Birding Bond

RichardTheBruce

Thunderball, Terence Young, 1965.
The Junkanoo must have some, but up front on display are what Fiona is wearing.
Plus check out Domino.

Casino Royale, Val Guest, Ken Hughes (as Kenneth Hughes), John Huston, Joseph McGrath, Robert Parrish, Richard Talmadge, 1967.

Diamonds Are Forever, Guy Hamilton, 1971.
Standard showgirl attire, Shady Tree’s acorns and others are ostrich-adorned.

Live and Let Die, Guy Hamilton, 1973.
New Second Line.

Moonraker, Lewis Gilbert, 1979.
Carnival in Rio.

Octopussy, John Glen, 1983.
Circus attire.

j_w_pepper

All those feathers and he still can't fly. (Apologies if someone said it first.)

CommanderRoss

Purseuing this in utterly the wrong way, I came along this lovely quote (about the shooting of the Ostr... I mean, Archduke: "Princip abandoned the plan to kill his accomplice and turned his attention to the motorcade, but by the time he could see the archduke – unmistakeable in his helmet adorned with brilliant green ostrich feathers – the car was moving too fast for him to get a clear shot."
Source: https://www.historyextra.com/period/first-world-war/the-shot-that-sparked-the-first-world-war/
If that isn't a tedious Bond connection....
The Ostrich (HMS) that served during the Great War:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS_Ostrich_(1900)
And the US counterparts
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Ostrich

RichardTheBruce

Tedious Bond connection. You better trademark that one quick, @CommanderRoss.

Thunderfinger

RichardTheBruce

Petrel / ˈpet·rəl / noun
1. a seabird related to the shearwaters, typically flying far from land
Stormy Petrel
1. a wallower in strife
2. a bad omen

English (petrel attributed 1703 to explorer William Dampier, formerly pitteral).
Late Latin (petrel, form of Peter). Latin (Petrus, also Greek).

Petrel (Procellariiformes): pelagic (sea-going, from the Greek πέλαγος or pélagos, meaning 'open sea'), ocean-going seabirds that come to land to nest. The name is linked to St. Peter for its behavior of appearing to walk on water. Noted for their tube-noses that serve to store an oily-rich food for long flights or feeding young, or even to spray on predators as a defense. The bill also manages extraction of salt from seawater. Monogamous. Nest in colonies.


Southern giant petrel (M. giganteus), Northern giant petrel (M. halli), Northern fulmar (Fulmarus glacialis), Southern fulmar (Fulmarus glacialoides), Antarctic petrel (Thalassoica Antarctica), Cape petrel (Daption capense), Snow petrel (Pagodroma nivea), Fairy prion (Pachyptila turtur), Slender-billed prion (Pachyptila belcheri), Fulmar prion (Pachyptila crassirostris), Broad-billed prion (Pachyptila vittata), Antarctic prion (Pachyptila desolata), Salvin's prion (Pachyptila salvini), Grey petrel (Procellaria cinerea ), White-chinned petrel (Procellaria aequinoctialis), Spectacled petrel (Procellaria conspicillata), Black petrel (Procellaria parkinsoni), Westland petrel (Procellaria westlandica), Bulwer's petrel (B. bulwerii), Jouanin's petrel (B. fallax), Cory's shearwater (Calonectris diomedea), Cape Verde shearwater (Calonectris edwardsii), Streaked shearwater (Calonectris leucomelas), Christmas shearwater (Puffinus nativatis), Galápagos shearwater (Puffinus subalaris), Bryan's shearwater (Puffinus bryani), Manx shearwater (Puffinus puffinus), Yelkouan shearwater (Puffinus yelkoua), Balearic shearwater (Puffinus mauretanicus), Hutton's shearwater (Puffinus huttoni), Black-vented shearwater (Puffinus opisthomelas), Townsend's shearwater (Puffinus auriculatus), Newell's shearwater or Hawaiian shearwater (Puffinus newelli), Fluttering shearwater (Puffinus gavial), Little shearwater (Puffinus assimilis), Subantarctic shearwater (Puffinus elegans), Audubon's shearwater (Puffinus lherminieri), Wedge-tailed shearwater (Ardenna pacifica), Buller's shearwater (Ardenna bulleri), Sooty shearwater (Ardenna grisea), Short-tailed shearwater or Mutton bird (Ardenna tenuirostris), Pink-footed shearwater (Ardenna creatopus), Flesh-footed shearwater (Ardenna carneipes), Great shearwater (Ardenna gravis), Fiji petrel (Pseudobulweria macgillivrayi), Tahiti petrel (Pseudobulweria rostrate), Beck's petrel (Pseudobulweria becki), Mascarene petrel (Pseudobulweria aterrima), Kerguelen petrel (Lugensa brevirostris), Bulwer's petrel (Bulweria bulwerii), Jouanin's petrel (Bulweria fallax), Small St. Helena petrel (Bulweria bifax), Grey petrel (Procellaria cinerea), White-chinned petrel (Procellaria aequinoctialis), Spectacled petrel (Procellaria conspicillata), Black petrel (Procellaria parkinsoni), Westland petrel (Procellaria westlandica).

Northern giant petrel

Spectacled petrel

Christmas shearwater

Subantarctic shearwater

Fluttering shearwater

RichardTheBruce

Dr. No, Ian Fleming, 1958.
Chapter XVI – Horizons of Agony

…
Bond looked across at the girl. She had gone deathly pale. She was gazing at him, waiting for the miracle he would work. He looked down at his hands. He examined his nails carefully. He said, playing for time, "And then what? After your busy day with the bird dung, what comes next on your programme? What is the next chapter you think you're going to write?"

Bond didn't look up. The deep quiet authoritative voice came to him as if it was coming down from the night sky.

"Ah, yes. You must have been wondering, Mister Bond. You have the habit of inquiry. It persists even to the last, even into the shadows. I admire such qualities in a man with only a few hours to live. So I will tell you. I will turn over the next page. It will console you. There is more to this place than bird dung. Your instincts did not betray you." Doctor No paused for emphasis. "This island, Mister Bond, is about to be developed into the most valuable technical intelligence centre in the world."

"Really?" Bond kept his eyes bent on his hands.

"Doubtless you know that Turks Island, about three hundred miles from here through the Windward Passage, is the most important centre for testing the guided missiles of the United States?"

"It is an important centre, yes."

