Quails are scarce summer visitors to the UK, and much more likely heard than seen.

The repetitive liquid call is traditionally described as ‘wet-my-lips’, but ‘spit-the-bit’ is perhaps closer.

‘Spit-the-bit’ also sends a message to the human listener. The quail is saying: you’re never going to see me; you might as well give up.

Quails are Europe’s only migratory game bird, and also the smallest. A glimpse might easily be mistaken for a pheasant chick. They rarely show in the open, tucking themselves away in fields, typically crops of beans or wheat, or meadows. Chalk downland is favoured in Britain, with Salisbury Plain having the most reliable populations year after year.

Wherever it is you find one, you may well discover you are in the presence of a skilled ventriloquist.

A calling bird might seem close, then as you move towards it the sound gets no closer.

The first few arrive as early as April. While usually numbering in the low hundreds, in some ‘quail years' thousands may turn up - a relative bonanza, though it’s just a fraction of the millions that summer across continental Europe.

So this is a good one to have in your memory bank as you are walking off the beaten track, in open country, in June or July. Who knows whether you’ll be lucky.

Just don’t expect to see it.