By Marita Bester
The other day, when I was jogging in Lumpini Park, I noticed that apart from the usual residents – the monitor lizards – big black jungle crows have also made the park their home. I could hear their squawks coming from the trees.
As I observed these crows, it struck me how frequently crows appear in our expressions and lexicon. I started to recall all the crow-related expressions I knew.
There’s the word “scarecrow,” a figure designed to scare the crows away from farmer’s fields.
The expression “as the crow flies” refers to the shortest distance between two points.
“Crow’s feet” describes the wrinkles at the outer corners of the eyes.
“Stone the crows!” is an exclamation of astonishment.
And, of course, the collective noun for crows: a “murder” of crows.
I’ve always been fascinated by collective nouns. These whimsical and imaginative terms categorize the natural world and reflect various aspects of human society, adding a layer of richness to our language.
Crows have been grouped in murders since the late 1400s, though no specific reason for the name was given. Etymologists suggest that the association of crows and ravens with death likely led them to this term.
The origin of these delightful collective names for birds can be traced back to the “Book of Saint Albans,” published in 1486. This book, a collection of advice and information on hawking, hunting, and heraldry, recorded many of these terms, also known as company terms.
Some of the terms of venery are rather fanciful, such as “an unkindness of ravens, a murmuration of starlings, and a charm of goldfinches.
Initially attributed to “a gentleman with excellent gifts,” the author of the “Book of Saint Albans” was later revealed to be a woman named Juliana Barnes. Little is known about her, but historical records suggest she experienced significant heartbreak, leading her to seek solace in a cloister. Women were often denied formal education and a public voice at that time, and convents provided rare access to books.
Like Montaigne, she became a prolific diarist and then transitioned to a public writer. Defying the societal norms of her time, she explored traditionally masculine pursuits such as hunting and venery in her writings. Tragically, Julianna Barnes passed away as an anonymous nun in an English convent during a time of immense societal change. Her life story and linguistic legacy remind us that language is not static but a living entity.
According to the Thai National Park website, “The large-billed crow (Corvus macrorhynchos), previously known as the jungle crow, is an extensively distributed Asian species of crow. It is highly adaptable and can thrive on a wide variety of food sources, enabling it to establish itself easily in new areas. Consequently, it is often considered a nuisance, particularly on islands. With its large bill, the species is named macrorhynchos (from Ancient Greek for ‘large beak’).”
Although not as colourful as many of the tropical birds of Thailand, there are some fascinating facts about these crows:
- They possess a variety of vocalizations and can even mimic sounds from their environment, including human voices.
- Crows are known for their memory and can recognize individual human faces.
- Large-billed crows have been observed using tools, underscoring their intelligence and problem-solving abilities.
So, the next time you explore the parks of Bangkok or the serene landscapes of Hua Hin’s nearby national parks and perhaps come across a murder of crows, I hope they will remind you of the whimsical collective nouns for birds and all the wonderfully rich phrases in our language.
And as the saying goes, stone the crows!! Who knew language could be so delightful?
Marita Bester is a freelance writer. You can follow her on Instagram @marita_bester