"Perhaps you have read of the rockets that have been going astray recently? The multi-stage SNARK, for instance, that ended its flight in the forests of Brazil instead of the depths of the South Atlantic?"

"Yes."

"You recall that it refused to obey the telemetred instructions to change its- course, even to destroy itself. It developed a will of its own?"

"I remember."

"There have been other failures, decisive failures, from the long list of prototypes-the ZUNI, MATADOR, PETREL, REGULUS, BOMARC--so many names, so many changes, I can't even remember them all. Well, Mister Bond," Doctor No could not keep a note of pride out of his voice, "it may interest you to know that the vast majority of those failures have been caused from Crab Key."

"Is that so?"

"You do not believe me? No matter. Others do. Others who have seen the complete abandonment of one series, the MASTODON, because of its recurring navigational errors, its failure to obey the radio directions from Turks Island. Those others are the Russians. The Russians are my partners in this venture. They trained six of my men, Mister Bond. Two of those men are on watch at this moment, watching the radio frequencies, the beams on which these weapons travel. There is a million dollars' worth of equipment up above us in the rock galleries, Mister Bond, sending fingers up into the Heavyside Layer, waiting for the signals, jamming them, countering beams with other beams. And from time to time a rocket soars up on its way a hundred, five hundred miles into the Atlantic. And we track it, as accurately as they are tracking it in the Operations Room on Turks Island. Then, suddenly, our pulses go out to the rocket, its brain is confused, it goes mad, it plunges into the sea, it destroys itself, it roars off at a tangent. Another test has failed. The operators are blamed, the designers, the manufacturers. There is panic in the Pentagon. Something else must be tried, different frequencies, different metals, a different radio brain. Of course," Doctor No was fair, "we too have our difficulties. We track many practice shoots without being able to get through to the brain of the new rocket. But then we communicate urgently with Moscow. Yes, they have even given us a cipher machine with our own frequencies and routines. And the Russians get thinking. They make suggestions. We try them out. And then, one day, Mister Bond, it is like catching the attention of a man in a crowd. Up in the stratosphere the rocket acknowledges our signal. We are recognized and we can speak to it and change its mind," Doctor No paused. "Do you not find that interesting, Mister Bond, this little sideline to my business in guano? It is, I assure you, most profitable. It might be still more so. Perhaps Communist China will pay more. Who knows? I already have my feelers out."

RichardTheBruce

Birds of the West Indies, James Bond, 1961.

SHEARWATERS & PETRELS: Procellariidae

PETRELS AND SHEARWATERS are essentially oceanic, passing all their time at sea, except during the breeding season. Even when nesting, they are not likely to be seen near land by day, although at night their peculiar wailing cries may be heard in the vicinity of their burrows. Their food consists mainly of flying fish and squids.

AUDUBON'S SHEARWATER Puffinus Iherminieri

Local names: Pimlico; Wedgrego; Pampero; Diablotin; Rie; Cahen.
Description: 11-12". The shearwater is dark brownish black above, the underparts mostly white. Flies close to the surface of the sea and frequently glides. Fig 4.
Habitat: Unless pulled out of its nesting burrow, not apt to be seen except at sea. Particularly numerous in vicinity of the Grenadines.

Fig. 4. Audubon's Shearwater


Nidification: Nests in burrows or in rock crevices. One white egg is laid, usually in early spring.
Range: Nests in the Bahamas, Virgin islands, Lesser Antilles and at Old Providence Island; also on islets off Tobago. Among the Antilles, occurs west to Navassa Island and the northern coast of Cuba. Widely distributed in the tropical Atlantic, Pacific and Indian oceans.

BLACK-CAPPED PETREL Pterodroma hasitasa

Local names: Blue Mountain Duck; Dry Land Booby; Diablotin.
Description: 14-16". In the dark phase this bird is mostly sooty brown but shows white at base of tail (upper tail-coverts, etc.). In light phase, the upperparts are mostly sooty brown, the forehead and base of tail white; underparts white, washed with greyish on sides. Fig 5.
Habitat: Most apt to be seen far out at sea.

Fig. 5. Black-capped Petrel

Nidification: Nests in a burrow in the mountains. Lays one white egg. Presumably still breeds in Hispaniola, but perhaps extirpated elsewhere.
Range: Jamaica (dark phase only), Hispaniola, Guadeloupe, Dominica and Martinique.

STORM PETRELS: Hydrobatidae

THESE SMALL OCEANIC BIRDS are usually seen from land. They sometimes follow a steamer in search of galley refuse or marine life killed by the ship's propeller. They subsist mainly on shrimp-like crustacea and other minute organisms obtained near the surface of the sea.

LEACH'S PETREL Oceanodroma leucorhoa

Fig. 6. Leach's Petrel


Local names: Pamperito; Golondrina de Mar; Lavapies.
Description: 7.5-9". Larger and paler than Wilson's Petrel, and has a forked tail. The tarsi are much shorter (about .9"). From a distance it may be distinguished by its erratic flight, resembling that of a butterfly. Fig. 6.
Habitat: Well out to sea.
Range: Breeds on islands in Northern Hemisphere. Occasionally seen among the West Indies (Feb. 5-June 21; one Cuban record on July 25).

WILSON'S PETREL Oceanites oceanicas

Local names: Similar to those off Leach's Petrel.
Description: 7-7.5". A small, sooty coloured sea bird with conspicuously white upper tail-coverts and a patch of white on the flanks. Tail not forked as in preceding species. Parsi very long (about 1.35"). Flight more direct than that of Leach's Petrel.
Habitat: Well out to sea.
Range: Breeds on islands in Southern Hemisphere. Occasionally seen among the West Indies (May 9 -July 1).

Revelator

The petrel is also referenced twice in the Sherlock Holmes stories:

“My dear Colonel, I am afraid that you must regret the hour that you took in such a stormy petrel as I am.” (The Adventure of the Reigate Squires)

“You are the stormy petrel of crime, Watson.” (The Adventure of the Naval Treaty)

CommanderRoss

The Percival Petrel:



There has also been a research rocket with the name Petrel;

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Petrel_(rocket)

RichardTheBruce

The 50s-era American Petrel would be available for Dr. No in book and film to meddle with.

AUM-N-2 Petrel surface-to-air missile, later target drone.

Patrol Squadron 24

Then came the 60s British sounding rocket Petrel 1, for sub-orbital experiments and data collection.
Interesting timeline: Petrel 1 tested 8 June 1967. Petrel 2 tested 1977.

Petrel 1 on the right of Skua on the left.

