Western Morning News (Saturday)
Festive robin delivers Christmas cheer
A tame robin that feeds from the hand has become a faithful garden companion – for the second Christmas in a row, writes Charlie Elder
What better company at Christmas than a robin – the cheery little character that adorns our festive cards. At this time of year the image of a rotund red-breasted robin graces snowy scenes on mantelpieces across the land.
Voted our favourite national bird, it is a fitting species given its popularity, confident nature and abundance – and I am fortunate to have my very own Christmas robin, a tame garden resident that feeds from the hand.
I first met this particular robin a year ago when putting out food for the birds, and by extending the hand of friendship (albeit one filled with seed mix) it has remained a faithful garden companion ever since.
It took a fortnight to win its confidence at the start, but I felt sure it would inevitably become more trusting as it seemed such a bold individual, making itself known as I topped up the bird table, perching on the wooden slats almost as soon as I laid out dawn offerings.
By nature, robins shadow animals that disturb the soil and expose invertebrates – whether wild boar or gardeners – so are one of our most approachable birds.
At first I rested my upturned hand next to the seed as it fed on the table. Once it became used to this, I filled my palm with titbits, from which it snatched the odd morsel. Finally, the only food to be had was that which I held out – and following a few nervous flypasts it plucked up courage and alighted.
In the past I have hand-fed robins that grab and dash, but this one steps forward to the centre of my palm and calmly eats its fill, picking sunflower kernels from the pile one at a time, dark pupils watching me and toes thin as fuse wire splayed on my outstretched fingers.
Last winter I fed it every day by hand, leaving plenty of food for other avian visitors, and as spring 2020 arrived this companion during the coronavirus lockdown even helped lift spirits by singing from branches as it waited for me to walk from the back door to the bird table at the end of the garden every morning.
Although the sexes look alike and both sing through the winter, it is the males that become lead vocalists during the breeding season. One morning in March he paused while feeding to listen to a distant rival, puffed up his chest in territorial defiance and burst into song. Throat quivering, cascades of sweet notes poured from his gaping beak, my fingers his songpost.
It was certainly worth all the daily deliveries for this special honour – the enchanting moment a wild bird sang from my hand.
During late spring and summer I stopped feeding him and the other birds. There is plenty of natural food at this time of year, which is best for raising chicks. But come the autumn I started up again and, while a little wary at first, the robin got back into the habit of hand feeding and has done so ever since, treating my palm as its own exclusive bird table.
I have been asked whether I can be sure it is the same robin. Well, as sure as I can be. He has some distinctive plumage quirks, though these are not always a reliable way to distinguish individuals over the course of a year as birds moult and replace feathers. However, the
familiar approach he takes using certain branches, the side of the hand he always alights on, the seeds he favours and the fact that he is in no hurry to depart all point to it being the same one.
It is hard not to like robins, given their perky character, tameness, delightful song and endearing looks. In a 2015 poll to choose the UK’s national bird the robin comfortably came top, attracting more than a third of the votes cast. However, the robin is far from good-natured towards rivals when it comes to defending the precious territory upon which it depends for its survival and breeding success. If angry calls and puffing up the red chest fail to deter an intruder it will resort to full-on assault, with one in ten bouts ending in a fatality.
When the red mist descends it will even attack anything of that colour – including stuffed robin toys and bunches of red feathers! Its breast colouring is perhaps more orange than red, however the word ‘orange’ did not enter our language as a colour description until the mid-1500s following the earlier introduction of the fruit (before which the colour was described in Old English as ‘yellow-red’) and the historic term ‘redbreast’ has stuck.
They have appealing large dark eyes and their good eyesight means they can be up and singing before sunrise and even after dusk by the light of street lamps, when they may be mistaken for summer-visiting nightingales. Significantly they are one of only a few birds that sing in winter – when females also hold their own territories.
As plump looking as Father Christmas with a chest as bright as a segment of clementine, the photogenic robin has rightly become a chirpy emblem of Christmas – always looking particularly fetching in images on a snow-laden bough.
The fact that it takes pride of place on Christmas cards and stamps is believed to originate from Victorian times when postmen wore red jackets and were nicknamed ‘robins’, the bird gradually becoming associated with the delivery of festive cheer.
Given they can live for a few years it could be that my robin keeps me company for a few more Christmases – though it will be me playing the postman and delivering the festive treats. Still, a daily handful of seeds seems a small price to pay for the pleasure he brings – my garden gift that keeps on giving.