‘Warde Fowler gives a very apt description of it
(chaffinch song) in one of his books. He compares
the manner of it to a bowler running with quick
steps up to the wicket and then with an overhand
turn of the arm delivering the ball . . .’
- Viscount Grey: The Charm of Birds
The stage revolves. The cast emit
Preliminary doh-re-mis –
Twee-tweet! Pink! Pink! Pee-peep! Twit! Twit! –
Then, gathering volume by degrees,
Recall descriptive recipes
That Viscount Grey might well extol,
Such flights as those whose apogee’s
A chaffinch, running up to bowl.
Male yellowhammers beg a bit
Of bread, but specify no cheese;
Corn buntings, less insistent, sit
On roadside wires and jangle keys,
Though stars that outshine even these
Touch chords to stir the sporting soul –
In pride of place, good form decrees,
A chaffinch, running up to bowl.
Sounds from the great or ox-eye tit
Suggest a cycle-pump's thin wheeze,
While reel-like notes rare warblers hit
Make anglers tremble at the knees
And starlings . . . imitate with ease
The song which strains the self-control
Of cricket’s deck-chair devotees,
A chaffinch, running up to bowl.
Envoi
Prince, can you hear? ‘Beginners, please!’
Prepare to play a striking role.
Your cue? The overture's reprise,
A chaffinch, running up to bowl.