RichardTheBruce

Preceding Sir Arthur Canon Doyle, there is Emily Brontë's use.

"The Two Children", Emily Brontë.

Heavy hangs the rain-drop
⁠From the burdened spray;
Heavy broods the damp mist
⁠On uplands far away.


Heavy looms the dull sky,
⁠Heavy rolls the sea;
And heavy throbs the young heart
⁠Beneath that lonely tree.


Never has a blue streak
⁠Cleft the clouds since morn;
Never has his grim fate
⁠Smiled since he was born.


Frowning on the infant,
⁠Shadowing childhood's joy
Guardian-angel knows not
⁠That melancholy boy.


Day is passing swiftly
⁠Its sad and sombre prime;
Boyhood sad is merging
⁠In sadder manhood's time:

All the flowers are praying
⁠For sun, before they close,
And he prays too—unconscious—
⁠That sunless human rose.


Blossom—that the west-wind
⁠Has never wooed to blow,
Scentless are thy petals,
⁠Thy dew is cold as snow!


Soul—where kindred kindness,
⁠No early promise woke,
Barren is thy beauty,
⁠As weed upon a rock.


Wither—soul and blossom!
⁠You both were vainly given:
Earth reserves no blessing
⁠For the unblest of heaven!


Child of delight, with sun-bright hair,
⁠And sea-blue, sea-deep eyes!
Spirit of bliss! what brings thee here,
⁠Beneath these sullen skies?


Thou shouldst live in eternal spring,
⁠Where endless day is never dim;
Why, Seraph has thine erring wing
⁠Wafted thee down to weep with him?


'Ah! from heaven am I descended,
⁠Nor do I come to mingle tears;
But sweet is day, though with shadows blended;
⁠And, though clouded, sweet are youthful years.


'I—the image of light and gladness—
⁠Saw and pitied that mournful boy,
And I vowed—if need were—to share his sadness,
⁠And give to him my sunny joy.

'Heavy and dark the night is closing;
⁠Heavy and dark may its bidding be:
Better for all from grief reposing,
⁠And better for all who watch like me—

'Watch in love by a fevered pillow,
⁠Cooling the fever with pity's balm;
Safe as the petrel on tossing billow,
⁠Safe in mine own soul's golden calm!


'Guardian-angel he lacks no longer;
⁠Evil fortune he need not fear:
Fate is strong, but love is stronger;
⁠And my love is truer than angel-care.'

"Stars", Emily Brontë.

Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Restored my earth to joy
Have you departed, every one,
And left a desert sky?

All through the night, your glorious eyes
Were gazing down in mine,
And with a full heart's thankful sighs
I blessed that watch divine!

I was at peace, and drank your beams
As they were life to me
And revelled in my changeful dreams
Like petrel on the sea.

Thought followed thought—star followed star
Through boundless regions on,
While one sweet influence, near and far,
Thrilled through and proved us one.

Why did the morning rise to break
So great, so pure a spell,
And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek
Where your cool radiance fell?

Blood-red he rose, and arrow-straight,
His fierce beams struck my brow;
The soul of Nature sprang elate,
But mine sank sad and low!

My lids closed down—yet through their veil
I saw him blazing still;
And bathe in gold the misty dale,
And flash upon the hill.

I turned me to the pillow then
To call back Night, and see
Your worlds of solemn light, again
Throb with my heart and me!

It would not do—the pillow glowed
And glowed both roof and floor,
And birds sang loudly in the wood,
And fresh winds shook the door.

The curtains waved, the wakened flies
Were murmuring round my room,
Imprisoned there, till I should rise
And give them leave to roam.

O Stars and Dreams and Gentle Night;
O Night and Stars return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm, but burn—

That drains the blood of suffering men;
Drinks tears, instead of dew:
Let me sleep through his blinding reign,
And only wake with you!

RichardTheBruce

Not lost on the Russians.

The Song of the Stormy Petrel, Maxim Gorky, 1901. Translated from Russian, GFDL.

Up above the sea's grey flatland, wind is gathering the clouds. In between the sea and clouds proudly soaring the Petrel, reminiscent of black lightning.

Glancing a wave with his wingtip, like an arrow dashing cloudward, he cries out and the clouds hear his joy in the bird's cry of courage.

In this cry -- thirst for the tempest! Wrathful power, flame of passion, certainty of being victorious the clouds hear in that bird's cry.

Seagulls groan before the tempest, - groan, and race above the sea, and on its bottom they are ready to hide their fear of the storm.

And the loons are also groaning, - they, the loons, they cannot access the delight of life in battle: the noise of the clashes scares them.

The dumb penguin shyly hiding his fat body in the crevice . . . It is only the proud Petrel who soars ever bold and freely over the sea grey with sea foam!

Ever darker, clouds descending ever lower over the sea, and the waves are singing, racing to the sky to meet the thunder.

Thunder sounds. In foamy anger the waves groan, with wind in conflict. Now the wind firmly embraces flocks of waves and sends them crashing on the cliffs in wild fury, smashing into dust and seaspray all these mountains of emerald.

And the Petrel soars while crying, reminiscent of black lightning, like an arrow piercing the clouds, with his wing rips foam from the waves.

So he dashes, like a demon, - proud, black demon of the tempest, - and he's laughing and he's weeping . . . it is at the clouds he's laughing, it is with his joy he's weeping!

In the fury of the thunder, the wise demon hears his weakness, but he's certain that the clouds will not hide the sun - won't hide it!

The wind howls . . . the thunder rolls . . .

Like a blue flame, flocks of clouds blaze up above the sea's abyss. The sea catches bolts of lightning drowning them beneath its waters. Just like serpents made of fire, they weave in the water, fading, the reflections of this lightning.

-Tempest! Soon will strike the tempest!

That is the courageous Petrel proudly soaring in the lightning over the sea's roar of fury; cries of victory the prophet:

-Let the tempest come strike harder!

Russian animation took to that for inspiration. Tough, funny, dramatic.

The Stormy Petrel, Argus International, 2004. In Russian, English subtitles.

RichardTheBruce

Bobolink / ˈbä·bə·link / noun
1. a New World blackbird, males with a white or cream colored hood

Bobolink (Dolichonyx oryzivorus): in English the name approximates the songbird's call as variations of Bob o' Lincoln, Bob Lincoln (18th Century). Known at times as reedbird or rice bird for its habitat and diet. A summertime fixture in North America, winters in South America. Migration route includes Jamaica where they are known as butter-birds, a past staple.

