conceals a hefty build, though, as a wren may weigh as much as 10 grams (⅓ oz), about twice that of the slender goldcrest.
As with so many small and elusive birds, by far the best way to discover wrens is by listening for their sound. The male wren utters the most extraordinary song for a bird so small: a series of very loud notes and phrases, gathering speed and usually featuring a trill, once described as ‘like an opera singer giving her all at the end of the aria’. No other small bird sings quite so loudly! They also have a distinctive, metallic ‘ticking’ call.
Wrens sing mainly in spring, often from a prominent position such as a fence post or the top of a shrub. At this time of year, the male is also very busy, as he has to build as many as half-a-dozen different nests. Known as ‘cock’s nests’, these are carefully inspected by the female before she chooses the best one in which to lay her clutch of five or six tiny eggs. In this way, she tests out the male’s commitment to her, and also picks the nest least likely to be discovered by a passing predator.
Wrens are not only found in gardens. They have colonised a greater range of habitats than any other songbird, including woods, hedgerows, farmyards, moorland, coasts and, most amazingly for a bird with such limited powers of flight, offshore islands. The isolated populations on Scottish islands such as the Hebrides, Shetland, Fair Isle and, most notably, the remote archipelago of St Kilda, have all evolved sufficiently to be considered separate and distinct races of the species. Indeed, the St Kilda wren – darker, larger and even louder than its mainland cousin – has a good claim to be a separate species, which would make it by far Britain’s rarest bird.
The wren’s ability to colonise new places is a legacy of its distant past. In fact, the wren is the only originally North American species to have colonised most of Europe and Asia. Back in its ancestral home, it is known as the ‘winter wren’, to distinguish it from 70 other species, including the cactus, marsh, sedge and canyon wrens.
©Mike Lane/FLPA
A robin in snow – one of the classic images of the British winter.
Without any doubt, the robin is Britain’s favourite bird. No other species – not the cheeky blue tit, the majestic golden eagle or the stately swan – can ever come close to it in the nation’s affections. This is almost certainly because the robin is not only attractive in appearance but also confiding in its habits. Tameness goes hand in hand with the robin, and it is often known as ‘the gardener’s friend’ because it will follow you around as you dig up a flowerbed.
Of course, none of this is designed to win our affections. Robins are tame because they see an easy way to get food: as we turn over the soil, so worms and other small creatures come to the surface – easy pickings for the robin. And what about that beautiful orange-red breast? It may look attractive to us, but to rival robins it is nothing less than war paint, a flash of colour designed to ward off rivals that might take over the incumbent’s territory.
If a rival should dare to intrude into a robin’s space, all hell breaks loose. Robins are pugnacious little creatures and will fight – sometimes to the death – to keep their right to breed in a particular place. They need to: most robins will survive only one or two winters, which means they may get just one chance to breed and pass on their genes to future generations. So this is a life-or-death battle in more ways than one.
Yet, despite their unsocial habits, which in human terms would win them an ASBO, we still love our robins. Its place in folklore is assured, and it is by far the most frequent creature to appear on our Christmas cards – a legacy of the days when the Victorian postmen wore red uniforms and were nicknamed ‘robins’.
A scientist named David Lack, in the middle years of the twentieth century, was the first to discover much of the truth about the robin. Lack had the bright idea of putting different-coloured rings on the legs of the robins in his study area, which meant he could tell individual birds apart from one another. He also conducted a number of radical experiments, such as putting a stuffed robin in another bird’s territory – it was promptly and viciously attacked! Lack wrote a bestselling book, The Life of the Robin, and later made a famous film with the BBC, entitled The Private Life of the Robin, which publicised his work to an audience of millions.
Despite this, several misconceptions remain about this familiar garden bird. One is that it is only the males that have a red breast – in fact, male and female robins are identical, and it is the juvenile birds that appear brown and speckled. Another is that robins behave the same wherever they are – yet continental European robins are a shy bird found mainly in woodlands, rather than gardens.
The robin’s song is among the sweetest and most attractive of all our songbirds: a plaintive series of tuneful phrases, delivered carefully, neither fast nor slow. Understandably, most people assume that only male robins sing, as with other songbirds, yet the female robin will also sing to defend her territory, especially outside the breeding season. Both male and female robins also sing throughout the autumn and winter months – unlike other garden birds, they defend a territory outside the breeding season as well.
Robins are known for nesting in some very unusual places. As well as in shrubberies and climbing plants, they will also take to open-fronted nest boxes, teapots, toilet cisterns, overcoat pockets and even the top of tractor engines!
The robin is not only Britain’s favourite bird; it also has a global legacy. All over the world – especially in places once ruled by the British such as North America, Asia and Africa – all sorts of birds with a reddish or orange breast are given the name ‘robin’, despite having little or no connection with our familiar bird.
©John Hawkins/FLPA
Close-up, the starling is one of our most handsome garden birds.
Is there any bird with a more contradictory public image than the starling? Hated and vilified for its supposed ‘bullying’ of other smaller birds on our bird tables, the very same species is celebrated for its extraordinary evening flights during winter, when millions of birds gather together in aerobatic displays before going to roost for the night.
We may try to separate these two images in our mind, but they are just two very different aspects of the lives of this much-maligned yet fascinating bird. Even if you don’t like their behaviour as they squabble around your bird table, just take a moment to have a closer look.
The starling may appear black but its plumage is in fact a subtle mixture of glossy blacks, mauves, greens and browns, which in autumn and winter is heavily spotted with white. In spring and summer, the spots mainly disappear to reveal a truly stunning glossy plumage, set off by that bright yellow, dagger-shaped bill.
In late summer, people are often puzzled when they see birds that, although the size and shape of a starling, are a dull brown in colour. These are juvenile birds, which have recently left the safety of the nest and are hanging around with their parents. They always look rather embarrassed at their drab plumage – as well they might.
Although starlings may have some pretty antisocial habits, they are also fascinating to watch as they jostle for position on a bird table, often uttering little calls as if scolding their companions. In some ways they are a bit like us: sociable, noisy and a bit messy. Perhaps
