Curlew
Numenius arquata
About
The Curlew is the largest European wading bird and they live up to 11-32 years.
In the winter, Curlews feed in groups on tidal mudflats, saltmarshes and nearby farmland. In the spring and summer, they migrate to their breeding grounds in upland areas of rough pasture, heather moorland and wetland.
Its distinctive and haunting display call ('cur-lee') can be heard from February through to July on its breeding grounds
Conservation status
The Curlew is on the UK endangered species red list (highest conservation priority), with big declines in breeding populations and ranges.
The UK Curlew population is 20-30% of the global total. They are the most pressing bird conservation priority in the UK.
charm for the curlew
in the sky-domed tunnel of sound, which is spring
returning, your call’s a penny whistle played underwater –
notes repeating echo out of nowhere, which is heaven,
and we lift up our faces to bask in your playing, listen
to the soft build of pressure, bubbling into surrender,
which is solid air, staying long after you’ve flown –
a ripple of vowels, which is all heart, the opposite of war –
wings wide, you’re a grey angel, encircling us in this instant,
its passing: may your coming back bring home what’s inside
us, our longing for peace, which is life’s song continuing
Length: 70 seconds
Poem: Linda France
Read by: Linda France
Inspiration for the poem
The process of writing this poem began in autumn, where I spent some time alongside ‘the idea
of curlew’, researching, listening to audio recordings, making notes and sketching out drafts. I
imagined this exploration and acquaintanceship as ‘curlewing’. However, I felt frustrated not
experiencing the bird in the feathered flesh so I waited till spring came and the curlews came
back.
I made a pilgrimage to a place on the edge of the North Pennines where they gather to breed,
guided by a friend with a lifelong love and knowledge of birds. We walked very slowly between
sites, not talking a great deal, stung by more news of the war in Gaza that morning on the radio,
taking in the wonder of the birds coming and going, flying and grazing (lapwings in amongst
them), their distinctive calls bubbling around us all afternoon.
After that, the poem practically made itself – from being there, senses wide open, those wide,
sloping valley fields, that cloudy grey Sunday, enlivened by life doing what life does in the spring:
a curlewing I was part of and knew from the inside.
Linda France, 2026
Sculpture
'Curlew Lament'
150x40x7cm
Bronze, painted aluminium and Corten steel
This piece mourns the loss of their distinctive and haunting call from our landscape and is based on the soundwave of this call.
The video below describes the thinking behind the piece.