RichardTheBruce

The Spy Who Loved Me, Ian Fleming, 1962.
Chapter Fifteen: The Writing on My Heart

THOSE were the last words he spoke to me. When I woke up the next morning he was gone. There was only the dent down the bed where he had lain, and the smell of him on the pillow. To make sure, I jumped out of bed and ran to see if the gray car was still there. It wasn't.

It was a beautiful day and there was heavy dew on the ground, and in the dew I could see the single track of his footprints leading to where the car had been. A bobolink flew crying across the clearing, and from somewhere in the trees came the dying call of a mourning dove.

The ruins of the motel were black and hideous, and a ghostly wisp of smoke rose straight up into the still air from the remains of the lobby block. I went back into the cabin and had a shower and began briskly to pack my things into my two saddlebags. Then I saw the letter on the dressing table and I went and sat on the bed and read it.

RichardTheBruce

Birds of the West Indies, James Bond, 1936/1961.

BOBOLINK Dolichonyx oryzivorus

Local names: Rice Bird; Butter Bird; October Pink; Chambergo.
Description: 6.5-8”. Male (nuptial plumage): Black with some white or whitish on upperparts and a broad buffy band across hindneck. Female: Buffy or buffy-yellow, the upperparts with an admixture of black; pileum striped black and buff; sides and flanks streaked with black. Males in winter plumage resemble females. Associates in large flocks during migration.
Voice: A sharp ping. Does not sing in the West Indies.
Habitat: Fields, in particular rice plantations.
Range: Southern Canada and northern United States. Winters to South America. Transient in West Indies (early September-November: March 29-May 23).

Revelator

When I saw the first bobolink post I thought "when did such an obscure, silly-named bird ever appear in a Bond book?" When I saw the second bobolink post I realized the error of my ways. Never doubt @RichardTheBruce and his birds.

RichardTheBruce

Credit to Mr. Fleming and Mr. Bond.

Obscure as you said, @Revelator, there are still some rare examples in Western Culture.
A favorite of Emily Dickinson. Mentioned by Poe, even. Fleming could have happened upon them on a migration stop in Jamaica. Or scouting his US writing locations in the Catskills and the Adirondacks.

"How to Know the Bobolink", Emily Dickinson.

The Way to know the Bobolink
From every other Bird
Precisely as the Joy of him—
Obliged to be inferred.

Of impudent Habiliment
Attired to defy,
Impertinence subordinate
At times to Majesty.

Of Sentiments seditious
Amenable to Law—
As Heresies of Transport
Or Puck’s Apostacy.

Extrinsic to Attention
Too intimate with Joy—
He compliments existence
Until allured away

By Seasons or his Children—
Adult and urgent grown—
Or unforeseen aggrandizement
Or, happily, Renown—

By Contrast certifying
The Bird of Birds is gone—
How nullified the Meadow—
Her Sorcerer withdrawn!

"Some keep the Sabbath going to Church", Emily Dickinson.

"Landor's Cottage", Edgar Allan Poe.

DURING A pedestrian trip last summer, through one or two of the river counties of New York, I found myself, as the day declined, somewhat embarrassed about the road I was pursuing. The land undulated very remarkably; and my path, for the last hour, had wound about and about so confusedly, in its effort to keep in the valleys, that I no longer knew in what direction lay the sweet village of B-, where I had determined to stop for the night.

The sun had scarcely shone–strictly speaking–during the day, which nevertheless, had been unpleasantly warm. A smoky mist, resembling that of the Indian summer, enveloped all things, and of course, added to my uncertainty. Not that I cared much about the matter. If I did not hit upon the village before sunset, or even before dark, it was more than possible that a little Dutch farmhouse, or something of that kind, would soon make its appearance–although, in fact, the neighborhood (perhaps on account of being more picturesque than fertile) was very sparsely inhabited. At all events, with my knapsack for a pillow, and my hound as a sentry, a bivouac in the open air was just the thing which would have amused me. I sauntered on, therefore, quite at ease–Ponto taking charge of my gun–until at length, just as I had begun to consider whether the numerous little glades that led hither and thither, were intended to be paths at all, I was conducted by one of them into an unquestionable carriage track. There could be no mistaking it. The traces of light wheels were evident; and although the tall shrubberies and overgrown undergrowth met overhead, there was no obstruction whatever below, even to the passage of a Virginian mountain wagon–the most aspiring vehicle, I take it, of its kind. The road, however, except in being open through the wood–if wood be not too weighty a name for such an assemblage of light trees–and except in the particulars of evident wheel-tracks–bore no resemblance to any road I had before seen. The tracks of which I speak were but faintly perceptible–having been impressed upon the firm, yet pleasantly moist surface of–what looked more like green Genoese velvet than any thing else. It was grass, clearly–but grass such as we seldom see out of England–so short, so thick, so even, and so vivid in color. Not a single impediment lay in the wheel-route–not even a chip or dead twig. The stones that once obstructed the way had been carefully placed–not thrown-along the sides of the lane, so as to define its boundaries at bottom with a kind of half-precise, half-negligent, and wholly picturesque definition. Clumps of wild flowers grew everywhere, luxuriantly, in the interspaces.

What to make of all this, of course I knew not. Here was art undoubtedly–that did not surprise me–all roads, in the ordinary sense, are works of art; nor can I say that there was much to wonder at in the mere excess of art manifested; all that seemed to have been done, might have been done here–with such natural "capabilities" (as they have it in the books on Landscape Gardening)–with very little labor and expense. No; it was not the amount but the character of the art which caused me to take a seat on one of the blossomy stones and gaze up and down this fairy–like avenue for half an hour or more in bewildered admiration. One thing became more and more evident the longer I gazed: an artist, and one with a most scrupulous eye for form, had superintended all these arrangements. The greatest care had been taken to preserve a due medium between the neat and graceful on the one hand, and the pittoresque, in the true sense of the Italian term, on the other. There were few straight, and no long uninterrupted lines. The same effect of curvature or of color appeared twice, usually, but not oftener, at any one point of view. Everywhere was variety in uniformity. It was a piece of "composition," in which the most fastidiously critical taste could scarcely have suggested an emendation.

I had turned to the right as I entered this road, and now, arising, I continued in the same direction. The path was so serpentine, that at no moment could I trace its course for more than two or three paces in advance. Its character did not undergo any material change.

