THE TURTLE dove is an enigmatic little bird synonymous with love, peace and hope. As such, it is unsurprising that through the ages it has caught the imagination of writers, artists and musicians from Shakespeare and Elvis to Chaucer and Cliff Richard. Turtle doves might define the summer arable landscape in Britain, yet they are truly global citizens. Impressively, being little larger than blackbirds, they reach our shores in late April and May having completed an arduous migratory journey from the Sahel region of Africa, defining the shifting of the seasons, marking the progress of spring and sounding hope for the coming harvest.
The melodic ‘turr-turr-turring’ call of the turtle dove, from which it takes its name, has for millennia been the summer music of East Anglia. In my childhood they were present, if not common, and the song of calling males could be heard in the early morning, reverberating across the dew-dampened, fresh stubbles from straggling hedgerows. Occasionally, a pair might be spotted on a telegraph wire, small and dainty, smaller indeed than their common collared cousins, yet far more impressive. At
