This month, Adam Hunt of Urquhart & Hunt discusses nature’s soundscape and how it shapes our memories
FEATURE ADAM HUNT (URQUHART & HUNT)
THE people best able to describe landscapes, gardens and nature are poets and storytellers. When you read one of the greats, such as Ted Hughes or Mary Oliver, the descriptions they weave are not just visual; they include sound, scent, touch and personal feelings – things that seem to connect to a deeper, less inhibited part of our memory. We all know these moments: the scent of fresh cut grass or a bonfire, the sound of our boots scuffing through autumn leaves or two doves cooing in the summer; they take us back to our childhood, perhaps, or at least lift us out of ourselves for a moment. In this piece I want to focus on the sound of nature – past, present and future – and how important it is to our enjoyment and perception of the place we live.
I have a very good friend, Mike Edwards (sound-matters.com), who I grew up with in the same village. He has, for a long time, been listening to and recording nature, and in our conversations suggests that the world we have created has a soundscape that often drowns out nature’s voice. One that gives precedence to machines, construction and automation; a noisy world with traffic, alarms and continual notifications all being part of our everyday lives. I do not think we consciously chose this outcome but the background noise we live with is a direct result of the industrial path we have followed. The corresponding changes in the natural sounds we hear reflect the changing landscape.
There are certain sounds, especially of birdsong, that have disappeared from our landscapes to such an extent that we no longer expect to hear them at all. Back in the 70s it was usual to hear the distinctive sound of a cuckoo each May. In nearly all rural and suburban locations, the call of a cuckoo meant early summer was here and everyone, no matter if they were birdwatchers or not, knew that call. Going further back, a hundred years or more, the corncrake was a common sound throughout the land; and yet to hear them now, you have to go to Shetland or the Western Isles. As well as birdsong, the loud and very strange calls of European tree frogs and northern pool frogs are no longer heard (both are now extinct in the UK) and the unmistakable rustling of a grass snake moving through a hedgerow is a rarity.
In contrast to this, some birdsong is on the increase; the exotic and aggressive parakeets who are present throughout London, for instance. Living happily on birdseed put out on bird tables and pushing many other birds away with their squawks, they are now a normal part of a visit to the city. Corvids such as rooks, crows, jackdaws and magpies are heard more and more – though sadly not jays – with ravens making a comeback in rural areas too.