Presently the murmur of water fell gently upon my ear–and in a few moments afterward, as I turned with the road somewhat more abruptly than hitherto, I became aware that a building of some kind lay at the foot of a gentle declivity just before me. I could see nothing distinctly on account of the mist which occupied all the little valley below. A gentle breeze, however, now arose, as the sun was about descending; and while I remained standing on the brow of the slope, the fog gradually became dissipated into wreaths, and so floated over the scene.

As it came fully into view–thus gradually as I describe it–piece by piece, here a tree, there a glimpse of water, and here again the summit of a chimney, I could scarcely help fancying that the whole was one of the ingenious illusions sometimes exhibited under the name of "vanishing pictures."

By the time, however, that the fog had thoroughly disappeared, the sun had made its way down behind the gentle hills, and thence, as it with a slight chassez to the south, had come again fully into sight, glaring with a purplish lustre through a chasm that entered the valley from the west. Suddenly, therefore–and as if by the hand of magic- this whole valley and every thing in it became brilliantly visible.

The first coup d'oeil, as the sun slid into the position described, impressed me very much as I have been impressed, when a boy, by the concluding scene of some well-arranged theatrical spectacle or melodrama. Not even the monstrosity of color was wanting; for the sunlight came out through the chasm, tinted all orange and purple; while the vivid green of the grass in the valley was reflected more or less upon all objects from the curtain of vapor that still hung overhead, as if loth to take its total departure from a scene so enchantingly beautiful.

The little vale into which I thus peered down from under the fog canopy could not have been more than four hundred yards long; while in breadth it varied from fifty to one hundred and fifty or perhaps two hundred. It was most narrow at its northern extremity, opening out as it tended southwardly, but with no very precise regularity. The widest portion was within eighty yards of the southern extreme. The slopes which encompassed the vale could not fairly be called hills, unless at their northern face. Here a precipitous ledge of granite arose to a height of some ninety feet; and, as I have mentioned, the valley at this point was not more than fifty feet wide; but as the visiter proceeded southwardly from the cliff, he found on his right hand and on his left, declivities at once less high, less precipitous, and less rocky. All, in a word, sloped and softened to the south; and yet the whole vale was engirdled by eminences, more or less high, except at two points. One of these I have already spoken of. It lay considerably to the north of west, and was where the setting sun made its way, as I have before described, into the amphitheatre, through a cleanly cut natural cleft in the granite embankment; this fissure might have been ten yards wide at its widest point, so far as the eye could trace it. It seemed to lead up, up like a natural causeway, into the recesses of unexplored mountains and forests. The other opening was directly at the southern end of the vale. Here, generally, the slopes were nothing more than gentle inclinations, extending from east to west about one hundred and fifty yards. In the middle of this extent was a depression, level with the ordinary floor of the valley. As regards vegetation, as well as in respect to every thing else, the scene softened and sloped to the south. To the north–on the craggy precipice–a few paces from the verge–up sprang the magnificent trunks of numerous hickories, black walnuts, and chestnuts, interspersed with occasional oak, and the strong lateral branches thrown out by the walnuts especially, spread far over the edge of the cliff. Proceeding southwardly, the explorer saw, at first, the same class of trees, but less and less lofty and Salvatorish in character; then he saw the gentler elm, succeeded by the sassafras and locust–these again by the softer linden, red-bud, catalpa, and maple–these yet again by still more graceful and more modest varieties. The whole face of the southern declivity was covered with wild shrubbery alone–an occasional silver willow or white poplar excepted. In the bottom of the valley itself–(for it must be borne in mind that the vegetation hitherto mentioned grew only on the cliffs or hillsides)–were to be seen three insulated trees. One was an elm of fine size and exquisite form: it stood guard over the southern gate of the vale. Another was a hickory, much larger than the elm, and altogether a much finer tree, although both were exceedingly beautiful: it seemed to have taken charge of the northwestern entrance, springing from a group of rocks in the very jaws of the ravine, and throwing its graceful body, at an angle of nearly forty-five degrees, far out into the sunshine of the amphitheatre. About thirty yards east of this tree stood, however, the pride of the valley, and beyond all question the most magnificent tree I have ever seen, unless, perhaps, among the cypresses of the Itchiatuckanee. It was a triple–stemmed tulip-tree–the Liriodendron Tulipiferum–one of the natural order of magnolias. Its three trunks separated from the parent at about three feet from the soil, and diverging very slightly and gradually, were not more than four feet apart at the point where the largest stem shot out into foliage: this was at an elevation of about eighty feet. The whole height of the principal division was one hundred and twenty feet. Nothing can surpass in beauty the form, or the glossy, vivid green of the leaves of the tulip-tree. In the present instance they were fully eight inches wide; but their glory was altogether eclipsed by the gorgeous splendor of the profuse blossoms. Conceive, closely congregated, a million of the largest and most resplendent tulips! Only thus can the reader get any idea of the picture I would convey. And then the stately grace of the clean, delicately–granulated columnar stems, the largest four feet in diameter, at twenty from the ground. The innumerable blossoms, mingling with those of other trees scarcely less beautiful, although infinitely less majestic, filled the valley with more than Arabian perfumes.

The general floor of the amphitheatre was grass of the same character as that I had found in the road; if anything, more deliciously soft, thick, velvety, and miraculously green. It was hard to conceive how all this beauty had been attained.

I have spoken of two openings into the vale. From the one to the northwest issued a rivulet, which came, gently murmuring and slightly foaming, down the ravine, until it dashed against the group of rocks out of which sprang the insulated hickory. Here, after encircling the tree, it passed on a little to the north of east, leaving the tulip tree some twenty feet to the south, and making no decided alteration in its course until it came near the midway between the eastern and western boundaries of the valley. At this point, after a series of sweeps, it turned off at right angles and pursued a generally southern direction meandering as it went–until it became lost in a small lake of irregular figure (although roughly oval), that lay gleaming near the lower extremity of the vale. This lakelet was, perhaps, a hundred yards in diameter at its widest part. No crystal could be clearer than its waters. Its bottom, which could be distinctly seen, consisted altogether, of pebbles brilliantly white. Its banks, of the emerald grass already described, rounded, rather than sloped, off into the clear heaven below; and so clear was this heaven, so perfectly, at times, did it reflect all objects above it, that where the true bank ended and where the mimic one commenced, it was a point of no little difficulty to determine. The trout, and some other varieties of fish, with which this pond seemed to be almost inconveniently crowded, had all the appearance of veritable flying-fish. It was almost impossible to believe that they were not absolutely suspended in the air. A light birch canoe that lay placidly on the water, was reflected in its minutest fibres with a fidelity unsurpassed by the most exquisitely polished mirror. A small island, fairly laughing with flowers in full bloom, and affording little more space than just enough for a picturesque little building, seemingly a fowl-house–arose from the lake not far from its northern shore–to which it was connected by means of an inconceivably light–looking and yet very primitive bridge. It was formed of a single, broad and thick plank of the tulip wood. This was forty feet long, and spanned the interval between shore and shore with a slight but very perceptible arch, preventing all oscillation. From the southern extreme of the lake issued a continuation of the rivulet, which, after meandering for, perhaps, thirty yards, finally passed through the "depression" (already described) in the middle of the southern declivity, and tumbling down a sheer precipice of a hundred feet, made its devious and unnoticed way to the Hudson.

