THE tell-tale feathers were by my garden gate the other day. A sparrow hawk had swooped and seized a blackbird. Was I upset? Yes. And angry? No.

In the great raptor debate – are they killing off our garden birds and should their protection be removed? – I appear today for the raptors. Allow me to speak up for them.

First, let’s take the concept of “garden birds”. Until relatively modern times, this was virtually unknown. The species we consider garden birds – finches, tits, thrushes etc – were farmland birds. To gain an idea of just how abundant they were, here’s a quote from 1878, taken almost at random from the great naturalist-writer Richard Jefferies: “Along the hedgerows as evening approaches, the blackbirds announce their presence. Their ‘ching-chinging’ call is everywhere. The dusky shadows darkening the fields send them to roost...”

Not just an occasional blackbird but virtually a flock. Scores of such references can be found in Jefferies. Today, of course, farmland birds are scarce. You can’t blame farmers.

Though some practices fateful to birds, like the too early and too frequent mowing of grass, might well be moderated, the inefficiencies of the farming that supported an abundance of birds – crops plagued with insects, grain left in the fields and spilt here and there – wouldn’t be acceptable now. Jefferies himself states that the losses to farmers from the flocks of sparrows must have been considerable.

Thankfully many of the birds displaced by modern farming have found refuge in our gardens. In my garden, wood pigeons are now ever-present, pottering about almost like hens.

Inevitably the raptors follow.

They are part of a system that has evolved over centuries.

When a blackbird (and it usually is a blackbird, and if not a collared dove) falls prey to a sparrow hawk, I comfort myself with the thought that, but for the food put out in my garden and millions of others, blackbirds would be as uncommon in gardens as they are in the open countryside.

In our garden, there’s currently a blackbird that will feed from the hand and gazes expectantly at us through the cat flap – whose two users are too old (18) to respond.

Naturally there was great relief when the latest victim of the local sparrow hawk turned out not to be our delightful almost-pet blackbird. But while not begrudging the hawk his occasional feast, we try to minimise his success rate.

The key is to restrict his opportunity to strike. A feeder out in the open is indeed a killing site. Placed close to a tall hedge, ideally in a corner, it denies the hawk a clear flightpath. Our main feeder is actually hung within a hedge.

If the prime consideration in siting a feeder is to enjoy a good view of it yourself, then you forfeit the right to protest at the occasional depredations of a hawk. The safety of the birds you aim to attract, and thereby help survive, should come first. A sparrow hawk will still succeed often enough to ensure his own survival.

A well-balanced environment will support a full range of bird life. The real worry is that, without the legions of us who now feed our “garden birds” there would soon be very few birds anywhere.

But it wouldn’t be predators pushing them to extinction.