Spring arrived a month too early this year with the warmest February on record. Let’s hope it didn’t give too much of a false start to our wildlife, as March proved it really can come roaring in like a lion.

One of the first signs of spring is bird song. Robins and blackbirds start claiming their territories. Song thrushes call out their rich, repeated notes. And, high up in the oldest trees we hear the raucous rook racket.

Close cousins of the crow, rooks are one of the first birds to start nest-building – and they don’t do it quietly. The name rook is thought to come from the Old English word hroc which is a good approximation of their throaty call. What they lack in melody they make up for in volume. They form colonies which can easily number 50 nests, although there are records from 19th century Ireland of a massive metropolis of around 10,000 pairs.

There is a pecking order when it comes to building plots. Older, dominant pairs take the central, protected positions, while newcomers have to settle for more exposed sites on the outskirts. There can be some argy-bargy over materials with the odd stick being pinched from another nest. An old legend suggests that such misbehaviour is dealt with by courts or parliaments of rooks, where the offender is surrounded by a circle of accusers and attacked as a punishment. The truth behind this is probably that, like kids in a playground, rooks will happily gather round to watch a scrap.

Rooks nest, feed and (in autumn and winter) roost together. This sociability is the origin of the old country saying, “a crow in a crowd is a rook, a rook on its own is a crow”.

They have a pale bill with a greyish patch of skin at its base. They also have distinctive “baggy trousers” of feathers and whereas crows usually hop, rooks have a rolling, swaggering walk.

They are, however, more likely to be heard before they are seen with a chorus of squawks and squeaks belted out from nest sites. The message is like any bird song: spring is on the way.