The lake was deep–at some points thirty feet–but the rivulet seldom exceeded three, while its greatest width was about eight. Its bottom and banks were as those of the pond–if a defect could have been attributed, in point of picturesqueness, it was that of excessive neatness.

The expanse of the green turf was relieved, here and there, by an occasional showy shrub, such as the hydrangea, or the common snowball, or the aromatic seringa; or, more frequently, by a clump of geraniums blossoming gorgeously in great varieties. These latter grew in pots which were carefully buried in the soil, so as to give the plants the appearance of being indigenous. Besides all this, the lawn's velvet was exquisitely spotted with sheep–a considerable flock of which roamed about the vale, in company with three tamed deer, and a vast number of brilliantly–plumed ducks. A very large mastiff seemed to be in vigilant attendance upon these animals, each and all.

Along the eastern and western cliffs–where, toward the upper portion of the amphitheatre, the boundaries were more or less precipitous–grew ivy in great profusion–so that only here and there could even a glimpse of the naked rock be obtained. The northern precipice, in like manner, was almost entirely clothed by grape-vines of rare luxuriance; some springing from the soil at the base of the cliff, and others from ledges on its face.

The slight elevation which formed the lower boundary of this little domain, was crowned by a neat stone wall, of sufficient height to prevent the escape of the deer. Nothing of the fence kind was observable elsewhere; for nowhere else was an artificial enclosure needed:–any stray sheep, for example, which should attempt to make its way out of the vale by means of the ravine, would find its progress arrested, after a few yards' advance, by the precipitous ledge of rock over which tumbled the cascade that had arrested my attention as I first drew near the domain. In short, the only ingress or egress was through a gate occupying a rocky pass in the road, a few paces below the point at which I stopped to reconnoitre the scene.

I have described the brook as meandering very irregularly through the whole of its course. Its two general directions, as I have said, were first from west to east, and then from north to south. At the turn, the stream, sweeping backward, made an almost circular loop, so as to form a peninsula which was very nearly an island, and which included about the sixteenth of an acre. On this peninsula stood a dwelling-house–and when I say that this house, like the infernal terrace seen by Vathek, "etait d'une architecture inconnue dans les annales de la terre," I mean, merely, that its tout ensemble struck me with the keenest sense of combined novelty and propriety–in a word, of poetry–(for, than in the words just employed, I could scarcely give, of poetry in the abstract, a more rigorous definition)–and I do not mean that merely outre was perceptible in any respect.

In fact nothing could well be more simple–more utterly unpretending than this cottage. Its marvellous effect lay altogether in its artistic arrangement as a picture. I could have fancied, while I looked at it, that some eminent landscape-painter had built it with his brush.

The point of view from which I first saw the valley, was not altogether, although it was nearly, the best point from which to survey the house. I will therefore describe it as I afterwards saw it- from a position on the stone wall at the southern extreme of the amphitheatre.

The main building was about twenty-four feet long and sixteen broad- certainly not more. Its total height, from the ground to the apex of the roof, could not have exceeded eighteen feet. To the west end of this structure was attached one about a third smaller in all its proportions:–the line of its front standing back about two yards from that of the larger house, and the line of its roof, of course, being considerably depressed below that of the roof adjoining. At right angles to these buildings, and from the rear of the main one–not exactly in the middle–extended a third compartment, very small- being, in general, one-third less than the western wing. The roofs of the two larger were very steep–sweeping down from the ridge-beam with a long concave curve, and extending at least four feet beyond the walls in front, so as to form the roofs of two piazzas. These latter roofs, of course, needed no support; but as they had the air of needing it, slight and perfectly plain pillars were inserted at the corners alone. The roof of the northern wing was merely an extension of a portion of the main roof. Between the chief building and western wing arose a very tall and rather slender square chimney of hard Dutch bricks, alternately black and red:–a slight cornice of projecting bricks at the top. Over the gables the roofs also projected very much:–in the main building about four feet to the east and two to the west. The principal door was not exactly in the main division, being a little to the east–while the two windows were to the west. These latter did not extend to the floor, but were much longer and narrower than usual–they had single shutters like doors- the panes were of lozenge form, but quite large. The door itself had its upper half of glass, also in lozenge panes–a movable shutter secured it at night. The door to the west wing was in its gable, and quite simple–a single window looked out to the south. There was no external door to the north wing, and it also had only one window to the east.

The blank wall of the eastern gable was relieved by stairs (with a balustrade) running diagonally across it–the ascent being from the south. Under cover of the widely projecting eave these steps gave access to a door leading to the garret, or rather loft–for it was lighted only by a single window to the north, and seemed to have been intended as a store-room.

The piazzas of the main building and western wing had no floors, as is usual; but at the doors and at each window, large, flat irregular slabs of granite lay imbedded in the delicious turf, affording comfortable footing in all weather. Excellent paths of the same material–not nicely adapted, but with the velvety sod filling frequent intervals between the stones, led hither and thither from the house, to a crystal spring about five paces off, to the road, or to one or two out–houses that lay to the north, beyond the brook, and were thoroughly concealed by a few locusts and catalpas.

Not more than six steps from the main door of the cottage stood the dead trunk of a fantastic pear-tree, so clothed from head to foot in the gorgeous bignonia blossoms that one required no little scrutiny to determine what manner of sweet thing it could be. From various arms of this tree hung cages of different kinds. In one, a large wicker cylinder with a ring at top, revelled a mocking bird; in another an oriole; in a third the impudent bobolink–while three or four more delicate prisons were loudly vocal with canaries.

