Icon of a British Christmas: Robins (Erithacus rubecula) and all I know about them.

 As the season rolls around, and I expect to get this blog online at some point during the festive period, probably, with my inevitable tardiness, around St Stephen’s Day or New Years, attention inevitably turns to a bird which to many in Britain (though not, perhaps, elsewhere) is something of a spirit of Christmas. The gardener’s friend, the European Robin (Erithacus rubecula).

A Robin singing in an English winter.

Robins are a regular feature of my parents’ Essex garden, hopping endearingly out from underneath the hedge to enjoy the seeds and mealworms left out for them. They are noted for following gardeners as they turn the soil, grabbing what unlucky worms and leatherjackets may be turned out, a practice they may have learned from following Wild Boar when those beasts roamed the Wildwood. On the continent, where humans have been perhaps less kind to small birds down the years, they still do this. However Robins have developed something of a special and unique relationship with humans, or perhaps specifically with the British. At my local RSPB reserve, Robins appear eagerly from the bushes for passing photographers, hoping to be paid in mealworms or cheese for their modelling services. When my father was recovering from illness a few years ago, he took some comfort in sitting on the patio, and enjoyed the company of our breeding pair of Robins and their offspring during the summer. He gained their confidence such that he could hold out a hand with a few sunflower seeds or dried mealworms in, and they would come and perch on it. This communion with nature contributed to his sense of wellbeing, when his family were often out at work and University, contributing in a small but life-affirming way to his recovery, and contributing greatly to my admiration for these charming little hedge birds.   More recently, when Dad put mealworms inside the shed for the robins, they learned to use a small hole he cut above the shed door to access this food supply, while the magpies and carrion crows were effectively excluded, though these bigger birds found rich pickings under the bird feeders still. They can be incredibly confiding, nesting openly in window boxes and even in sheds and garages, perhaps taking advantage of many of their predators natural and justified shyness of people.  In British gardens, at least, ones managed with few chemicals and not to be sterile lawns, they thrive in part because of, rather than despite human interactions.  While we have no ‘official’ national bird, robins were voted Britain’s favourite bird, in polls in the 1960s and the 2010s.

Robins are of course, present all year round, although the UK population swells somewhat in winter as the species undertakes a partial migration, with birds from Scandinavia pouring out to the South and West to escape the bitter arctic winter. Some, but by no means all, of the British breeding population cross the channel to France and the Mediterranean.  The oft-repeated question of whether the Robin in your garden in Summer is the same robin in your garden in winter is one which has yet to be conclusively answered, despite some sources leaning heavily in one direction or other. The best answer seems to be they may or may not be the same individual, perhaps depending on where you live. Certainly, plenty do move into the country in the Autumn, my friend Dave Roche, assistant warden at the Dungeness Bird Observatory, recalling seeing many exhausted Robins perched on the sea wall by the Power Station of a cold Autumn morning, having crossed the channel by night in search of more amenable weather conditions.

When I worked for the HOS in Southern Greece during the summer of 2011, Robins appeared with the other migrants such as blackcaps as the weather turned to Autumn, but always kept their distance from us, retreating into deep cover like all the other passerines as we passed. Although they were frequently in our ringing nets on the Island of Antikythera in the Aegean in the Autumn of 2019, I don’t recall ever seeing the shy, continental Robins out in the open, even as Wheatears and Whinchats, distant relatives of the European robin adapted for sparser habitats, would watch us from their rocky perches.  On the continent, robins have been hunted as a source of food for centuries, a practice which continues, mostly highly illegally, in places like France and Cyprus, an enraging anathema to British birders like myself.  The British have long taken a warmer view of this species, perhaps influenced by tales of Robins giving comfort to Christ when he was dying on the cross, their chests becoming stained with the blood of God, or of delivering water to tormented souls in hell, scorching their chests on their way, and it has never really been exploited in the way it has in other places, even when wild birds were still regarded as a source of food here.  In some countries, the Black Redstart, another member of the chat family, and not the Robin, is the archetypal confiding garden bird.

While friends of humans, and very much loved, Robins have a feisty side to their nature. They are famously territorial, their sweet summer and solemn winter song a warning to conspecifics not to infringe on their territories. Intraspecific fighting is a significant cause of mortality, especially for young birds, in parts of their range. My impression is of fights not usually being to the death, indeed, to waste so much of your population in this way hardly makes evolutionary sense, and while the fights are energetically expensive, they do typically end with one bird retreating to seek territory elsewhere. They breed several times in a summer, and are dedicated parents, with adults of both sexes actively provisioning the chicks in the nest. The sexes are indistinguishable, even in hand, and both males and females sing and hold territory. They are one of the few birds to sing in winter, albeit a more subdued version of their distinctive and beautiful song.

While they have long been associated with Christianity and the church, perhaps building on earlier associations in Norse mythology, their association with Christmas is much younger, and probably related to their association with the Royal Mail, whose red jackets recalled Robins’ breasts, and this led to their depiction on Christmas cards. Nevertheless they have become strongly associated with the season, and perhaps this is appropriate. Their habit of singing through the winter makes them among the most obvious of small winter birds. Cold snaps can make many birds more confiding, and Robins are no exception, as they take advantage of the shelter and microclimates, and our cultivated berry bearing plants, of our gardens to feed.  I love Robins, and a day out birdwatching in the field still feels incomplete unless I have added one to my list, whenever I am out and about in a place where they occur.

Unlike many species of birds in Britain and Europe, the Robin seems to still be undergoing a small population expansion, and the IUCN thankfully considers it of Least Concern. With seven million breeding pairs, the RSPB places the species on its Green List.  In Britain it occurs everywhere except the coldest and remotest uplands and islands, and it breeds across Europe from the Urals to Iberia, though of course its habits, migratory patterns and confiding nature are not consistent throughout its range. And I think, a small hedgerow bird of unusual confidence around humans in these islands, and a cheery splash of colour on the gloomiest, figuratively or literally, of days, it deserves all the love and admiration it gets.  So do offer them nest boxes, they like a low, open fronted box, and do feed them, they have in recent years learned to feed from hanging bird feeders in many areas, despite typically being ground feeders, and perhaps, on a reserve where they are already confident, or in your garden if you have the time and patience to invest in gaining their confidence, try dried mealworm, sunflower hearts or even a little crumb of cheese on your hand, and perhaps this magic little bird will bless you with an unforgettable close encounter.