House sparrows may not be the most colourful bird in the UK, or the most impressive singer, but they’ve long been one of our favourites, because they live in such close proximity to people. Their friendly little faces are a common sight in many parks and gardens, chirping away from a hedgerow or happily hopping around outdoor cafes and picnic areas, hoping to swoop in and steal any neglected scraps.
When I first took an interest in birdwatching as a student, house sparrows were a constant companion. I’d stand at the window of my tiny attic room, watching their lives play out amongst the rooftops of the town. First, a male perched proudly on a gutter, cheerfully cheeping away. He found a partner, and I watched as they carried grass and feathers into a hole in the brickwork of the adjacent building. Then, one day there were young sparrows clinging to the roof tiles, the bright yellow gape at the base of their beaks still visible, gifting them a perpetual frown.