ROOKS have taken up residence in the trees in Senhouse Street car park in Whitehaven. And while it’s a remarkable sound – and sight– the neighbours are not happy.

I’m not referring to the human neighbours (though I fear it won’t be too long before someone demands the council ‘does something’) but the seagulls who are currently caring for their young on the town centre roof tops. They’re very protective of their chicks – as anyone who has wandered too close to a chick which has dropped to the ground will have discovered.

It was the sound of the rooks and seagulls doing battle that first drew my attention to them. Well, in fact, I was watching Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell on TV. It was the scene where swarms of rooks started flying through broken mirrors. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed black shapes flying past my window. I began to suspect the magic of Strange and Norrell had escaped into our world but then realised it was an aerial fight going on between a rook and a seagull. Rooks seem to have the speed and maneuverability but seagulls have the brute strength.

The sound of rooks roosting has often been remarked upon by nature writers. Edmund Selous in his 1901 book, Bird-Watchings said “I never heard so musical a discord, such sweet thunder” and ‘sweet thunder’ seems to perfectly sum up the raucous chattering from the late-night parliament. It’s just as if they are holding a conversation, swapping notes about their day, squabbling over who sits on which branch and perhaps regaling each other with anecdotes about their appearance as an extra in Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. If anything, the birds can be noisier at dawn which, at this time of year, is the much uncivilised hour of 4am.

There are perhaps 50 or 60 rooks roosting some nights in Senhouse car park. And there are no doubt some jackdaws mixed in with them as well as they like to cosy up with roosting rooks.

What’s surprising is the ability of so many rooks to find a roosting spot in such flimsy trees. Traditionally, their roosting tree of choice was the elm but following Dutch Elm disease they ‘moved out’ to other broad-leaf trees. They are, however, wonderfully adaptable and, in addition, seem to enjoy roosting near to the company of humans. I just hope humans in the town centre are equally accommodating.

Indeed, The Times’ nature columnist Simon Barnes once described the roosting of rooks as such a wonderful spectacle – principally an auditory one – that he suggested anyone with a rookery could simply open it to the public and charge an admission fee. Perhaps the town council could set up a pay-per-view station and use the proceeds to plant some proper trees for the rooks?