A Stonechat Memoriam - 20th January 2026

Stonechat by John Reaney

I had a very dear friend John Reaney who was a bird artist living in Sussex and with who I shared many birding adventures but sadly John died six years ago. I have been thinking about him lately and this is my somewhat belated valedictory to him and my time in Sussex, the two for me remain inseparable.

More years ago than I care to remember I lived in a village called Ditchling that lies in the shadow of the South Downs in Sussex. Much of my free time was spent studying the stonechats that bred along the gorse topped cliffs of Beachy Head further east on the Sussex coast.

I loved the times I spent at Beachy Head and was never happier.There are so many fond memories associated with 'my' stonechats such as the time I was ringing a brood of stonechats and looking up noticed a Crag Martn flying back and fore above me.I finished ringing the stonechats and then watched the martin for another twenty minutes,feeding low over the grassy slope before it disappeared off to the east never to be seen again. I was completely alone at the time as it was July, a dead time for birding.My sighting of the Crag Martin turned out to be only the second ever record for Great Britain.

Another time and another year I was lower down the same slope trying to find a stonechat's nest when  an unfamiliar melodic call came from a small hawthorn bush nearby. I went to investigate and a non descript greyish bird about the size of a greenfinch with a few dark streaks on its breast and a beady black eye in a plain face revealed itself to be the origin of the call. It flew to the next bush. It was another rare bird, a Common Rosefinch or Scarlet Grosbeak as it was known in those days.Again there was no one around to tell.  

Finally a famous pop and session musician as well as a good friend who also lived in Ditchling asked to come with me one early morning to share the experience of checking the stonechat nests in my study area.His name was Herbie Flowers formerly of T Rex and who played the famous bass accompaniment on Lou Reed's  'Walk on the Wild Side'. That morning I learnt a lot about the pop music industry, its stars and was indulged with various bits of celebrity gossip whilst Herbie learnt a lot about stonechats and watched me ringing a couple of broods.

I was asked to write a book about stonechats and their relatives which I eventually did and it was published in 2002 under the title 'Stonechats: A Guide to the Genus Saxicola'. The book that finally appeared was, as befitted the modern trend full of technical detail but I always regretted that it could not be allowed to be written in the relaxed style of bird books of old. I was brought up on the likes of Walpole Bond and Bannerman who were both excellent ornithologists and capable of writing in an interesting and fluent style.They were so much more readable and to my mind just as instructive without being burdened by the now fashionable ultra scientific approach of churning out a wealth of sterile statistics, graphs and genetics which in some cases can render the book concerned almost unreadable to the average person with an interest in birds

Below is the preamble to the original manuscript I wrote but was considered by the publisher not suitable for the book in its final form as it might set 'the wrong tone' which I fully understand but to my dying day will regret could not be included. I scribbled it down in a quiet moment as I was sat on that same steep and sunny slope at Beachy Head watching a pair of my beloved stonechats

'On an early morning in June with the sun just two hours above the horizon I am sitting on a steep and grassy slope called Cow Gap just to the east of Beachy Head and where the chalk of the South Downs meets the sea. I am waiting to find a stonechat's nest which is hidden somewhere in the rank grass further down the slope. Some hundred metres below me the slope levels out to a wide area covered in an abundance of downland flowers and that runs to the sea. A profusion of butterflies, Marbled Whites, Dark Green Fritillaries, countless Meadow Browns and Chalkhill Blues cruise and flutter over and amongst the Knapweed, Yellow Rattle, Spotted and Fragrant Orchids and swaying downland grasses.The scent of Wild Thyme is carried on the warm breeze, the sea is a dull murmur on the distant shore and my arms glow yellow with reflected colour from a swathe of Horseshoe Vetch to my side.This is the haunt of the stonechat and the ghost of W H Hudson who so loved these South Downs feels very close.

Conspicuous and resplendent on top of a small hawthorn bush, framed by the colours of early summer flowers and blue sea sits a male stonechat.His black busby head, white neck flashes and orange breast enhanced by the sun, render him handsome and bright against a backdrop of infinite sea and sky

Somewhere nearby his mate is sitting on a nest, concealed deep in the downland grass, incubating red stippled pale blue eggs but it is futile to randomly search for the nest as stonechat's nests are always a wonder of concealment and as is the way of such things that which is most desired is often the hardest to find.

I am now, from much practice, so familiar with the ways of stonechats that I know that the best way to discover the nest is to be patient and wait for the female to leave her nest and appear on one of her periodic feeding trips which usually occur every forty to sixty minutes. It is of course  no hardship to sit here, patient and solitary in such spiritually uplifting surroundings. I have no idea how long I will need to wait, nor does it matter but the secret is to keep a constant eye on the male as he never remains far from his incubating partner and will accompany her when she leaves the nest to feed.

Time drifts by on the breeze. An Adder slides out of the gorse, slowly winding its way through the grass below my feet as I sit silent and motionless, then coils itself into a snug grass hollow to absorb the sun on its scaly back. Its head rests on its coiled body. A black unlidded eye, glittering in the sun is unfathomable.

The three week old Fox cubs yet to learn caution are bickering and play fighting in front of the entrance to their earth under a Wayfarer Tree further down the slope

The male stonechat has not moved, maintaining a constant vigil atop his favoured hawthorn.I keep watching him.We are both waiting

Suddenly he becomes excited, flicking his wings and flirting his tail.I scan ten metres to his right with my binoculars and there is his mate, perched on another small hawthorn bush, busily preening and shaking her feathers, a sure sign she has just left the nest.She is the epitomy of impatience as she flies a few metres at a time from perch to perch always moving away, dropping to pick prey from the ground at every stop, constantly in agitated motion.I follow her intently in my binoculars, ignoring the male. She is soon many metres from where she first appeared but finally starts heading back in a series of longer flights between perches. It will not be long now as she is concerned for her eggs.Five to ten minutes is the longest she wants to leave them. Arriving at a small bramble spray half risen above the grass, she is edgy and alert, constantly flicking wings and tail. A last anxious, furtive look around, a slight hesitation and a sudden dive into the grass and she is gone.I wait five minutes but she does not re-appear

The male resumes his perch on top of the hawthorn. All is as before.

Unknowingly she has revealed her nest but she and its contents are safe. Known only to me and after marking the nest  I will return but once more to disturb her and if all is well ring the young stonechats in a couple of weeks from now.'