The collective word for a gathering of skylarks is an exaltation.We could equally apply exhileration,enchantment,celebration and so on for this supberb songster.

I'm in the verdant wide open spaces of Richmond park on a warm June afternoon hoping to hear larks but at the moment none are singing.High above swifts wheel and speed among the aerial plankton while jackdaws 'chak-chak' around the wooded margins.

Suddenly,the clouds break and the sun blazes forth triggering as if by magic,a symphony of larks ascending.There are about eight birds around me rising slowly until almost lost to view,their exuberant silvery music drifting earthwards without a pause at the incredible rate of 200 notes per second while one bird sings in the grass a short distance away.

As the sun continues to shine most of the larks remain aloft singing for several minutes before slowly parachuting down,wings quivering, until when just a few feet above ground they plunge into the grass.

Although we can't see it happen,directly the birds reach the ground they will run along for several metres to their concealed nests,the intention being to fool any watching predators expecting to pounce on the larks where they land.

Exactly one hundred years ago,soldiers suffering privation and fear in the trenches of Flanders fields penned poignant poetry and prose about the skylark as it flew and sang high amid the deafening sounds of battle.

For me,the glorious song is so brim-full of nostalgia linked to the time that I first heard skylarks at the impressionable age of five and to listen again now so close to the hustle and buatle of London is a privilege indeed.