The pillars of the piazza were enwreathed in jasmine and sweet honeysuckle; while from the angle formed by the main structure and its west wing, in front, sprang a grape-vine of unexampled luxuriance. Scorning all restraint, it had clambered first to the lower roof–then to the higher; and along the ridge of this latter it continued to writhe on, throwing out tendrils to the right and left, until at length it fairly attained the east gable, and fell trailing over the stairs.

The whole house, with its wings, was constructed of the old-fashioned Dutch shingles–broad, and with unrounded corners. It is a peculiarity of this material to give houses built of it the appearance of being wider at bottom than at top–after the manner of Egyptian architecture; and in the present instance, this exceedingly picturesque effect was aided by numerous pots of gorgeous flowers that almost encompassed the base of the buildings.

The shingles were painted a dull gray; and the happiness with which this neutral tint melted into the vivid green of the tulip tree leaves that partially overshadowed the cottage, can readily be conceived by an artist.

From the position near the stone wall, as described, the buildings were seen at great advantage–for the southeastern angle was thrown forward–so that the eye took in at once the whole of the two fronts, with the picturesque eastern gable, and at the same time obtained just a sufficient glimpse of the northern wing, with parts of a pretty roof to the spring-house, and nearly half of a light bridge that spanned the brook in the near vicinity of the main buildings.

I did not remain very long on the brow of the hill, although long enough to make a thorough survey of the scene at my feet. It was clear that I had wandered from the road to the village, and I had thus good traveller's excuse to open the gate before me, and inquire my way, at all events; so, without more ado, I proceeded.

The road, after passing the gate, seemed to lie upon a natural ledge, sloping gradually down along the face of the north-eastern cliffs. It led me on to the foot of the northern precipice, and thence over the bridge, round by the eastern gable to the front door. In this progress, I took notice that no sight of the out-houses could be obtained.

As I turned the corner of the gable, the mastiff bounded towards me in stern silence, but with the eye and the whole air of a tiger. I held him out my hand, however, in token of amity–and I never yet knew the dog who was proof against such an appeal to his courtesy. He not only shut his mouth and wagged his tail, but absolutely offered me his paw-afterward extending his civilities to Ponto.

As no bell was discernible, I rapped with my stick against the door, which stood half open. Instantly a figure advanced to the threshold- that of a young woman about twenty-eight years of age–slender, or rather slight, and somewhat above the medium height. As she approached, with a certain modest decision of step altogether indescribable. I said to myself, "Surely here I have found the perfection of natural, in contradistinction from artificial grace." The second impression which she made on me, but by far the more vivid of the two, was that of enthusiasm. So intense an expression of romance, perhaps I should call it, or of unworldliness, as that which gleamed from her deep-set eyes, had never so sunk into my heart of hearts before. I know not how it is, but this peculiar expression of the eye, wreathing itself occasionally into the lips, is the most powerful, if not absolutely the sole spell, which rivets my interest in woman. "Romance, provided my readers fully comprehended what I would here imply by the word–"romance" and "womanliness" seem to me convertible terms: and, after all, what man truly loves in woman, is simply her womanhood. The eyes of Annie (I heard some one from the interior call her "Annie, darling!") were "spiritual grey;" her hair, a light chestnut: this is all I had time to observe of her.

At her most courteous of invitations, I entered–passing first into a tolerably wide vestibule. Having come mainly to observe, I took notice that to my right as I stepped in, was a window, such as those in front of the house; to the left, a door leading into the principal room; while, opposite me, an open door enabled me to see a small apartment, just the size of the vestibule, arranged as a study, and having a large bow window looking out to the north.

Passing into the parlor, I found myself with Mr. Landor–for this, I afterwards found, was his name. He was civil, even cordial in his manner, but just then, I was more intent on observing the arrangements of the dwelling which had so much interested me, than the personal appearance of the tenant.

The north wing, I now saw, was a bed-chamber, its door opened into the parlor. West of this door was a single window, looking toward the brook. At the west end of the parlor, were a fireplace, and a door leading into the west wing–probably a kitchen.

Nothing could be more rigorously simple than the furniture of the parlor. On the floor was an ingrain carpet, of excellent texture–a white ground, spotted with small circular green figures. At the windows were curtains of snowy white jaconet muslin: they were tolerably full, and hung decisively, perhaps rather formally in sharp, parallel plaits to the floor–just to the floor. The walls were prepared with a French paper of great delicacy, a silver ground, with a faint green cord running zig-zag throughout. Its expanse was relieved merely by three of Julien's exquisite lithographs a trois crayons, fastened to the wall without frames. One of these drawings was a scene of Oriental luxury, or rather voluptuousness; another was a "carnival piece," spirited beyond compare; the third was a Greek female head–a face so divinely beautiful, and yet of an expression so provokingly indeterminate, never before arrested my attention.

The more substantial furniture consisted of a round table, a few chairs (including a large rocking-chair), and a sofa, or rather "settee;" its material was plain maple painted a creamy white, slightly interstriped with green; the seat of cane. The chairs and table were "to match," but the forms of all had evidently been designed by the same brain which planned "the grounds;" it is impossible to conceive anything more graceful.

On the table were a few books, a large, square, crystal bottle of some novel perfume, a plain ground–glass astral (not solar) lamp with an Italian shade, and a large vase of resplendently-blooming flowers. Flowers, indeed, of gorgeous colours and delicate odour formed the sole mere decoration of the apartment. The fire-place was nearly filled with a vase of brilliant geranium. On a triangular shelf in each angle of the room stood also a similar vase, varied only as to its lovely contents. One or two smaller bouquets adorned the mantel, and late violets clustered about the open windows.

It is not the purpose of this work to do more than give in detail, a picture of Mr. Landor's residence–as I found it. How he made it what it was–and why–with some particulars of Mr. Landor himself- may, possibly form the subject of another article.

THE END

CommanderRoss

And so we arrive at an obscure ww1 aircraft, Boulton & Paul Bobolink:



https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boulton_&_Paul_Bobolink

RichardTheBruce

The Bobolink prototype circa WWI. Beaten by a Snipe. Sniped, even.

Here's a more recent example.

The Pink Panther, Gerry Chiniquy, 1975.
"Bobolink Pink"

CommanderRoss

From the same era as the sniped bobolink, I bring you the USS Bobolink, A Lapwing-class minesweeper! Serving in WW1 and 2, even getting a battle star (no, not Battlestar).
source:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Bobolink_(AM-20)

She was followed up, in 1946, by another minesweeper, AMS-2.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Bobolink_(AMS-2)

RichardTheBruce

From the world of stamps--philately--First Day Covers.

