On a chilly March morning here in Suffolk there are few more uplifting sounds than the song of the Skylark. My local larks have been singing for some weeks now, and I can expect them to continue to serenade me long into the summer, for these are birds with a long song period. They nest in the fields behind my garden, so it’s a sound I can hear every day without leaving home. Male skylarks like to sing high in the sky above their territories, where they can often be difficult to spot (they sometimes rise to over 700ft, but the usual high point is around 450ft) but they will also sing from the ground. When they do so, the song is slower, more muted and less ebullient.
The typical song, delivered in flight, is fascinating, for though is sounds continuous to the human ear, it’s actually made of series of discrete phrases, punctuated by short gaps. Skylarks are good mimics, and their song typically includes songs or calls imitated from other birds. The length of the song flight varies, but when the male is establishing his territory, it’s typically around 3.4 minutes, falling to 2.4 minutes when the female is incubating, and just 1.3 minutes when the young have hatched.
Many studies have been made of skylark song, and some observers have recorded song flights of over an hour, but these are exceptional, and few ever exceed six minutes. When one skylark starts to sing, its neighbours will often be prompted to join in, producing an exultation of skylarks, the old collective term for a number of these birds.
Skylarks are common, though declining, breeding birds in the British Isles
There’s an old British expression “up with the lark”, a reminder that larks are early risers. It’s true, for they are among the first birds to sing in the morning, invariably well before the sun has risen.
Skylarks usually deliver their song from high in the sky, but they will also sing on the ground
We British are very fond of our Skylarks, which explains why we have tried introducing them all round the world, though with varying degrees of success. In North America, the only long-lasting introduction that I’m aware of is near Vancouver, where they can still be found today. They have been rather more successful in south-east Australia and Tasmania, where they are common, and the Hawaiian Islands, but it’s New Zealand where they have really found a second home. I remember flying to New Zealand and disembarking from the plane at Christchurch, on South Island, where a chorus of Skylarks greeted me. (Skylarks do like airfields). I had flown 12,000 miles, and it was just like being at home. Today they are widespread on both North and South Island.
In 1854, no fewer than 400,000 Skylarks reached the London meat markets. They continued to be eaten in great numbers until the 1920s. Protection finally came in the 1930s
Here in Britain we have just one other breeding species of lark, the Woodlark. It’s not a good name, as it doesn’t really occur in woods, as it much prefers heaths and commons, though it will breed in forest clearings. Like so many larks, it has a lovely song. It’s one I hear often, as there’s a good population in the Brecks where I live. It is, however, a rather rare bird in Britain away from its strongholds, with the total UK population thought to number only 2,300 pairs, compared with 1.6 million Skylark territories.
The Woodlark is a much rarer bird bird in Britain than the Skylark. Unlike Skylarks, they will readily perch in trees, and they will also sing from elevated song posts
The first part of its Latin name, Lullula arborela, reflects its beautiful song, which I reckon is one of the prettiest of any British breeding bird. This year the British Trust for Ornithology is conducting a Woodlark survey: I’ve signed up for three squares, so will be out counting the birds on my local heath, a site only colonised in recent years.
The broad, pale supercillium is a distinguishing feature of the Woodlark
The third species of lark I can expect to encounter here in East Anglia is what we call the Shore Lark, though it’s often known by its North American name, Horned Lark. The latter works well in the spring, when males sport tiny, narrow horns on the top of their heads. (They are really elongated crown feathers). In the winter, when we see them, they are hornless, but they do invariably occur on the sea shore, so the name Shore Lark is appropriate in England.
A Shore Lark on the saltings at Holkham, Norfolk, March 2025
Shore Larks are winter visitors to Eastern England in small numbers, our birds breeding on the high fells of Norway. The size of the flocks vary from year to year, but seldom number more than a few dozen individuals, for most of this population winters on the lower saltmarshes of the Wadden Sea in Holland and Denmark. Finding the wintering flocks here can be hard work, and usually entails a long hike. My efforts to see the larks this year had been unsuccessful until a recent expedition to Holkham in North Norfolk. Holkham hosts one of the most reliable wintering flocks in Eastern England, and the birds even have their own fenced off area of saltmarsh where they are relatively safe from disturbance from dogs, for this is a very popular area with dog walkers.
With the distinctive yellow and black face, the Shore Lark is easy to identify. This bird was photographed in Kent by my friend Martin Garwood in November 2021
Though they are faithful to this favoured site, they not infrequently go absent, so you can never be sure that you are going to see them. However, on this occasion my companion Andrew and I were in luck, and we enjoyed prolonged views of the flock of eight birds foraging on the saltings. With their black and yellow faces they are very distinctive when seen well, and a suitable reward for the long hike to see them. Photography, however, proved very challenging, and even my best effort (see above) was disappointing. The problem was the distance (I was unable to stalk any closer), the light, and the fact that the birds rarely stopped feeding, so getting a shot when the bird’s head was up was a challenge. Thus I’m indebted to my friend Martin Garwood for letting me use his lovely photograph, taken at Shellness, on the Isle of Sheppey in Kent, in November 2021. This is another favoured site for these birds.
The blunt crest of the Skylark is a distinctive feature, but it is often held flattened on the bird’s head
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