How some of our most common birds came to have their names

From our garden and woodland favourites to the most colourful, exotic species, most people could make a fair stab at naming a reasonable amount of birds.

But how did the blue tit get its name? Or the turtle dove? Or even the humble robin?

Who got to pick these names and how did they become the agreed term?

In the English language, birds were in fact called fowls up until the late mediaeval period. The word bird was in use but referred only to juveniles. Over time, ‘birds’ became the term used to describe smaller birds while ‘fowl’ became the term for larger birds.

When it comes to their English language names for common birds, many are onomatopoeic, meaning they are named according to the sound they make.

These include common corvids - rooks, crows and perhaps less obviously, ravens. It is easy to see how, based on sound, the cuckoo, kittiwake and chiffchaff got their names. 

A more surprising one is the turtle dove. I have wondered how this bird came to have such an unusual and delightful name. It would seem that it is to do with the gentle ‘tur’-tur’ noise that it makes.

Similarly, the nightjar, which as the name suggests, is nocturnal, is named for its ‘char’ sound heard only at night.

Many other bird species are named for their appearance, feeding habits, or environment. Examples include the waxwing, a winter visitor from Scandinavia. Quite striking in appearance, the name derives from the red tips on its wings. The waxwing feeds on winter berries so these red wingtips help it to blend in among the berries of the hawthorn and other tree species.

Some names are quite misleading, due mainly to how language has evolved over the centuries. My favourite example of this is the wheatear. I had assumed that this was to do with its diet and habitat. But it would seem that it is in fact because of the colour of its derriere!

Wheatear is derived from ‘wheteres’ which means ‘white arse.’ 

The Normans had a big influence on bird names too. The hobby is one such example. It comes from an old French word ‘hober’ meaning to jump about - a reference to the bird’s flight.

According to author Stephen Moss whose book Mrs Moreau’s Warbler: How Birds Got Their Names, has extensive information on the naming of birds, the hobby influenced a cultural phenomenon of the 1980s - the game of Subbuteo. 

Writing in the Guardian in 2018, Mr Moss said: “The story goes that when the game’s inventor, Peter Adolph, tried to register his idea at the patent office, he wanted to call it Hobby. When a jobsworth official objected, he cleverly substituted the Latin name of his favourite bird, Falco subbuteo, instead.”

I was surprised to discover - again, courtesy of Mr Moss - that it was only as late as 18th century England that bird names became official. A team of ornithologists was tasked with recording the names of birds. 

Many of the names that they recorded for the first time related to the visual appearance of the bird. Others were named after the people who discovered them, or who recorded the name for the first time.

And some were called after notable figures such as explorers and politicians.

Common visitors to gardens and bird feeders here in Donegal  include members of the tit family, such as the blue tit, coal tit and great tit. There are few among us that haven’t giggled or at least smiled at these names at some stage in our lives.

The name ‘tit’ was originally ‘titmouse’ and was a reference to the small size of this family of birds. The term is used widely across the English speaking world with the exception of North America.

Whenever I came across birds called chickadees in American literature, I assumed that this was a type of bird only found on the far side of the Atlantic. However, it is simply the North American term for the tit family, and refers to the sound that they make.

One of my favourite name origins of birds is that of the robin. This little bird is often among the braver garden visitors. It is perhaps because of it often coming into close proximity with humans that it has become associated with much legend, superstition and religious beliefs.

It is certainly a delightful, year-round visitor to our gardens, even coming indoors at times. For such a small bird, it has a loud, distinctive song. Its joy and exuberance when perched on a bare tree branch in the middle of winter would lift anyone’s spirits.

The word ‘robin’ means ‘bright flame’ and this is a wonderfully apt name for this bird which is such an iconic part of our countryside and our gardens.

In Irish, the robin is spideog, thought to mean tiny or frail child.

Some of our other Irish bird names are delightfully evocative, such as the Fiach Dubh, a term for raven derived from ‘hunt’ and ‘black.’

Among the colourful and familiar birds of the finch family, the beautiful bullfinch is aptly called corcán coille, from ‘scarlet’ and ‘wood.’

The colourful goldfinch has a number of Irish names, and this is hardly surprising given how many different features that this tiny bird - the smallest found in Ireland - has amongst its plumage.

One Irish time is lasair choille, or ‘wood flame.’ 

It is known in some places as gealbhan ódhra, meaning ‘golden sparrow,’ or gealbhan fhothannáin, the ‘thistle sparrow.’

It is also referred to as Coinnleoir Muire, believed to mean ‘holder of Brigid’s flame, with Muire referring to St Brigid and her association with the eternal flame. 

The Irish word for buzzard is clamhán, with a suggestion for this origin being ‘biter’ or ‘messy eater,’ quite appropriate for this raptor often seen circling in the skies over Donegal on a clear day. 

And a fitting word for the little fieldfare is sacán, or ‘tiny sac.’

Language is constantly evolving, and the names that we apply to things along the way are part of the threads that link us to past and future generations, and to the people and places around us.

As Stephen Moss points out: “Ultimately, the names we have bestowed on birds down the ages reflect key aspects of our own lives: our primitive superstitions, myths and legends, invasions and conquests, changes in language, rigorous scientific observation, our love of sound, colour and pattern, and a sense of place.”