Swans and cygnets

Our delight at the hatching of 8 cygnets in the middle of the month has, in the space of a week or two, made way for disappointment, with all the chicks now gone. The swan nesting platform is abandoned except for the odd rook, picking over the unkempt remains of what was once a crisp, warm, downy nest of clean straw. Three of the cygnets have made it to the Swan Sanctuary, the rest are lost. The two adult swans have gone back to the unsentimental business of eking out a living along the creek on their own; and life goes on.

A couple of weeks ago one sunny afternoon (Friday 16 May), while I was waiting for the van to arrive to take me to a gig in Brighton, I got to have a proper chat at last with Alf, who had built the swans’ nesting platform. We shared a beer and he told me how he and a pal of his had built the raft over two days after seeing the swans vainly trying to make a nest upstream. Last year they had tried the same and it had all come to nought, so this year Alf had a plan for them. Standing on our gangplank and gazing up the creek in the direction of the nest, Alf had all the appearance of a proud father (or at least, proud foster father) and I described to him how I had watched the swans’ regal procession rounding the bend towards my boat, with 8 cygnets in tow, one on the mother’s back, just a couple of days before. He reckoned the eggs and now cygnets were safe from the mangy foxes that hunt around the creek at low tide, with the platform positioned on mud too deep for a fox to step across. I wondered.

By early the following week there were only four cygnets left. An account, and some excellent pictures, showing how three of those now lost had been rescued from the little weir near our boats and taken to the Swan Sanctuary, is in a local online newspaper. Then, by the end of the week, the swans were appearing on the creek with no cygnets at all, and I feared the worst. The @creekside_trust tweeted on 27 May that the remaining four chicks were gone, presumed washed away in rain the previous Thursday.

So the creek has proven to be too harsh an environment for the cygnets to survive, at least this time round. This is not unusual; I’m told surviving cygnets are always, by and large, the exception. It was pretty obvious not all eight would make it to adulthood, but still we had thought one or two should make it; we will have to wait another year.

It is easy to map human emotions onto the swans, especially as their physical bearing is so expressive. I had perceived maternal protectiveness mingled with pride as the mother paraded her young around the creek, and now see dejection and despair as the two bereaved parents preen themselves in the pouring rain, white feathers plucked and discarded on the mud as if in self-mortification. There is no clear way of separating anthropomorphism from reality. We and the swans are in the same place, but must see and experience quite different worlds.