Simon Mitchell - The Song of Robin Redbreast (Erithacus rubecula)

When Nature provides you with just what you are looking for – this is ‘synchronicity’ in action. I was completing an illustrated version of one of my ebooks ‘The Adventure of Arthur’ and was short of some good pictures of a Robin – who is a
sort of ‘guide’ in this story – called ‘Follow the Robin’. I had used a scanned Christmas card ‘at a pinch’ for this image and – well it just sort of spoiled the ebook. With this in the back of my mind I set off on a walk with my camera.

The Song of Robin Redbreast (Erithacus rubecula)

I went to a place downriver where there are no buildings, no sound of cars, no people. It’s a place ‘out of time’ where you can shift between centuries and just ‘be there’ at any time as it has remained essentially unchanged for hundreds of years. Ever since I went to view the Cornish solar eclipse of 2000 there it had become one of my 'special places'. The river Fowey forks together just here and then starts to open out into St. Winnow Pool and the valley bottom is secluded by mature mixed woodland on every side.

After taking a couple of photos of ‘light sparkling on the River’, I shut my eyes to take in the sounds – wind in trees, distant sounds of farm animals, the subtle and playful noises of water. After a few moments I heard a fluttering behind me – and opened my eyes to see a Robin perched on top of my camera bag, not even 18 inches away. It stared at me, head cocked, and flew off to a nearby tree to pour out its fantastic song just above my head. I saw another one, slightly smaller, hopping about nearby, shyer than her mate.

I took the camera from the bag and hung it round my neck. The tiny bird was just within zoom reach and I got a couple of shots of it singing. ‘How lucky am I’? I thought. Just the pics I need. After a few minutes the bird stopped its beautiful song, and flew off to another tree nearby where it started ‘clucking’. A sort of ‘tick tick’ noise like a fisherman’s reel. Robins make this kind of noise sometimes too. I wished I had some seeds or breadcrumbs to tempt it closer, but I had taken no food with me. I clucked back to my best ability, matching its noises as best I could without a Robin beak or larynx (do they have larynxes ? )

When it clucked once, I did. Then twice. Then three times, altering the intervals between clucks like the bird. It hopped nearer and nearer. Looking at me from various positions. And then it flew over and actually stood on my knee. Very carefully I lifted the camera and turned it on, hoping the little electronic noises wouldn’t scare it. It stayed and I got a wonderful close-up.

But then it started ‘posing’. You’re not going to believe this but it moved its head around like a top model – giving me angles from the left and right and front, staying right there on my knee for what seemed like a few minutes. I know it sounds like an ‘anthromorphic projection’ (where humans invest animals and nature with their own ‘motivations’, which really annoys me sometimes) – but that is really what it seemed like. It’s like this Robin really wanted to be published - and now it is !

Even days later I feel so rewarded with this intimate connection with a wild animal – and I just had to share it with you.

So I have to go back there with a gift for this friendly Robin and his mate. I wondered what do Robins eat and stuff. What would make a good gift for this friendly creature, perhaps the best-loved of all birds with its sweet but slightly melancholy song ?

I dug out 'British Nesting Birds', my 1910 edition by W. Percival Westell (author of 'Nature Stalking for Boys'). This bird has loads of common names: Bobbie, Bob, Bobrobin, Brow-Rhuddyn (Welsh), Robinet, Ruddock and Tommi-Liden amongst them. WP Westell tells me they eat worms, earwigs, butterflies, larvae, spiders, daddy-long-legs and will take scraps in Winter. They make their nests from moss, dead leaves, stalks of plants with a neat lining of roots, hair, or wool.

There’s my answer. Some soft, washed wool for the Robin to line its nest for the coming brood - but not red !

Later on I returned.

I could hear the Robin some way off in the trees and couldn't seem to attract it by 'clucking'. So I tried to contact the bird with a technique I had read about where you push a picture into an animal's mind through its third eye. I sent it pictures of a little nest with five eggs, all cosy with the newly cut bits of woolly jumper I had brought with me.

Within a minute I heard the whir of wings and the Robin was standing on the end of the bench where I sat. I slowly raised my arm and dropped one of the wool pieces down near the bird. There was no communication as such but I gained a strong impression I was being scolded. Here follows a rough translation of what I believe the bird replied: Robin posing?

"Take yer stupid peices of wool home with you, that's the last thing we need round here. The moss here is fantastic, it is soft, there's loads of it and has much better water draining qualities than them soggy bits of cloth. If I use those the damp will rot my chicks in the nest. Fat lot you know. If you really want to make friends go and get me some fat juicy worms and bring them here."

I checked the moss. Because of the clean air here, there is loads of moss and lichen for lining nests. It was certainly much less likely to get damp than my wool. Suitably chastised I returned home. I saw several Robins on the way home, they kind of made themselves conspicuous by landing in a tree nearby and starting to sing as I walked by - or was it the same Robin ?

But later, on a mornings gardening with my son, I persuaded him to pick up some worms and save them for an expedition to see the tame Robin that afternoon. The aim was to get the Robin to take a worm from his hand, which in his words would be 'cool'. a whole can of worms

We sat there for about 45 minutes, making Robin clucking noises but I could see his attention was wearing thin. He listened to the bird song and we identified a pheasant, several other Robin songs from over the river, the exciting cry of a hunting buzzard and some other bird I couldn't identify that makes a noise like 'Michupichu - Michupichu' ! We decided to 'set the worms free' and headed into the copse behind us to find non-salty soil above the highest tide mark and placed them down where they could wriggle back into the earth.

It was then I saw the Robin, high up in one of the trees. Three Robins. I sat down next to the worms and stage whispered to Wills "Walk over here and sit down quietly". But it was too late. Quick as a flash of bright red the Robin swooped in and bit off one end of one of the worms, fluttering back up to a nearby tree. Wills sat down next to me and we picked up a worm each and held it out. The Robin fluttered around from bush to bush, keeping a beady eye on us at all times. Then it flew from a bush, landed on my son's head for a moment, and flew off to another one.

It came closer as we stretched out our worms for the taking but just then two large dogs ran through the copse, breaking the moment. It was Mel with her daughters, Emily and Hazel, out walking the dogs. Wills was glad to find some people his own age to play with and we went back to Mel's house for a cup of tea.

I found out later that worms aren't really a great favourite with Robins.