Why He Changed His Priorities

BY AWAKE! CORRESPONDENT IN BRITAIN

A rich outburst of song suddenly filled the air. The crystal-clear melodies poured forth, seemingly without end. I stood spellbound. “It’s a nightingale!” Jeremy whispered. Slowly we edged around the coppice, trying hard to focus on the source of that glorious sound. Then, we spied the shy, inconspicuous light-brown bird deep in the thicket. “It was good to see it,” said Jeremy as we eventually took our leave. “Few people ever do.”

I HAD come to spend the day with Jeremy, the warden of Minsmere, a 2,000-acre [800 ha] nature reserve of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB), located on one of England’s most easterly points. During the second world war, this part of the North Sea coastline was flooded to counter a possible German invasion. As a result, reed beds became established and marshland birds began to colonize the flooded pastures. Excitement grew in 1947 when four pairs of avocets nested, since this species had not bred in Britain for over 100 years.

The RSPB soon took over the site, and it is now a conservation area of international importance. In addition to the reed beds, the bird habitats include brackish and freshwater lagoons—the largest called the Scrape—shingle, sand dunes, marshes, meadows, heathland, and both deciduous and coniferous woodlands. Over 330 species of birds have been recorded, 100 or so of them breeding on the reserve. This great diversity of bird life is due mainly to migratory routes along the eastern seaboard, but skilled management has also played its part.

“I came here in 1975,” Jeremy told me, “because Minsmere presented an unusual challenge. From 1966 the avocet became the symbol, and eventually the logo, of the RSPB. Minsmere is now seen by many as the RSPB’s flagship reserve, welcoming up to 80,000 visitors each year.”

The Initial Challenge

“My interest was kindled at school,” Jeremy continued as we walked along. “I learned to ring birds there and studied migration. By the late ’60’s, I was ringing between 12,000 and 20,000 birds a year as a hobby. Then, Chris Mead of the British Trust for Ornithology invited me to join an expedition to Spain to ring trans-Saharan migrants. The net used is a very fine black mesh, varying from 20 to 60 feet [6-18 m] in length, which is loosely suspended and carefully placed with trees as a background so that the birds do not see it. The birds are unharmed, and as they are removed from the net, a small identification ring, usually made of Monel Metal, is clipped around a leg.a Releasing the birds is an art too. A bird ringer never throws his birds into the air, as you sometimes see on television. He just lets them go when they want to. Swifts, for example, will cling onto one’s woolen clothing and fly off only when they are ready.

“That was a fascinating experience for which I had to take six weeks’ vacation—and it cost me my job! As a result, I decided to make the break and pursue the work my heart was in—nature conservation, particularly birds. I was thrilled when the RSPB invited me to join them in 1967.”

The Value of Birdsongs and Calls

How do you identify a bird? Sometimes by sight, but doing so by the song, or birdcall, is more reliable. Jeremy’s skill in this regard is legendary. Naturalist David Tomlinson admiringly wrote that Jeremy “doesn’t just identify birds by their song, but I swear he can tell them by the way they suck in air between notes!”

“Birds converse,” Jeremy explained. “Each call means something different. For example, when there is a predator about, the avocets, the lapwings, the gulls, and the redshanks all have their own particular calls, but each call means the same thing: ‘There’s a fox around!’ I can wake up from a deep sleep and know instantly where a fox is, from the species of bird calling. But don’t forget that foxes have excellent hearing too. We wondered why the terns were not breeding successfully one year and discovered that a fox was listening to the chicks calling from inside their eggshells just before hatching. As soon as he located them, he ate them!”

The Art of Bird-Watching

A good bird-watcher in Britain can record up to 220 different species in a year. Twitchers, avid watchers who vie to record sightings of rare birds, can identify up to 320.b News of a sighting will send them across the country to see for themselves. Jeremy has been more content. “I would not drive more than ten miles [16 km] to see a rare species,” he confided. “In fact, there are only three I have ever traveled to see: a nutcracker, a buff-breasted sandpiper, and a great bustard, all within ten miles. Even though I know 500 species pretty well, I realize that I am just scratching the surface. There are some 9,000 species of birds around the world, you know!”

