I’m standing in a grassy area of Bushy Park watching a kestrel hovering.

Facing into a stiff breeze, he constantly adjusts fanned out tail and wings to ensure his head remains in exactly the same position as he stares earthwards searching for prey.

Meanwhile, well above him a skylark ascends. Higher and higher he rises on quivering wings until he becomes a mere speck against the palest blue, but still his thrilling, silvery song cascades down without a pause.

We are so fortunate to have a few pairs of skylarks breeding in Bushy and Richmond parks as well as Wimbledon Common, so close to London when in the wider countryside and much farmland about two million pairs have vanished within the past five decades.

Originally known simply as ‘lark’, the prefix ‘skie’ was tagged on way back in the seventeenth century. Country names include ‘skyflapper’, ‘heaven’s hen’ and strangely ‘laverock’.

Sadly it is not only skylarks that have suffered such a massive decline but it is estimated that all our native wildlife species have declined by about half their former levels in the past 50 years.

Eventually the lark parachutes down, still singing until almost at grass level he drops rapidly as the kestrel gives up his quest for the moment and flies towards the distant tree belt.