I have come across an intriguing mystery recently while working on two families. Cisticolas are not the most culturally endowed genus but one story is remarkable. It concerns the Cloud Cisticola C. textrix. The species occurs in a broad arc through the eastern half of South Africa and is widely known for its hard, rhythmic, percussive ‘clappering’ note - exceptional, in fact, in a bird so small - which is delivered as it performs a remarkably high dancing flight. Sometimes it is so high it cannot even be seen with binoculars, and an old name for the bird was cloud-scraping cisticola.

The best known of the stories about the cloud cisticola is an old, apparently traditional story found widely across southern Africa. In a version recorded in the Transkei region of the eastern Cape in the early part of the twentieth century, the central drama involves a competition organised by all the birds to find a suitable leader from among their number. With the jackal acting as overall judge, each species attempts to fly as high as possible. None can apparently fly higher than the vulture but, just as jackal asks him to return to Earth as victor, all the assembled birds are startled to observe the tiny silhouette of a cloud cisticola emerging from concealment in the vulture’s plumage and briefly flying higher still. This feathered mite then flies down and is duly crowned their king, but some birds accuse him of cheating, at which he instantly vanishes into a small hole. While owl is set to guard the cisticola’s sanctuary, the others go in search of something with which to dig him out, and when they finally return to discover that the cisticola has already escaped, they are as angry with owl as they are with the initial fugitive. Owl too then vanishes down the hole and to this day he is so hated by other birds he is obliged to fly by night. (There is another Zulu version of the same story but with small variations, most notably the cloud cisticola is replaced as central character by a cisticola relative, the neddicky. See http://www.canteach.ca/elementary/africa7.html)The Xhosa story is most remarkable for its virtually identical structure to a European tale of the winter wren and its own election as king of birds.  In this version, the same competition is played out, but the birds involved are the wren and the eagle. This is a really ancient European story and even Aristotle (4th century BC) alludes to the conflict between these two birds. The most resonant parallel is the identical inclusion of the owl’s role, by which is explained that bird’s nocturnal lifestyle and enmity with other birds. This coda to the main wren/eagle competition occurs in the version of the story recorded by the Grimm Brothers.

How can one account for the exceptional similiarities? Is the African version, which surfaces in the early twentieth century according to Godfrey, Robert, Bird-Lore of the Eastern Cape Province, Witwaterstrand University Press, Johannesburg, 1941, pages 92-96, a tale first disseminated by Europeans and then adopted as a Xhosa/Zulu story in its own right? Or is it, indeed, completely independent and the similarities a matter of coincidence?

Very often responses to the same or similar birds are identical regardless of place. For example, behaviours that are encouraging of, and demonstrate deep reverence for, swallows are almost universal. In North America, the purple martin was encouraged to nest near the encampments of Native Americans (in hollowed gourds), just as Europeans have encouraged and protected swallows in Europe, and just as the Chinese have held them in high esteem in China. So how do we interpret the parallels between the stories of the wren and cloud cisticola as King of the Birds? And views or information would be welcome.

The week before last (22-28 September) I was fortunate to attend the BirdLife International World Conservation Conference in Buenos Aires, Argentina. It was a perfect opportunity to get the message out about Birds and People to the 100 partnership organisations which make up the BirdLife family. But as well as attending the conference I was able to go with John Fanshawe, the key BirdLife staff member working on the Birds and People project, to the best remaining areas of pampas south of Buenos Aires itself. One of the smallest provinces in Argentina, it is nonetheless a place of breathtaking vastness. Open grasslands, now almost entirely converted for cattle grazing, stretch to a featureless horizon which vanishes only with the eventual downward curvature of the Earth. The sense of emptiness and space in this landscape seemed only to emphasise the sheer abundance of birds.

One of the highlights was a chance to visit some particularly rich areas that form part of the Samborobón park, a largely coastal grassland patch of about 25,000 sq km that borders the Bahia Samborobón. We had two very special days in the company of the park rangers, Gabriel Castresana and Pablo Rojas, who not only kindly showed some of the best areas they proved wonderful informants on local relationships between pampas dwellers and some of the birds.

