The Lonely One

Forest and Bird, Issue 88, 1 May 1948, Page 4

The Lonely One

By

HUGH ROSS.

THIS was to have been a tale about a bellbirdKorimako, to be exact —the Lonely One. Korimako, for five or perhaps six years now, has lived about the garden or in the neighbouring small macrocarpa plantation sheltering the house from boisterous sou’-westerly gales. Now, however, I find that other characters have boldly forced their way into my story to compete with poor Korimako for the leading role. Briefly, they are Spot the grey-and-white cat, and the numerous stoats that take it into their small villainous, heads to visit us from time to time.

As I write Korimako is out there now, hanging upside down, the better to investigate the delightful possibilities of a flax-flower interior. Five years ago he was happily mated and the pair of bellbirds spent the greater part of each day foraging for insects in the garden, or, to be more exact, flax, pussy-willow and other shrubs. They spent a good bit of time among the cabbages, too, hunting blight. That was where Spot saw his chance one wet morning, and as we sadly took a limp green form from his triumphant jaws we realised YOU SIMPLY CANNOT TRAIN A CAT TO LEAVE BIRDS ALONE.

From then on Korimako has been the Lonely One, living quietly by hiipself about the garden. That was five years ago and to the best of our knowledge he has never mated again. We are left wondering now if - bellbirds do mate more than once in their lifetime.

A quiet, inoffensive chap is the Lonely One, peacefully sharing his domain with innumerable visitors, such as. small wandering parties of silver-eyes, half-a-dozen hedge-sparrows and that , bundle of energy a male tom-tit. A tui comeg to the garden at times, also. He is jealous of the other birds’ presence’ and as vicious as any hawk. Mostly he is to be seen when flax-flowers hang as if somnolent in the warm sunshine and the peace of a tranquil afternoon lies over the entire garden. The tui’s real characteristics manifest themselves at such times and you see him for what he really is — a ruthless, bold buccaneer of a fellow with a gorgeous coat and an even more glorious voice. He pilfers

when he will from other birds, furiously hunting them from what are really their legitimate haunts and partaking of their food as suits his requirements. He dosen’t have much luck in some of the attacks he stages, however. When pursued, the Lonely One goes over the garden hedge like a green streak to perch in the macrocarpas, where he sits and “swears” at the tui. The silver-eyes and hedge-sparrows adopt other tactics, slipping quickly into the hedge’s dense foliage where their big foe is quite unable to follow. So actually the tui spends much more time in chasing other birds than he does in dining on the honey of the flowering flax. ■<

Sooner or later real pandemonium breaks out among the birds and even the courage of the ferocious tui wilts before the appearance of a dread foe. All the birds utter warning cries even blackbirds, thrushes and sparrows.

We know instantly what the trouble is. There’s a stoat about. So we call old Spot, the cat. He appears on the run fondly imaginging a glorious repast ,of some sort or other awaiting his attention. Picking, him up unceremoniously we deposit him near the excited birds, where he sits twirling his tail in vexation at being disturbed.

And now I shall try to describe what happens after thatwhat we have seen happen not once, but literally scores of times. Almost' it beggars belief.

Spot takes absolutely no notice of the commotion. He simply makes himself comfortable on the lawn. That is all. Yet sooner or later the stoat will bark at him from the hedge’s sheltering denseness. And often I wonder if the little stoat is fully aware of the fact that he is doomed, doomed inevitably from the moment the cat appears in his neighbourhood.

For, make no mistake, the stoat’s fate is very definitely sealed. And yet the cat, when he hears that bark, will not even pause in his ablutions. If he is asleep he might perhaps lift his head and glare balefully at being disturbed ere once more composing himself for slumber.

I have never actually seen him catch a stoat although I have always envisaged a lightning spring, flash of strong white teeth then exit Mr. Stoat with a broken spine. However ... it

isn’t long after that till the stoat’s frantic barking shatters the silence, and there is Spot stalking majestically to the centre of the lawn, his victim gripped carelessly by its back. It is not long before the stoat is dead, and peace reigns once -more in the garden.

Soon the birds return one by one to resume their divers activities, and the bellbird, poor; green Korimako, the Lonely One, quietly surveying his surroundings from his familiar perch in a flowering currant tree, fills the air with melodious bursts of sweet, wild music.