As we trained our binoculars on the marshes, Jeremy added, rather wistfully: “I could not have wished for a happier or more productive life, especially my 16 years at Minsmere!” I looked at him and called to mind the story that had just appeared in The Times, a London newspaper. It said: “Minsmere was his [Jeremy’s] crowning achievement, his life’s work.” Jeremy was leaving Minsmere. Why?

Seeds and Growth

Earlier in the day, we had witnessed the extraordinary avocet copulation display. “The sheer beauty of it,” Jeremy had pointed out, “cannot be seen in terms of some kind of evolutionary survival. But I remember admitting a few years back, when asked if I believed there was a God: ‘I have no idea—and I don’t know how to find out!’ So when encouraged to look into the Bible, I readily agreed. I knew little about it and reckoned I had nothing to lose—and perhaps something to gain. Now, as a result of what I have learned, I am leaving Minsmere to become a full-time minister.”

For ten years Michael, Jeremy’s brother, had been a “pioneer,” the term used by Jehovah’s Witnesses to describe their full-time evangelizers. As we sat drinking our tea, Jeremy began to sketch out his plans to join his brother. “My colleagues all respect the decision I have made,” Jeremy explained. “The RSPB are interested and caring. They have given me their full support and even recommended me for a national merit award.”

Yet, I knew that there had been some criticism.

The Need for Balance

“Most people have been supportive, but others, unfortunately, seem to have a wrong view of my work here,” Jeremy confided. “They feel that the biggest safeguard to spirituality is to be next to nature, caring for wildlife—working for conservation. They say to me that this is as near as you can get to paradise, so why leave?

“Obviously, the work does have a spiritual dimension, but that does not equate with spirituality. Spirituality is a personal possession, a quality that takes time to cultivate. It involves the need to associate with and care for the Christian congregation, to upbuild and to be upbuilt. Sometimes I have felt that I have been trying to do what Jesus said we could not do—serve two masters. I now realize that the safest environment is right in the middle of the Christian congregation, and the way to get there is to pioneer!”

Priorities of Care

“Don’t mistake me. Caring as a warden is a fascinating and rewarding experience, even if it is frustrating at times. For example, pollution by PCB and mercury in this habitat is at worrying levels—and we don’t really know why, although we suspect eels are bringing it in.c But anything I can do to redress the balance is so limited. There is no such person as an expert ecologist. We are all fumbling around, learning as best we can. We need guidance. Only our Creator knows how we should live and care for the earth and its rich variety of life.”

Quietly, Jeremy summed up his feelings: “I did not dedicate my life to Jehovah to save wildlife; he is perfectly capable of taking care of that himself. By means of his Kingdom, he will see to it that wildlife is managed by us for all time in the way in which he wants it done. Preaching the good news of the Kingdom must take priority now if I am to discharge my responsibility to care for my fellowman.”

I met Jeremy again recently. It had been three years since we spent that happy day together on the reserve. He now lives five miles [8 km] from his beloved Minsmere, happily pioneering with his brother. But he told me some people say that they still find it difficult to understand him. Do you? For Jeremy, it was quite simply a matter of priorities.

[Footnotes]

[Box/Picture on page 17]

A Rapture of Delight

Only 1 in 10 people will see the nightingale they hear, but once heard, the song is unforgettable. “It is pure music, a complete and finished thing,” wrote Simon Jenkins in The Times of London. The bird often sings continuously—one has been recorded singing for five hours and 25 minutes. What makes the song unique? The nightingale’s larynx can produce four different notes at once, including chords that are musically perfect. And this it can do with its beak shut or with its mouth full of food for its young brood. Why does it sing so intensely? For the sheer joy of it, some observers say. “Has all of nature a more astonishing creation than the larynx of a nightingale?” concludes Jenkins.

[Credit Line]

Roger Wilmshurst/RSPB

[Picture on page 15]

The Scrape

[Credit Line]

Courtesy Geoff Welch

[Picture on page 16]

Black-headed gull

[Credit Line]

Courtesy Hilary & Geoff Welch

[Picture on page 16]

Avocet

[Picture on page 18]

Sandwich tern

[Picture on page 18]

Redshank