Eurasian kestrel (Falco tinnuculus) in St Pancras and Islington Cemetery

Dear Readers, today my friend A and I went for a good long walk in St Pancras and Islington Cemetery, on a beautiful sunny day. We were rewarded by the sight of this wonderful little falcon sitting on top of an ash tree, and watching the ground for any passing mice or voles. This is, of course, another good reason for not putting down rat or mouse poison. This bird is a juvenile – the male would have a  grey head, more distinct teardrop marks and a black bar on the tail, while the female lacks the grey head.

It’s so wonderful to see another generation of kestrels in the cemetery. The large area of open grassland really suits them, and they don’t mind that there are headstones everywhere. And I imagine that sitting on a tree watching for prey is much less energy-intensive than being a ‘wind-hover’, as in Gerard Manley Hopkins’s wonderful ecstatic poem. It gives me goosebumps every time I read it.

The Windhover
To Christ Our Lord

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing.

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.

Kestrels are the most confiding of birds of prey – I think this one thought themselves invincible on the top of the tree, as we got closer and closer (though not too close, this is at x50 magnification). Like many predators, they are both curious and steadfast, and I feel so privileged to have spent a few moments in their company. The bird was still perched in the tree when we moved on.

And in the dappled, soft sunlight in the wooded part of the cemetery, this comma butterfly, as fresh as paint, flitted ahead of us.

Comma (Polygonia c-album)

As bright as this butterfly looks, its orange and brown colouration helps to disguise it as it hibernates amongst dead leaves. On a warm day like today it warms itself in the sunshine and then flits off in search of food – fortunately there was lots of lesser celandine about to feed on today. Then, the females will head off in search of some mates – she’ll try to find mates who fed on high-quality plants when they were caterpillars. How does she know? Male Commas  provide females with a nuptial gift of an edible spermatophore which provides high levels of nutrients. Who knew? 

Comma butterflies are an unusual and happy success story. They suffered a severe drop in numbers iwhen the hop plants that the caterpillars used to eat became rare, with the decline of the brewing industry. Then, suddenly, they seem to have discovered a liking for stinging nettles, and ever since their population has been growing and spreading further north. If this morning is anything to go by, they are going to have a bumper year.