WHILE many of song birds are silent during the winter months, a few might be tempted on a sunny day to sing from a lofty place, if only for a brief moment. I have heard robins singing in January and sometimes that shy bird, the dunnock or even a wren might produce a pleasing short melody.

In addition, birds that do not sing, such as rooks, crows, gulls, geese and others will continue to utter their familiar calls that can hardly be regarded as songs.

However, there is one that specialises in robust singing during cold and stormy weather. This is the mistle thrush, known in many parts of this country as the storm cock.

As the name suggests, it is a cousin of our song thrush and very like it in appearance, albeit lacking the red touches that identify the redwing or the grey appearance of the fieldfare. The mistle thrush is the largest of that group but has the speckled breast and underparts of thrushes – but its speckles are larger than those of its relations.

Because we so often become aware of its presence when it sings from a tree or other perch during stormy weather, we tend to think of it as a migrant that is wintering here.

In fact, mistle thrushes are widespread throughout this country for most of the year, although some youngsters might move to the continent in severe winters, and others may arrive from further north if their local weather is atrocious.

Instead of open and exposed moorland, they seem to prefer countryside heavily covered with mature trees, often selecting the highest point as a safe perch for their musical performance.

The mistle thrush’s propensity for singing in storms has sometimes led observers to believe that it can forecast oncoming rough weather of the milder sort, then select a perch that is most suitable for its singing.

Not surprisingly, the mistle thrush is not our only wild bird that is said to forecast the weather. The green woodpecker or yaffle is often known as the rainbird because is has the uncanny ability to forecast rain – and it announces the fact through it famous “laughing” call.

Frequent calling by woodpeckers is widely thought to herald a bout of stormy weather, not merely rain but probably thunder and lightning. If a woodpecker leaves its usual haunt, it is supposed to herald bad weather.

Magpies are thought to forecast windy weather if they fly around in threes or fours as they chatter together, while jackdaws perching on the weather vane of a church are widely regarded a sign of oncoming bad weather.

Our old friend from the summer, the cuckoo, is also thought to herald bad weather if it calls its familiar “cuckoo” throughout summer.

If our wild birds are capable of forecasting the weather, good or bad, that is not considered unusual. Nature has made them keenly aware of changes to the climate simply because they must prepare for all conditions if they are to survive. If our cats and dogs, sheep and pigs, can forecast bad weather ahead, it is not surprising that our wild creatures can do likewise. But we do not know how they manage to do so.

Nonetheless, our forebears regularly based their rural working life on signs presented by birds in the wild. I have heard of other farmers working on the continent not beginning their ploughing until they heard the cry of a crane in flight; cranes flying overhead heralded fine weather, but if cranes made an early appearance in the autumn, then a tough autumn could be expected.

The fishermen along our coastline would always watch the behaviour of sea birds before heading for their fishing grounds.

Perhaps the most simple of those observations was that if the gulls remained on shore instead of heading out to sea, bad weather could be anticipated. So the crew did not put to sea.

When I was growing up deep in the North York Moors, it was always a sign of bad weather if the moorland sheep came down from the moors and wandered around our village. Snow was always a possibility. Likewise, if they stood with their backs to the wind, rain and gales were expected.

All this mystery means we cannot leave our domestic animals out of these notes. I recall that when our cat washed her ears and face furiously, it was believed fine weather would follow. This appears to have been a common belief in the northern counties, but some southerners placed a different interpretation upon that situation. It was said to forecast rain.

A sneezing cat was also said to be a sign of rain whilst howling dogs usually heralded a storm. One well known forecasting device was to hang seaweed in an outbuilding – if it remained dry, the weather would be good but if it turned wet, rain was on the way.

Here is a short verse to conclude: Hark! I hear the asses bray; We shall have some rain today.