The bird call that precedes the news bulletins at 7am and 9am is one of the best-loved features of RNZ National’s Morning Report. Its origins can be traced back to 1948 and a technical difficulty for a fledgling broadcasting service.
“It’s my understanding,” says former Morning Report co-presenter Geoff Robinson, “that it originated back in the days of the shortwave service. When a programme on the service didn’t fill the allotted time slot they would play the sound to let listeners know that there was a station at the end of it and there would be a programme coming.”
That first bird was a tūī that, according to an account in this magazine at the time, possessed a cry with “musical intervals which in pitch and rhythm suit the purpose very well”.
The same piece described the auditory obstacles that hampered the first effort at getting a recording. These included a sudden breeze, a tomcat, vociferous children, a train whistle, a dog and a “woman [who] drove up in a car and called out an enthusiastic greeting to a friend”.
Both the bird-call tradition – and the shortwave service – have survived, and the former, in its present incarnation, will mark its harmonious half century at 1 minute to 7 on February 6.
Fifty years ago, there was just one bird – as another report shamelessly noted, things were done “on the cheep” – and it could be heard seven times a day.
Over the years, the original recording has been supplemented by dozens of other birds whose names are hardly less euphonious than their calls. On any given day, you might hear tākapu, hoiho, pīpipi, kea, koekoeā, pīpīwharauroa or riroriro.
Former night-time presenter Robert Taylor is credited with a large part in developing the bird-call tradition. Proving that punning has always been central, he played the call of a ruru on his Night Owl show.
Except he didn’t. What purported to be the sound of a native morepork was actually made by a talented human mimic and colleague of Taylor. (As we shall learn later, this was not to be the last human attempt to pull the feathers over listeners’ ears.)
This imposture was no match for conservationist extraordinaire John Kendrick, who can justly be described as the bird-father of the modern RNZ bird call. He smelt a kiore, and on learning the truth supplied an authentic call from his own archive. He went on to supply many more, all the result of an extraordinary devotion to recording native birdsong over many decades. Taylor later moved to the early morning slot and the bird call went with him.
Kendrick received an Old Blue award from Forest and Bird in 2009 in recognition of his contribution to advancing the society’s objectives, and was interviewed by Sean Plunket on Morning Report. He displayed a finer ear for ornithological subtleties than he did for the calls of RNZ presenters.
Plunket: Nice to talk to you.
Kendrick: And you. It’s Geoff, is it?
P: It’s Sean.
K: Ah, Sean – the other half.
Geoff Robinson: I’m here. I’m listening.
Kendrick recalled how in 1969, after several years as audio officer for the Wildlife Service, he had a good enough collection to take to the national broadcaster and suggest sharing them with the general public.
Kendrick’s hardest get? “One of the toughest was getting the first recordings of the kōkako, if only for the hugely difficult country, because that was pre-helicopter days and we had hours and hours of really tough going carrying up to 75 pounds [34kg] on our backs, all the gear into the Tūtoko Valley where the few birds still were.”
Favourite? “Has to be the kōkako because of its mystic, wonderful echoing organ-like notes. No other bird can produce that sort of call, as far as I know, around the world.”
Kendrick also revealed that this had never been an opportunity to feather his own nest. He made not a cent from his recordings. It was about “putting the word [out] for conservation, it was keeping birds in front of the public … so naturally we just simply donated them to the NZBC [NZ Broadcasting Corporation].”
Was that a huia?
As with any great tradition, the bird call has attracted fable and inspired fascination. Any account must include the story of How the Huia was Heard, thanks to an ingenious effort by some determined individuals. The huia is long extinct and the last sighting was in 1907. Although there was no recording, there was Hēnare Hāmana, who had heard the bird as a young man when he took part in expeditions trying to find one. He could recall – and imitate – its cry, and was prevailed upon to make a recording. His huia, according to Ngā Taonga Sound and Vision, the country’s audio-visual archive, is one of the most requested items in its collection and has been played as the RNZ bird call. Armchair philosophers hearing that might like to ponder that what they are hearing is not the sound of a huia, but what a huia sounded like. Another creative deception occurred one April Fool’s Day when some puckish producer played what purported to be the cry of a moa. The scamp!
The bird-call feature has even made a contribution to naturalist history by helping to solve a mystery about the reoreo, or grey-backed storm petrel. According to an RNZ report, bird expert Colin Miskelly had a recording of an unidentified bird made in Fiordland, where it was believed a reoreo colony existed. But it was not until he heard the petrel’s call announced on Morning Report as the bird of the day that he was able to identify his mystery recording for sure and confirm reoreo survived in Fiordland.
At least once, in what could be a classic case of “always working to improve our services to you”, feathers have been ruffled when the possibility of consigning the daily bird call to auditory extinction has been raised. It is fair to say the idea did not fly when the suggestion was made on Morning Report itself in 2005. It generated 3000 emails squawking opposition to the notion.
The New Zealand Herald reported that aggrieved bird-call lovers went to extraordinary lengths to make their feelings known. “One woman even hung a ‘Keep the Bird’ banner from her apartment window opposite RNZ’s Wellington headquarters while the programme was on air.”
In what appears to have been an egregious case of messenger-blaming at the time, RNZ communications manager John Barr said: “Geoff [Robinson] and Sean [Plunket] thought, ‘Let’s see what the bird call means to New Zealanders’, and the response has been simply extraordinary.”
Robinson does not believe this was ever a serious possibility and remembers things differently. “A guy who did the PR, and I can’t think of his name, floated this idea of planning to get rid of the birds. There was apparently no intention to get rid of them.”
Not then. And not now, as confirmed by RNZ’s principal communications adviser, Kim Grade. There’s nothing fly-by-night about it. Happy half-century, bird call.
