I mentioned in my last post that my father had good timing at odd times. Here’s one more instance for the road!
It was May, 1992. The family were on holiday together in Minorca, a small island in the Mediterranean. We were just leaving a restaurant after a late dinner and we were surprised at how dark it was outside – not a light for miles and no moon. The seven of us stood in the light of the doorway, trying to get our bearings, when Dad called out for us all to be quiet.
“Listen!” he urged as he pointed out into the dark.
A soft breeze wafted up from the fields, and I could make out the dark density of trees, a field away. Then I heard it. A solitary bird singing effortlessly; a song I’d never heard before, in a pattern I couldn’t discern. It was mesmerising – we all stood stock still, till the birdsong ended and slowly turned to look back at Dad.
“THAT…” he said, beaming proudly, ” is a nightingale.”
Here’s a sound clip from the British Library, so that you, too, can say you’ve heard a nightingale sing. (You might have to refresh the link.)
The British Library http://sounds.bl.uk/JISC ASR IPR STATUS LIST.xls Luscinia megarhynchos : Nightingale – Turdidae W1CDR0001378 BD8
All text by Meg
Story Twigs …! by Meg Philp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License