Robins

Top birds, robins. They don't really have red breasts, though, more a shade of dark orange wouldn't you say? And this is their season, of course, entwined as they are into our national psyche as "Christmas card pin-ups", to quote ornithologist David Lindo. 

Back in 2015, Lindo conducted a poll of the British public to establish what we consider to be our favourite birds. 60 species were long-listed, 10 were short-listed, and the clear winner with 33% of votes was the lovely robin, or Erithacus rubecula to give its official Linnaean binomial. (The barn owl came 2nd, blackbird 3rd and wren 4th.)

Lindo then requested David Cameron, who had recently won the 2015 general election, to declare the robin officially Britain's 'national bird' (as many other countries have one), but that never happened. Cameron and his government were totally consumed with infighting and unleashing the disastrous Brexit referendum. Still, until there's another countrywide poll, the robin remains the unofficial national bird, and tomorrow (21st December) is unofficially National Robin Day.  

Erithacus rubecula, Britain's unofficial national bird 

We've enjoyed a riot of robin blogs this week, affectionate and informative portrayals of this iconic little bird. I'm not going to cover that ground again (seek them out on the website). Instead, this is a personal testament.

Robins really are the friendliest of birds, not tame, but brave, inquisitive and trusting. I've known several down the years and in different gardens. They have become almost companionable, especially when I've been turning soil. 

In Bethnal Green in the early 1980s there was a robin would come and stand on the handle of my spade which I left stuck in the ground as I drank a cup of coffee during a gardening break. If I sat still and talked to him quietly, he'd dart down, having spotted a worm or grub, then return to the handle of the spade to enjoy it. I would always throw him a few biscuit crumbs for afters.

When I moved out of London to the Shire of Herts, with larger, greener gardens, robins seemed more numerous. I've been told they're fiercely territorial but I never saw any battles of the 'redbreasts'. Instead they would appear whenever I was working in the garden. It's been suggested that they regard human beings as foraging animals in much the same way that wild boar are. Robins have been observed following wild boar to take advantage of anything that might be turned up. The advantage we have over wild boar, as far as the robins are concerned, is that we are both more widespread (especially in urban areas) and more likely to positively offer tidbits to them.

My Hertfordshire robins would come right down onto the patches of garden I was digging and would take worms off my hand if I proffered them. My cat regularly accompanied me on gardening duty, would just lie and watch, under strict instructions to leave the robins be, and robins and cat co-existed quite peaceably, although she would chase other birds. I've read other instances of this being the case. 

Victorian Christmas card "pin-up"

Where I live now, I don't tend to get robins in my garden as there's not really an expanse of exposed soil, meaning my garden is not of much use to robins. (I get blackbirds, dunnocks, great tits, long-tailed tits and wrens mostly.)

However, when we go walking in the woods of Blackpool's Stanley Park, we usually take a bag of mealworms or seeds with us and quite often the robins will come down and eat out of our hands.  I'm told that this level of trust exhibited by British robins is not generally found in Europe. The difference appears to be that centuries of hunting of small birds on the continent has left them constitutionally wary of human beings. We in this country have been rewarded for our kindlier attitude to our little native birds.

This latest from the imaginarium fast-forwards through the winter months to the flush of a new spring. (I'm not sure about the somewhat jokey title.)

Reliant Robin 

he's flaming in  the new-leafed  tree

proudly puffed  up and  bright eyed

with  fresh-hatched  babies  to  feed

in some  nest  in an old  pot  or shed

should  be foraging  for  juicy  grubs

to take  back  to his speckled  brood

but  he's content  to  watch  and wait

happy  for me to  do  the  spadework

this beautiful spring garden morning

Thanks for reading. Merry Festives, everyone. See you in '26. ;-)

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Robins

Mark Robins scored one of the more iconic goals in his career when he was playing for Manchester United in an away game against Nottingham Forest on the 7th January 1990 in an FA Cup third round tie. It was widely speculated that under-pressure United manager Alex Ferguson would have been sacked had United lost as they were 15th in the league and had been eliminated from the League Cup. Instead, Robins scored the winning goal. Ferguson kept his job and go on to achieve success at the club over the next 23 years. Which is more than enough about Manchester United.

But what about the name Robins? When I was thinking about it I wondered why any family would be named after the plural of a small bird. So, I had a look.

The surname Robins is a name of ancient Anglo-Saxon origin. It is derived from the baptismal name Robin, which was a diminutive of the personal name Robert, and refers to ‘a son of Robin or Robert’. Variations of this name include: Robins, Robyns, Robbins, Robbings, Robbens, Robens and many more.

Surnames weren’t widely used until after the Norman Conquest in 1066. As the country’s population grew and to allow the new King William I to extract the relevant taxation, it became necessary to distinguish between people and so names began to include descriptions of the person, such as Thomas son of John, Peter the Baker, Richard the Whitehead, Mary Webster, etc.

These descriptions would grow to form the surnames we recognise today although they could change over time as a person changed his job. For example, John Blacksmith might become John Farrier as his trade developed. Today there are perhaps as many as 45,000 different English surnames.

That was about as far as I wanted to go on surnames as I had begun then to wonder about the small bird and what was the collective name for them. 

Well, the British Trust for Ornithology (BTO) did a survey in 2011 which found the following: the top three suggestions received were Round, Breast and Blush with Rabble, Bobbin, Red, Squabble, Rash, Hood, Riot and Reliance making up the rest.

I had no idea that there is an annual awareness day for robins. National Robin Day is on the 21st December, created by the charity Songbird Survival in 2016 as a way to raise awareness of not only robins but also all small garden birds who may struggle to survive the cold winter months.

I suspect that this date does not have any relevance to the invention of the Christmas card in 1843. Victorian postmen already wore bright red uniforms and had gained the nickname ‘Robins’. Many Victorian illustrators started to depict robins delivering Christmas cards in their beaks.

Royal Mail vans and post boxes are still painted red due to the original Victorian branding.

Robin Redbreast

Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!
For Summer's nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our Thrushes now are silent,
Our Swallows flown away, —
But Robin's here, in coat of brown,
With ruddy breast-knot gay.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
Robin singing sweetly
In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian Princes,
But soon they'll turn to Ghosts;
The scanty pears and apples
Hang russet on the bough,
It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,
'Twill soon be Winter now.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And welaway! my Robin,
For pinching times are near.

The fireside for the Cricket,
The wheatstack for the Mouse,
When trembling night-winds whistle
And moan all round the house;
The frosty ways like iron,
The branches plumed with snow, —
Alas! in Winter, dead and dark,
Where can poor Robin go?
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
And a crumb of bread for Robin,
His little heart to cheer.

                                       William Allingham

The poem was first published in his collection of poetry, "Day and Night Songs" in 1855.

Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

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