There’s a sad absence of starlings these days in my patch of Stirlingshire.

Just a few years ago they inhabited the unused chimney vent in the roof and dashed around the back garden in their iridescent plumage, keeping the blackbirds in order. Thomas Hardy obviously had a soft spot for them too. His starlings are philosophers, and pretty sardonic ones into the bargain.

     STARLINGS ON THE ROOF

‘No smoke spreads out of this chimney-pot,

The people who lived here have left the spot,

And others are coming who knew them not.

~

‘If you listen anon, with an ear intent,

The voices, you’ll find, will be different

From the well-known ones of those who went.’

~

‘Why did they go? Their tones so bland

Were quite familiar to our band;

The comers we shall not understand.’

~

‘They look for a new life, rich and strange;

They do not know that, let them range

Wherever they may, they will get no change.

~

‘They will drag their house-gear ever so far

In their search for a house no miseries mar;

They will find that as they were they are,

~

‘That every hearth has a ghost, alack,

And can be but the scene of a bivouac

Till they move their last – no care to pack!’