You might have noticed I have become fixated on starling murmurations of late. I make no apologies, they are far too extraordinary to ignore and soon enough it will be spring and their displays will stop. However, I was beginning to think I was running out of stories to accompany my photographs, until I came across this today:

“Mozart recorded the purchase of his starling in a diary of expenses, along with a transcription of a melody whistled by the bird and a compliment (Fig. 3). … The theme whistled by the starling must have fascinated Mozart for several reasons. The tune was certainly familiar, as it closely resembles a theme that occurs in the final movement of the piano concerto in G major, K. 453. Mozart recorded the completion of this work in his catalogue on 12 April in the same year. As far as we know, just a few people had heard the concerto by 27 May, perhaps only the pupil for whom it was written, who performed it in public for the first time at a concert on 13 June. Mozart had expressed deep concern that the score of this and three other concertos might be stolen by unscrupulous copyists in Vienna. Thus, he sent the music to his father in Salzburg, emphasizing that the only way it could “fall into other hands is by that kind of cheating”. The letter to his father is dated 26 May 1784, one day before the entry in his diary about the starling.

Mozart’s relationship with the starling thus begins on a tantalizing note. How did the bird acquire Mozart’s music? Our research suggests that the melody was certainly within the bird’s capabilities, but how had it been transmitted? Given that our observation that whistled tunes are altered and incorporated into mixed themes, we assume that the melody was new to the bird because it was so close a copy of the original. Thus, we entertain the possibility that Mozart, like other animal lovers, had already visited the shop and interacted with the starling before 27 May. Mozart was known to hum and whistle a good deal. Why should he refrain in the presence of a bird that seems to elicit such behaviour so easily?

A starling in May would be either quite young, given typical spring hatching times, or at most a year old, still young enough to acquire new material but already an accomplished whistler. Because it seems unlikely to us that a very young bird could imitate a melody so precisely, we envision the older bird. The theme in question from K. 453 has often been likened to a German folk tune and may have been similar to other popular tunes already known to the starling, analogous to the highly familiar tunes our caregivers used. But to be whistled to by Mozart! Surely the bird would have adopted its listening posture, thereby rewarding the potential buyer with “silent applause.”

Given that whistles were learned quite rapidly by the starlings we studied, it is not implausible that the Vienna starling could have performed the melody shortly after hearing it for the first time. Of course, we cannot rule out a role for a shopkeeper, who could have repeated Mozart’s tune from its creator or from the starling. In any case, we imagine that Mozart returned to the shop and purchased the bird, recording the expense out of appreciation for the bird’s mimicry. Some biographers suggest an opposite course of transmission – from the starling to Mozart to the concerto – but the completion date of K. 453 on 12 April makes this an unlikely, although not impossible, sequence of events.”

Text and music score from: West, M.J. and King, A.P: ‘Mozart’s Starling’, in American Scientist Vol 78 (March-April 1990) Pp 111-112

In early January you will sometimes see what look like toys, novelties and unusual objet d’art close to the municipal bins or on doorsteps across our towns. In fact these are not unwanted Christmas presents but the newly hatched offspring of Santa’s elves. A highly unusual and secretive species with an equally unique migration pattern, over the course of several years they will work their way slowly north towards the ice-caves of their parents. During their journey they steal into peoples homes, attempting to perform small tasks and chores for the household. The outcome of these will be more or less successful depending on the developmental stage of the elfling. Through these episodes of contact with humans, they learn all about our daily lives, hopes and desires, this information providing vital updates for the toy factories at the North Pole when they finally complete their long journey.

If looked at, elflings will immediately assume a static pose on the end of a mantelpiece or book shelf, eliciting responses from the homeowners along the lines of “do you remember who gave us that?” following which they will usually find themselves put out into the wild once more to then continue their travels. To make up for lost time, those who have been held up in their journey will hide among items on their way to boot fairs and antiques markets or, in extreme circumstances, strap themselves to the radiator grilles of lorries.

The staple diet of the Christmas elf is cake, trifle and other sweets, so if you see one while out and about, do leave something of this kind close to them; even a square of chocolate will do. They cannot show visible signs of acceptance as, having been spotted, they will have frozen to once more resemble a lifeless object (and indeed you might even find yourself thinking “I wonder who got that for Christmas?”) but they will be grateful for the sustenance. Indeed, word getting around that you are a kind person, next Christmas you may even find yourself foster parent to one of the next generation of Santa’s elflings. If so, once you’ve finished wondering who gave it to you (and who ate the last bit of Christmas cake) please make sure to put the little chap next to the bin rather than inside it, so that it too can begin it’s long journey northward.