11. Cockchafer

Cockchafers announce themselves long before you see them. On warm May evenings, they buzz through the air with a clumsy, unmistakable sound — somewhere between a drone and a rattle — as though they’re flying on borrowed parts. They’re big beetles, about three centimetres long, with chestnut wing cases and fan-shaped antennae that look almost comical until you notice how delicate they are.

They spend most of their lives unseen. The larvae — known as “white grubs” — live underground for three or four years, feeding on plant roots. Only when they finally emerge as adults do they take to the air, usually just for a few weeks. Their flight season is short and intense: May into June, mostly at dusk and after dark.

At night they’re drawn to light, often crashing noisily into windows, porch lamps or, these days, car headlights. Their size makes them look alarming, but they’re harmless — they don’t sting or bite, just blunder about, feeding on leaves until it’s time to mate and start the cycle again.

Bats, owls and hedgehogs depend on them as a rich, seasonal feast, and their larvae help to break down dead roots and recycle nutrients in the soil. Everything about them belongs to the dark — from the years spent underground to their brief, clattering summers in the night air.

When I hear that droning flight on a still evening, I can’t help smiling. The countryside sounds different when the cockchafers are up — more alive, slightly chaotic, but full of energy. They remind me that night isn’t all silence and calm. Sometimes it buzzes, blunders, and hums with life that’s been waiting years just for this one season in the dark.