One of the most characteristic species of the region is the beautiful large plover, Southern Lapwing, which seems virtually ubiquitous and perches at times on rooftops in town centres. In Argentina it is called tera commún, a name echoic of the bird’s springs calls, which formed almost a permanent soundtrack to our experience. Their eggs are collected and eaten, although Pablo, whose family have been intimately connected to pampas life for generations, explained how they were harvested with ecology in mind. As children they were taught how to tell if the egg contained a developed embryo (only the freshest eggs were taken) and eggs were often left in the nest to ensure continuity of supply.

Another remarkable practice stemmed from the bird’s urgent vocalisations. A young bird would be taken and pinioned and kept around the farmhouse as a sort of early warning system for the occupants. The bird would eventually learn the identity of the householders and would only call if it saw strangers approaching. Southern lapwings have a remarkably sharp red spur on the edges of the their wings and with this weapon the birds can easily take on and frighten away cats and dogs.

The abundance of these plovers and the interactions of local people reminded me of an older Derbyshire (my home county in the UK) where the northern lapwing played much the same role. Plover eggs have probably been harvested wherever humans and plover co-exist, and often, as proven by the birds’ remarkable abundance at Samborobón, without detriment to the species. Sadly it is habitat changes which have caused the species to decline in Britain and elsewhere in Europe. But I wonder if anyone has encountered similar plover-human interactions elsewhere?

The other remarkable species of the pampas is the national bird the rufous hornero. It’s a beast with massive personality. Wherever there are people and human structures this bird has found a home. Their loud duetting calls are heard everywhere, but they are not quite as universal as the nests. Hornero mean ‘baker’ and draws on the dome-like oven structure in which they breed. The nest closely resembled the traditional mud ovens once used widely across southern South America, and hence the name.

We visited a small environmental centre based at the former house of the Anglo-Argentinian writer, W H Hudson. The dwelling is now virtually in the southern suburbs of greater Buenos Aires, but at one time it was on an open grass plain. It was this landscape which was so memorably described in Hudson’s autobiography, Far Away and Long Ago, as well as in several other wonderful books on the region’s wildlife including The Naturalist in La Plata) It was really lovely to find what were presumably children’s sculptures based on the hornero’s prototype.

This is my first blog and come on the occasion of my imminent departure for Buenos Aires and the BirdLife International World Conference. The project is co-sponsored by BirdLife and I am speaking to an audience made up of delegates from its 100 partner organisations. Our goal is to broadcast the Birds and People project as far as possible to achieve a truly global spread of contributions.

Publicity has been a major priority and on returning from Buenos Aires we have a feature on the BBC Radio Four’s World on the Move series about. (Perhaps tune in next week. I’ll give you the time and date when they are finalised.) Swallows are among the most cherished of bird worldwide and it is extraordinary to see how responses span continents and millennia.

They were harbingers of spring for the ancient Greeks, just as they serve much the same role in modern China. In fact one community, a rural hill community called the Miao of Ghizou province specifically shape their agricultural year, based on a weather prophesy derived from the date of the swallows’ return. The birds breed inside Miao houses and they note the exact time of their reappearance in spring. From this comes a prediction of the coming summer weather and a date to begin sowing their rice paddies.

Though modern suburban USA couldn’t perhaps seem more different, Americans share the apparently universal love of swallows and martins. In fact if anything their attachments are even more profound. It is estimated a million people in North America put out martin houses for the purple martin and the entire population of this bird east of the Rockies now nests in man-made structures. If you have stories or experience of any of these themes then we would love to hear from you.

The authors’ blog gives anyone a chance to catch up on progress with the Birds and People book and also an opportunity to contribute to it. The book is a five-year project and author Mark Cocker and photographer David Tipling give regular updates on the species and subjects they are covering at the moment. The blog is also a way for anyone to participate and to make contributions on the current themes.

You can join in the discussion and contribute directly to the book, but if you have something you want to say on a subject not presently being treated, then you can also send an email to Mark Cocker or David Tipling.

Most contributions to the book will be relatively short and we suggest an upper blog limit of 300 words. Don’t forget to add your name, town or district, and country. All contributions that appear in print will be acknowledged individually.

Here are examples of some wonderful contributions already incorporated into the text of the book.

Before contibuting it is helpful if you read the introductory sections entitled Birds and People and How You Can Get Involved in the Book. You can also ask Mark Cocker or David Tipling directly by emailing your query.