branch to branch, their stubby tails making balance a challenge, as they shout loudly, and flap around, testing their wings. We are amused how they closely resemble the local children celebrating their summer freedom, as their Magpie parents struggle to fill their gaping, demanding beaks.

By the beginning of winter young Magpies habitually form small groups. Ours are no different, at first light they sit in the treetops chattering, as if planning their mischief for the day, before setting off in noisy rampaging flocks. Seeing them in the glow of the rising sun we count them, trying to remember the old childhood rhyme – One for Sorrow, Two for Joy, until we reach twelve for wealth but not thirteen for that would be the very Devil himself! And so it goes on for several days – Twelve for Wealth or Five for Silver, Six for Gold, but we don’t stumble across a hidden stash of silver or gold so perhaps it was all just a ‘Secret never to be told’? During the day the young Magpies argue and squabble like bachelor parties, rushing through trees and hedgerows causing chaos, chasing and terrorising small birds and local cats alike. Later, as they sit blinking in the low afternoon sun, they become less the ‘Fagin’s boys’ dashing through the woodland back streets after any treasure they can steal and become more the sleek well-dressed Phantom of the Opera, in crisp white shirt and shining black tailcoat reflecting a myriad of blues and greens and blacks, mischief forgotten.

The Magpie has long been linked with myth and legend, ill fortune and superstition, with folk having a habit of saluting or greeting a Magpie politely to be sure of warding off any bad luck – One for Sorry. But generally, if we wait and look around, they are rarely a lone bird, being paired for life or hanging around in youthful gangs.

In Britain Magpies were originally just called ‘Pie’, presumably for their black and white plumage, until sometime during the 16th century when ‘Mag’, meaning Chattering, was added. The Scots have a legend that the Magpie has a drop of the blood of the Devil beneath its tongue and to see one on your windowsill foretells of a death. In Scandinavia it was believed that Witches could turn into a Magpie and the ancient Romans associated them with fortune telling and magic. In Druid beliefs the black and the white colours of the Magpie represent the balance of the light and the dark around the Spring and Autumn equinox.

Most often the Magpie is cast as the villain and the thief, but it appears that there really is little evidence that they habitually steal shining items, most probably, being intelligent birds as most corvids are, they are simply curious and are attracted to investigate bright items that catch the eye. In the role of the villain, it is true that they, as with other corvids, will ransack smaller bird’s nests and pick up small birds when foraging for food. A taste for mischief does seem to be a corvid family trait, probably due to their intelligence.

Possibly due to the superstition surrounding these birds, the Magpie does not appear to have been a popular subject in literature or artwork. In literature, most mention of the Magpie seems to be in the use of their chattering as a comparison. There is, however, a charming little piece recently written by Cornetia Davies –

A Tiding of Magpies

One for sorrow lands gracefully, gliding:

A second one, joyful, from hiding –

Now six Magpies scold,

Which could mean there’ll be gold –

There’s a bunch of them …. Must be a tiding ….

In shops you need to search hard to find artwork and illustrations of them; they do not frequently feature on greeting cards or seem hugely popular in artwork generally, although the modern internet shopping sights don’t seem to harbour quite the same superstition as the general population and a few interior decorating pieces can be found. However, Claude Monet produced a rather lovely snow scene titled ‘The Magpie’ depicting a solitary Magpie perched upon a wattle gate, in a landscape of sunlight and blue shadows on freshly fallen snow. The picture below is a creation by Kay Leverton (featured on johnaustinpublishing.co.uk) ‘Magpies on Log’ which we recently found in an arts and crafts gallery.

There is also a rather attractive picture of six Magpies from the studio of contemporary artist Eleanor Blackwork (@eleanorblackwork.com) who combines black and white art with warm metallic detailing and Lucy Grossmith (@heart-to-art.com) has featured a pair of Magpie in her latest beautiful creation called ‘Winter Walk’.

So, when you see a Magpie as you travel along the way, remember all that superstition could well just be hearsay, however it might be wise to give him a nod and politely wish him ‘have a good day’.

Magpies from "What To Look For in Winter" Ladybird Books 1959

illustration by C. F. Tunnicliffe

Words and pictures (unless otherwise stated) by A & D studios ©