USS Bobolink (AM-20), 1934.



USS Bobolink (AM-20), 1935.

USS Bobolink (AM-20), 1937.

RichardTheBruce

Bluebird / ˈblo͞o·bərd / noun
1. an American blue-colored thrush
adjective
1. an idealized clear, sunny day after a snowfall

English (Bluebird).

Bluebird (Sialia): small songbirds of the thrush variety, colored blue or blue and rosy beige. Consumers of insects--a well-loved friend of gardeners--and seeds. Found in the Americas, migratory. Some population decline observed in the 1970s; experiencing a resurgence in our 21st Century.

Species: Eastern bluebird (Sialia sialis); Western bluebird Sialia mexicana; Mountain bluebird (Sialia currucoides).

Eastern bluebird (Canada to the Gulf, Arizona to Nicaragua)


Western bluebird (southwest United States to Mexico)


Mountain bluebird (western North America to Alaska)

RichardTheBruce

Dr. No, Ian Fleming, 1958.
Chapter XIII – Mink-Lined Prison

…
From the bathroom came the sound of the girl crooning 'Marion'. Bond closed his ears to the sound and started on the eggs.

Ten minutes later, Bond heard the bathroom door open. He put down his toast and marmalade and covered his eyes with his hands. She laughed. She said, "He's a coward. He's frightened of a simple girl." Bond heard her rummaging in the cupboards. She went on talking, half to herself. "I wonder why he's frightened. Of course if I wrestled with him I'd win easily. Perhaps he's frightened of that. Perhaps he's really not very strong. His arms and his chest look strong enough. I haven't seen the rest yet. Perhaps it's weak. Yes, that must be it. That's why he doesn't dare take his clothes off in front of me. H'm, now let's see, would he like me in this?" She raised her voice. "Darling James, would you like me in white with pale blue birds flying all over me?"

"Yes, damn you," said Bond through his hands. "Now stop chattering to yourself and come and have breakfast. I'm getting sleepy."

She gave a cry. "Oh, if you mean it's time for us to go to bed, of course I'll hurry."

Honey looks good in anything, Bluebirds or otherwise.

RichardTheBruce

Birds of the West Indies, James Bond, 1936/1961.

COMMON BLUEBIRD Sialia sialis
Description: 7”. The male is bright blue above, some of the feathers with rusty tips in winter; anterior underparts, sides and flanks rufous. rest of the underparts white. The female is duller, the anterior upperparts decidedly brownish.
Range: North America (including Bermuda) south to Nicaragua. Rare as a winter resident in western Cuba (Feb. 24-early April).

RichardTheBruce

You Only Live Twice, Lewis Gilbert, 1967.

1960 Datsun Bluebird Sedan
https://www.imcdb.org/vehicle_460659-Datsun-Bluebird-310-1960.html

The Man with the Golden Gun, Guy Hamilton, 1974.

1966 Datsun Bluebird Sedan
https://www.imcdb.org/vehicle_366955-Datsun-Bluebird-411-1966.html

GoldenEye, Martin Campbell, 1995.

1986 Nissan Bluebird T12 Sedan. 01:17:36
IMCDB https://www.imcdb.org/vehicle.php?id=155416

Quantum of Solace, Marc Forster, 2008.

1988 Nissan Bluebird Sedan. 00:21:24 https://imcdb.org/vehicle_203057-Nissan-Bluebird-U12-1988.html

1988 Nissan Bluebird 1.8 SE Saloon Sedan. 00:53:55
https://imcdb.org/vehicle_203082-Nissan-Bluebird-U12-1988.html

RichardTheBruce

Die Another Day, Lee Tamahori, 1995.

Graves: Glad you could make it, Mr. Bond. How did you like my run?

Bond: Looked like a man on the edge of losing control.

Graves: It's only by being on the edge that we know who we really are, under the skin. Take your Donald Campbell, 1967, the Bluebird. Water speed record.

Bond: Campbell died on his return run.

Graves: Yeah, but he died chasing a dream. Isn't that the way to go?

Bond: I'd rather not go at all. I see you don't chase dreams, you live them.

Graves: One of the virtues of never sleeping, Mr. Bond. I have to live my dreams. Besides, plenty of time to sleep when you're dead.

Donald Malcolm Campbell, CBE, broke speed records on land and water during the 1950-60s--even in the same year, as in 1964. He followed in the footsteps of his father, Sir Malcolm Campbell, who set 13 world speed records in the 1920s and 30s. The signature cars and boats of the Campbells: the Bluebird.

Graves and Bond correctly recognize Donald Campbell's 1967 death on Coniston Water, Lake District, England, seeking to break the 300 mph mark. Initially successful toward the goal (at 297 mph), on his return run the craft went aloft, somersaulted and broke up on the lake surface. CBE is the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire recognition.

]

Donald Campbell - Speed King, BBC, 2017.

https://www.mediastorehouse.com/p/463/donald-campbell-at-lake-eyre-1963-on-bluebird-8575269.jpg

Across the Lake, BBC, 1988. Includes Anthony Hopkins as Campbell.

CommanderRoss

In 1918 Vought came up with it's VE-7 Bluebird




becoming the US Navy's first true fighter.

In England, Blackburn used the name for 4 generations of trainers/ light touring aircraft (first flight 1924)



Blackburn 1c Bluebird IV

And then there's the [url="https://www.mi6community.com/discussion/18550/its-grεεκ-to-me#latest"] Greek [/url] airline flying to Tel Aviv.

RichardTheBruce

"Bluebird of Happiness" by Sandor Harmati, lyrics by Edward Heyman. Additional lyrics, Harry Parr-Davies.


"The Bluebird of Happiness", Jan Peerce, 1945.

"The Bluebird of Happiness", Gracie Fields, 1948.

"The Bluebird of Happiness", Jo Stafford and Gordon MacRae, 1948.

September Song, Jimmy Durante, 1963.
"The Bluebird of Happiness"

The Blue Bird, Walter Lang, 1940. Shirley Temple! (But it's an Indigo bunting, not a Bluebird.)

The Last Night of the Earth Poems, Charles Bukowski.
"Bluebird"

"Bluebird", Alexis Ffrench, 2017.

"

Agent_99

Does a blue canary in the outlet by the light switch count?