Why centuries of superstitions cast this bird as a villain and an omen of ill fortune

If we judged magpies purely on looks, they would surely rank among the most visually arresting birds in Britain. It is not only the boldness of their black-and-white design. It is the subtle touches, such as the uppermost wing feathers (technically called tertials), which flash a brilliant azure or turquoise depending on the light.

When magpies fly, they reveal that lovely long, shimmering tail, as well as delicate dark tips to nine white outer-wing feathers. Alas for the species, the voice is similarly arresting, albeit for the wrong reasons. The machine-gun rattle is distinctive, yet supremely unmusical. It is invariably described as chattering and one nice detail is that the sound gave the bird its Italian name — gazza — which, in turn, was believed by some to be the source for our word gazette, the gossipy broadsheet for the chattering classes.

It is not only that grating racket that leads some to dislike magpies, but the same issue that condemns many of the others in our Unloved Birds’ Club: their robust prosperity in modern suburban Britain.

Magpies have had a great half century and more than doubled their numbers since the 1960s, with the national total put at 610,000 pairs. It should be said that the increases followed centuries of persecution and it is from an old suppressed place that the species has rebounded.

The recovery was also underway from the early 20th century. However, that increase has closely mirrored declines in many of our most wonderful song-birds: house martins, willow and marsh tits, nightingales, mistle and song thrushes, to name only a few. The tendency is to make this link causative — to assume that thrushes have gone because magpies have flourished.

It is indubitably the case that magpies are nest predators, taking the eggs and young of other songbirds. It is equally true that seeing magpies rip apart a nest and carry away helpless chicks is a visceral, often upsetting experience. Yet the powerful impact of the encounter doesn’t equate to a principle of ecology. No matter how offensive it might be, it is not proof that magpies are the key reason for declines in other species.

Firstly, we have to admit that the magpie doesn’t come to us with a clean moral sheet. Centuries of superstitions cast the bird as a villain or as an omen of ill fortune. The ‘one for sorrow’ rhyme once known to every school-child is only the tip of a folkloric iceberg.

Another common notion is that magpies are habitual thieves. These ancient ideas freight the species with negative associations and place it in the frame as a scapegoat. However, the main allowance we have to make for magpies derives not from an admission of our past superstitions, but from our acceptance of the facts. There have been several studies demonstrating how songbirds flourish in precisely the places where magpies have themselves done well.

One of those studies was completed at the GWCT’s research and demonstration farm at Loddington, Leicestershire. It looked at the effects of three predatory species and concluded that ‘there is no convincing evidence of an impact of these corvids on songbird breeding abundance. The evidence indicates that songbird populations are resilient to predation’.

In short, songbirds have many young, including several broods in a season and, although many might be lost, including some to magpies, the overall total is sustained. If such evidence doesn’t exonerate magpies in totality, it does indisputably illustrate a central principle that is so often a casualty in these bird disputes. Working out the ecology of British Nature, where thousands of species are interconnected, is enormously difficult. Following a single linear path through it and finding simple, sometimes simplistic, answers to enormously complex questions might be tempting. However, it is not the same as the truth.

When all this is said, it doesn’t mean those who dislike the corvid with the jaunty swagger and the rattling voice will find a way to love it. Equally, those who cherish magpies for their beauty and resilience won’t condemn the bird for eating thrushes occasionally. This, after all, is life. It is we, ultimately, who have to learn to live with one another, just as, in Nature, magpies live alongside garden thrushes.

This feature originally appeared in the July 29, 2026, print edition of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.