published by UKZN Press

The spectacular rise of birdwatching over the last century has led to a proliferation of literature on ornithological matters, aimed at both novices and professionals alike.

Rather than dealing with the prehistory, evolution and habits of birds, a subject covered in many of the other books about birding, this one is slightly different, concentrating instead on how our various Southern African birds got their names. Because these names have often changed over the years, this, of necessity, involves setting the clock back repeatedly.

In lesser hands, this could have resulted in a muddle, but Adriaan Koopman (who is Professor Emeritus at the University of KwaZulu-Natal) and Eckhart Buchardt (an avid birder with a special interest in names) have successfully navigated the obstacle, providing a crisp and often witty guide to the subject. Given the confusion of names that existed back in history, it becomes understandable, too, why scientists felt a need to simplify things

Birdwatching, of course, begins with noticing differences. These differences help us to allocate names to the various types of birds and then to divide them into species and subspecies. All birds have at least two names: the standard common name and the Latinised scientific” name”. In addition to this, there can be national, dialect and popular/slang names. The main purpose of the scientific name, which always comes in two parts, is to enable scientists to communicate internationally without any possibility of confusion.

The popular or slang names (eg Toppie for Dark-capped Bulbul), are the ones that have fallen into common usage. Some of these slang names are very colourful, expressive or descriptive. There is an obvious rightness to many of them, in other cases, less so,

As a multilingual country, South Africa has an extensive range of bird names. Understandably, many originate in England, and this can lead to some confusion. In England, for example, there is only one kingfisher, and it does, indeed, live mostly on fish. In South Africa, there are seven species, of which several (such as the Woodland, Brown-hooded and Pygmy) can be found far from water and consume a different diet. They look like the English kingfisher, though, and are part of the same family so the name has been kept.

In Chapters 5 to 7, the authors examine the contributions made by various early English ornithologists, such as Edgar Layard, William Burchell, Richard Sharpe, John Gurney and the Woodward brothers. They would later give way to a new generation of pioneering South African ornithologists. Edward Leonard Gill was the first of these to meet the need for a new type of informative book to help people identify birds, publishing, in 1936, his A First Guide to South African Birds. The lodestar, however, was Dr Austin Roberts, whose “Roberts Birds of South Africa” remains the benchmark against which all other local bird guidebooks are measured. More recently, the adoption of IOC standardised English names has entailed changes to long-entrenched English bird names in southern Africa – a move that has left some birders lingering unhappiness (do they really expect me to go back and change all my old bird lists?).

Many birds are named after their most striking colours or physical appearance. Other names are based on their behaviour or are influenced by the birds’ favoured habitat or the sound they make. In many cultures, birds are used as markers of seasons or changing weather, and this also holds true amongst the names given to them by South Africa’s indigenous people. The booming call of the Southern Ground Hornbill, for example, is believed to presage rain.

Not to be outdone, various ornithologists, explorers and collectors have made sure their contributions were not forgotten by bestowing their own names on a bird (a familiar example is Burchell’s Coucal or “Rainbird”. Likewise, Gurney’s Sugarbird and LeVaillant’s Cisticola).

In the case of Cape Dutch and Afrikaans names, these often come from close observation of the bird in its natural habitat. Some of their names have slipped into popular usage (think Korhaan, Bokmakierie and Piet-my-Vrou).

Similarly, many of the African names link the bird to the natural environment. Others have their origins in myth, fable, custom and local beliefs, providing another interesting aspect to the whole question of bird nomenclature and linking it, in turn, to a common humanity.

In compiling this fascinating compendium on the subject of how birds got their names – obviously, such names mean nothing to the birds themselves – the authors have left no stone unturned. Full of insight, information, and imaginative sympathy with the natural world, South African Bird Names is a triumph of painstaking research. Handsomely produced, with a neat bibliography and index, plus illustrations, it looks set to become the authoritative work on the subject.

published by Jacana

David Bristow is a veteran travel journalist, tour guide and avid explorer, in the tradition of some of the great adventurers of old. He is also a natural storyteller with a gift for pinning down the smells and atmosphere of the African landscape.

In this rich and highly readable compilation of some of his best stories, he skilfully blends history with anthropology, as well as relating some of his own experiences in the wilds. In the process, he reveals a lively and compassionate engagement with his subject matter, while supplying discreet but telling characterisations that help bring the events he describes to life.

The scope of the book is wide – Bristow discusses his encounters with wild animals, the changing environment, and touches on various milestone historical events. There is an insightful and sympathetic portrait of the missionary David Livingstone, which, nevertheless, doesn’t spare us the great explorer’s personal failings. Two of his stories relate to the Wild Coast. Both are tragic in their outcome – the wrecking of the Grosvenor and its aftermath, and the great Xhosa Cattle Killing, inspired by a prophecy and which resulted in widespread starvation.

There are also some less familiar gems. He rescues from history, for example, the now all but forgotten story of Coenraad De Buy, frontiersman, renegade and Bastard King of South Africa. Equally fascinating and remarkable is the story of the quarrelsome and fiery, five-feet-tall, gender-bending Dr James Barry, who managed, for the most part, to keep her real identity hidden while serving as the Cape Colony Medical Officer in the early 1800s.

Amongst the wealth of similar engaging anecdotes is the story of the building of the Swartberg pass and the discovery of Die Hel, an isolated white settlement that existed in one of the more inaccessible parts of the mountains. The author’s enthusiasm for his subject is equally evident = in his descriptions of the rediscovery of the ancient city of Mapungubwe and the various legends and local folklore that surrounded it.

Generous, humane and moral, there are some wonderfully Boy’s Own humorous touches to the stories which relate to his own life in off-the-beaten-track places – like his encounter with an angry hippo. Written with professional assurance, Loony Birds, Lion Men and the Snake that was a Gerbil is a book bursting with incident, humour, humanity and a love for the African continent.