‘The sounds of squawking seagulls is a sound to be cherished. It is a celebratory sound, not an annoying one. And an aural reminder that we are fortunate enough to live beside the seaside’ – so writes TOM OGG in this heartfelt defence of the most maligned bird in the Channel Islands
“AHH, what a lovely sound!”
My dad, brother and sisters each voiced this sentiment at least once during their visit to Jersey last year. But to which sound, dear readers, do you think they were referring:
a) Speeding motorists?
b) The innocent laughter of a cherubic two-year-old?
c) My backside the morning after a Madras-hot tiger prawn Jalfrezi from Jaipur Indian Restaurant?
d) Seagulls?
The answer is, of course, d: seagulls. And do you know what, readers? I share in their belief that the sound of squawking seagulls is a sound to be cherished. I love hearing ’em, even when it’s 5.30am on a Sunday morning and they’re waking up my kids.
To my ears, it is the sound of freedom, the sound of nature. It’s a celebratory sound, not an annoying one. It’s Morgan Freeman, not Stacey Solomon. It’s the Beatles, not Lily Allen. And, above all, it’s an aural reminder that I – and you – are fortunate enough to live beside the seaside. I grew up in landlocked West Yorkshire, an hour-and-a-half drive away from the nearest beach, and so, even now, more than two decades after first moving to Jersey, the sound of seagulls outside my bedroom window still feels like a novelty.
And it’s not just their sound that I love, I also like the way seagulls look. In evolutionary terms, the elegance of a gull in flight is a sight that ought to stun anyone with an appreciation for the natural world. Naturalist Chris Packham may well have turned into a full-blown eco-loon these days; however, he was certainly correct when he said of seagulls: “Gulls aren’t the problem – seven billion people and counting are. Gulls are unpaid cleaners removing the detritus that dirty humans litter with. They aren’t getting bolder – they’re naturally gregarious and rambunctious and have always been so.”
It is that gregarious and rambunctious nature that I personally find so appealing. I like that they’re so bold and venturesome. It’s much the same reason why I prefer cats to dogs: I don’t want animals to simper and grovel at our feet, I want them saying “oi, we’re in charge, mate”. How is that not an admirable quality?
Whenever I hear Islanders griping about how a seagull has rummaged through their rubbish and made a mess, I just think, “Well, try putting it away properly”. Seagulls can’t lift wheelie bin lids, you know. If they’re getting to your rubbish, folks, it’s because you’re letting them. Try disposing of it properly. Or are you really being outwitted by a bird with a brain the size of a grape?
I know anecdotes abound of Islanders having their ice creams pinched and sarnies snatched by seagulls – hell, it even happened to me just a few months ago. I’d bought a Big Mac and was just about to tuck into it while walking along King Street when suddenly: WHAM! Club Tropicana started playing in a nearby bar. And then a seagull suddenly swooped down and swiped the burger from my hand.
But was I angry? Not really. If I’m going to be stupid enough to stand in the open brandishing a Big Mac in a seaside town then, quite frankly, I can’t complain when a seagull nicks it. The uber-processed Big Mac is the strange and unnatural element in this situation, not the seagull wanting something to eat. I should, in hindsight, have followed the advice of my lovely late Nan and shown some class by sitting down to eat, rather than stuffing my face in public while walking down the street, which really is an unpleasant modern-day trait. No one enjoys watching other people eat.
And, besides, the States’ needlessly strict rules on feeding seagulls – or rather, not feeding seagulls – is only exacerbating the problem. Here is Chris Packham again: “Feed them. Sensibly and safely. By not feeding them you’re forcing them to pester for longer and increasing their, and their chicks, risk. Contrary to popular belief, you’re not encouraging them. They don’t need any encouragement. They aren’t invading our territory. We’ve invaded theirs.”
Okay, so a seagull did once snatch a pet chihuahua in a garden in Devon, traumatising the owners and their children in the process, but, let’s face it, chihuahuas are hideous – a walking advertisement for the perils of interbreeding – and I’m sure the gull probably gulped it down whole, thus quickly putting the yapping little monstrosity out of its misery.
Personally, I think most people’s dislike of seagulls stems from subconscious envy, i.e. “look at those seagulls with their breathtaking powers of flight. How come I have to rely on easyJet whenever I want to fly anywhere? Not fair.”
I think it’s this same attitude that leads people to clip the wings of birds or stick them in cages: “I can’t fly so you’re not going to either”. (Is there a more depressing, frustrating and cruel sight that that of a bird – be it budgie, parrot or otherwise – stuck inside a metal cage, denied the opportunity to do the one thing it was put on this earth to do?)
That, to me, is ultimately why people don’t like seagulls: because we can’t tame them. Seagulls are one species at least that we haven’t yet got the better of.
Good on ‘em.
‘Seagulls? They should be celebrated, not demonised. And feeding them should be encouraged, not criminalised’
