Natural Harmony

We’ve been asked to follow in silence. It’s 11pm in Sussex woods. I’m in a line of people walking single-file following folk singer Sam Lee for a rare musical encounter. There’s a clear night sky and half-moon bringing a silvery burnish to the silhouetted trees. Walking this route about three hours ago before dusk, it was noisy with birdsong – dozens of calls including robin, song thrush, garden warbler, blackcap and cuckoo. Now it’s silent except for the occasional distant owl hoot.

The path narrows and becomes muddy, squelching with each step. The wood thins out into a coppiced area which is more open. That’s when we start to hear the nightingales in the distance. It’s only males that sing in their own territory, primarily to attract a mate.

After about 15 minutes, we stop beneath a line of trees. A nightingale is singing incredibly loudly, perhaps a metre above our heads. You feel you could touch it. But looking up, all you can see are