Aerial antics on the way south

It flew at a very high speed and seemed dangerously close to the stonework. I knew, of course, its aerial skills would not allow it to collide with the building, nonetheless, it was a heart-stopping moment. I just had time to notice its white rump, but apart from it being about the size of a swallow, did not discern its colours or other features.

My first thought was that it was a housemartin, but these have been in short supply in my part of the world this summer and, in any case, our local swallows, swifts and nearby martins had already left the country for a warmer climate.

Then, with its white rump so prominent, I wondered if it was a bullfinch, but reckoned it was flying far too quickly - besides, it didn't have the undulating flight of the finch family. This was more of a dive-bomber!

As I pondered the identity of this passer-by, I became aware of others, dozens and dozens of them, perhaps a hundred or more, and they were all flying in a dazzling display of aerobatics over some trees just beyond the foot of our garden.

The bright sky behind caused them to appear merely as silhouettes and even when I rushed to fetch my binoculars, I could not identify them. They moved far too quickly, there were far too many and they danced in the sky like a swarm of busy bees.

More and more hurtled past my window - it was almost as if the house was under attack - but eventually I managed to focus the binoculars on one or two.

Much to my surprise, they were housemartins and as I tried to count them, I estimated there would be at least 80, even a hundred or so, and they continued to hurtle around the skies like mad things not far above the tree tops, some of them buzzing my house like angry wasps.

I was fascinated by this display, so much so that I forgot to drink my tea and then, after about 25 minutes, they all vanished as quickly as they had arrived. I saw them briefly as they were departing, flying towards the south-east, and then they were gone.

So what was this huge group of housemartins doing? I could only think they were partially along their migratory route, having perhaps come from some other distant place to the north of my part of the world.

I wondered if the patch of trees near my house had provided some insects for them - there were a lot of insects dancing in the sunshine at that time - and they would provide extra fuel for the birds' long journey to Africa.

Certainly, this group was well behind our local martins, who left a week or so earlier, but within the world of migrating birds such discrepancies are quite common.

The migration of birds is a very complex matter, with distinctions between the movements of seed-eating birds and insect-eaters, sea-birds and land-based birds, birds which winter in England and those which spend the summer here, those which merely pass through and those which fly by night, while others fly by day.

An adequate supply of food en route is vital too and severe weather is another hazard. In spite of the dangers, migration is a vital part in the life of many birds.

Even our resident species move to different parts of the country, although each migratory bird must judge its timing to perfection.

If it is too early, there may be no food upon arrival, or the weather might be too hot or too cold for it to survive, or it might even find itself in the middle of moulting.

The birds I spotted - housemartins - are insect-eaters and when I saw them, it was growing dark. It is interesting that many insect-eating migrators tend to fly by night.

They do not make the entire trip in one stage, however, but will land at dawn to have a rest and to refuel, which is done by eating lots of insects. Flying by night is also an aid to their safety because there are few predators around in the dark.

Not all birds migrate by night, however. Some prefer the daylight hours and these are generally seed-eaters who fly overland by making short trips. This pattern is used by many of our own species who migrate within the British Isles and those who pop across to Europe or Scandinavia.

I read recently that a small bird can double its weight by eating in the days before migration. An example is a sedge warbler, which eats sufficient advance food to fuel it for a non-stop flight of between 60 and 90 hours. Quite an achievement for such a tiny creature.

At this time of year, we have said farewell to most of our summer visitors, such as warblers and swallows, but will be welcoming our winter visitors like fieldfares, redwings, waxwings and some species of geese.

These come in large flocks, clearly believing there is safety in numbers - just like those amazing housemartins.

Today is the feast of All Saints when the church honours those for whom no particular day has been established.

Many churches are dedicated to All Saints and before the Reformation it was customary for the mass of the day to be said in memory of all who had died, whether saints or not!

Church bells tolled to reinforce the mourning and this atmosphere of sadness or even gloom was often carried over until the following day, November 2, which is the feast of All Souls.

In some areas, today was called the feast of All Hallows or Hallowmas Day, hallow being an old word for something or someone venerated as holy. In some places, that name became corrupted to hollan and so this period also became known as Hollantide.

There is an old weather forecasting verse which goes: If ducks to slide at Hollantide, at Christmas they will swim; If ducks to swim at Hollantide, at Christmas they will slide.

Another piece of lore for today says that if beech mast is dry on All Saints Day, we shall have a hard winter. If the mast is wet, however, a damp winter may be expected.

Tomorrow, All Souls, was a day set aside for prayers for the deceased members of one's family, and it was marked by people known as soulers who went around the villages singing hymns to earn money which was then used as a donation to the church if a mass was said to the memory of deceased family members.

A misunderstanding of this practice led to the belief that people paid to have a mass said for family members; rather, it was a donation to the church, a form of thanks. Masses for the dead were widely celebrated without any kind of payment.

In parts of Yorkshire on All Souls Day, women would make massive quantities of soul cakes, sometimes called soul mass cakes or soul mass loaves (corrupted into saumas loaves), and in some areas these were given to the soulers who toured the houses. They were simple scone-like buns, usually with spices added.

In other parts of the country, different customs were practised on All Souls, such as the Hodening Horse which toured the houses with a band of youths, the idea being to beg alms or raise money for the church so that masses for the dead could be guaranteed, while in the Sheffield area the soulers were known as guisers because they disguised themselves by blackening their faces.

Most if not all these souling traditions have died away, although a modern variation did exist until recently in Cheshire.

Children with blackened faces would tour the houses singing mournful songs with the idea of earning a little cash for doing so. But the cash was for their personal use, not a donation to the church!

A reader from Masham has commented on my recent piece about that delightful small town (D&S, Oct 11), but has pointed out that the church depicted in the accompanying photograph was not St Mary's at Masham.

I do not select this feature's illustrations, but in fact the photograph did not state it was Masham church - it did not say where it was!

My correspondent points out that it showed St Paul's at Healey, a handsome church some four miles away. I thank him for his help in identifying this mystery church.