The humble sparrow

Probably the most well-known bird in New Zealand and, indeed, in the entire world is the humble house sparrow, Passer domesticus domesticus. According to my trusty copy of Birds of New Zealand, the sparrow ‘benefits from man-made agriculture and building design without affecting humans in any substantial way’ – the perfect combination – and, although it ’has undergone huge declines in Europe’, it’s still doing well here in New Zealand.

A male house sparrow, New Zealand

The sparrow is not a native New Zealander – it was introduced here several times between 1866 and 1871, and has clearly made itself at home. There are 26 species of house sparrow in the world, and they are native to Europe, Asia and north-west Africa, though there are also American sparrows (a separate family, the Emberizidae) and birds with similar names, like the Java sparrow (also a different family, the Estrildidae). Sparrows were certainly familiar birds during the time I lived in Peru and in Cambodia and, being such familiar birds in so many countries, they have become the subject of many sayings and proverbs. I will share some I’ve found, along with some of my photos of one of my favourite little birds.

Sparrows bathing, New Zealand

‘I am only a sparrow amongst a great flock of sparrows.’ Evita Peron

Rufous-collared sparrow, Peru

‘The sparrow that is twittering on the edge of my balcony is calling up to me this moment a world of memories that reach over half my lifetime, and a world of hope that stretches farther than any flight of sparrows.’ Donald G. Mitchell

Male sparrow, Cambodia

‘I once had a sparrow alight upon my shoulder for a moment, while I was hoeing in a village garden, and I felt that I was more distinguished by that circumstance than I should have been by any epaulet I could have worn.’ Henry David Thoreau

Cute sparrow fledglings, New Zealand

The humble sparrow has even made its way into the work of that famous bard William Shakespeare. For example, he uses the sparrow to illustrate Hamlet’s belief that there is rhyme and reason to even the slightest events of the universe: ‘There is special providence in the fall of a sparrow’ (Hamlet, act five, scene two). And, in King Lear (act one, scene four), Shakespeare has the Fool utter this piece of wisdom: ‘For, you know, nuncle, the hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long that it had it head bit off by it young’.

Rufous-collared sparrow, Peru

‘When the sparrow sings its final refrain, the hush is felt nowhere more deeply than in the heart of man.' Don Williams Jnr.

Female house sparrow, New Zealand

And then there are the proverbs …

‘A sparrow in hand is worth a pheasant that flieth by’, and ‘A sparrow in hand is worth more than a vulture flying’, and ‘A sparrow in the hand is better than a pigeon on the wing’, all French proverbs. And the variations on these from other European countries: the German and Polish versions are the same: ‘A sparrow in the hand is better than a pigeon on the roof’; the Spanish: ‘A sparrow in the hand is better than a bustard on the wing’; the Russian: ‘A sparrow in the hand is better than a cock on the roof’, and the Portuguese: ‘Better a sparrow in the hand than two flying’.

Sparrow, Cambodian

Then there are several countries’ versions of proverbs with two sparrows. Firstly, the French: ‘Two sparrows on the same ear of corn are not long friends’; the Spanish: ‘Two sparrows on one ear of corn never agree’; and very similar to the Spanish is the Romanian: ‘Two sparrows on one ear of corn make an ill agreement’.

Another Peruvian rufous-collared sparrow

And I’ll leave you with a few of the 50-odd other proverbs I discovered that all feature our little feathered friend …

Russian: ‘A spoken word is not a sparrow. Once it flies out, you can't catch it.’

Danish: ‘A sparrow suffers as much when it breaks its leg as does a Flanders horse.’

Bantu: ‘Only heaven can see the back of a sparrow.’

Malawian: ‘An upstart is a sparrow eager to marry a hornbill.’

Turkish: ‘Who fears the sparrows must not sow millet.’

Japanese: ‘The sparrow flying behind the hawk thinks the hawk is fleeing.’

Burmese: ‘Sparrows who mimic peacocks are likely to break a thigh.’

Scottish: ‘Auld sparrows are ill to tame.’

A curious young female sparrow, New Zealand

The birds in my garden

Outside my bedroom window, I am lucky to have several varieties of tree growing. They’re not actually in my hotel’s grounds but rather in the grounds of the French language school in the next street, which has its own small café immediately under my first-floor window (and, yes, the food is good!).

There’s a mango tree, which the school’s caretaker and his family raid on Sundays when the school is closed, as this is mango season here in Cambodia. More interesting for me are the two flowering trees, as they attract several species of bird. The trees are a Coral Tree (known as the Roulos tree here, and a variety of Erythrina) and a Royal Poinciana (also known as a Flamboyant) (botanical name Delonix regia). Both are flowering now and, as the Coral Tree in particular is rich in nectar, it attracts both nectar-loving birds and those that feast on the small insects that are also attracted by the nectar.

This is the smallest and loudest avian visitor, a Tailorbird. It is also probably the most elusive and fastest moving, hence the poor quality photo. Though I’ve never seen a nest, the bird apparently gets its name from the way the nest is constructed; the edges of large leaves are sewn together with plant fibre or spider’s web to make a cradle in which the Tailorbird then builds the actual grass nest.

On the opposite end of the size scale is this Zebra Dove (Geopelia striata). It’s not that big, just the largest of my visitors. An alternate name is the Peaceful Dove, which seems apt, as it is often to be seen sitting quietly surveying the scene, usually with its mate, occasionally cooing softly. Although native to southeast Asia, these doves are common in many places further afield (for example, Hawaii and Tahiti) due either to having been deliberately released or to caged birds escaping captivity.

My most common bird visitor – indeed, probably the most common bird in the world – is the humble sparrow. To my untrained eye, these look exactly the same as the sparrows in my New Zealand home but there are, in fact, 26 species of sparrow, so there may be subtle differences.

The sweetest singers amongst my feathered friends are the bulbuls, and they come in two varieties. The more common is the Yellow-vented Bulbul (Pycnonotus goiavier), whose range extends throughout southeast Asia, from southern Thailand to the Philippines and Borneo. As well as small berries and fruit, these bulbuls consume both nectar and insects, so are enjoying the feast in my trees.

The Yellow-vented’s cousin the Streak-eared Bulbul (Pycnonotus blanford) enjoys the same diet, hence its frequent visits to the garden. Wikipedia reports that its natural habitat is tropical and subtropical forest, and implies that it’s not a common sight, so I feel privileged that they come often to my trees.

I’ve left the best till last – or, at least, the most colourful. First, meet Mrs Brown-throated Sunbird (Anthreptes malacensis) who, like most birds, is not as flamboyant as her husband, though I think her olive-green back and yellowish tummy are still pretty. These little birds are nectar lovers so are very frequent visitors to the Coral tree’s flowers.

Here’s the husband, Mr Brown-throated Sunbird! He warrants two photos to show off both his iridescent upper body and his prettily coloured underparts. The sunbirds appear to have very long tongues, and you can see a little of his poking out in both these pictures. While the female will stay still for slightly longer, so I’ve managed to get a few good pictures of her, the male is very skittish, so getting sharp photos is more difficult. It is such a joy to watch his beautiful colours flitting from flower to flower.

Thanks to Wikipedia for the information about these birds, and to Lisa Arensen and members of the Oriental Bird Club for help identifying the birds.