studious robin.Today is what my parent's generation here in South Wiltshire called " Old Christmas Day "
so here is a festive robin to mark the occasion.
This particular robin came and introduced himself as we set up to fish in Poole Harbour, he was rewarded with some crumbs from a sausage roll but he wasn't too interested in the food, he seemed to enjoy company. For three hours or more that we were there he kept returning to hop around near us, watch what we were up to and chill out in the chilly weather.
Fluffing out his feathers against the cold he is intent on learning how to bait up with ragworm by watching how Bruv does it.
It is strange how this little bird has worked his way into the British way of life, when I was a kid we all used to go out bird-nesting, seeking out nests and watching the cycle of building, laying, hatching and flying off; we used to take an egg from a nest to add to our collection, pricking a hole in the shell and using a grass stalk to 'blow' the contents.
No boy ever had a robin's egg in the collection, lore had it that a crooked little finger would be yours for life for such a wicked deed. Other eggs were taken as food, moorhens and coots on the local lake lost many clutches of eggs to hungry boys away from home when hungry, which in the 1950s, was at most hours of the day. Wild food, boiled up in an old OXO tin over a wood fire, scrummy indeed.
No we didn't catch anything.
6 comments:
Whenever working outside it does not take long for the Robin in charge of that patch to become acustomed enough to activity to feel cheeky enough to perch on tools and shoulders.
When I was a kid we knew every food sousce within a five mile radius, and we knew which time of the year to raid them, or exploit the wild ones - every apple and pear tree, hazelnuts (race with RED squirrels for them), sweet chestnuts (only one tree - but a good one, apples, pears (only one orchard - and we had to engage in a military operation for that one), potato fields, carrots, turnips, eggs, tomatos, the occasional chicken (I was the only one with the nerve to get into the henhouse), rabbits, - we were always either hungry or gorged; then there was the fishing - sea fishing was always best (but the occasional trout from the river would do). Nothing like returning home at six in the morning with a carrier bag full of mushrooms and a couple of mackerel for breakfast. We knew which gardens and allotments grew the best gooseberries, raspberries and blackcurrants (they were always military-style raids). Strawberries that really tasted like strawberries - not the shite in Tesco. EVERY food source within five miles. And every one of our prey knew who we were but just couldn't run fast enough to catch us - or know the best hiding places. Considered nicking a piglet a time or two but never got beyond the point of thrashing them with sticks. They don't harf nake a noise.
I also had a schoolboy job in a local bakery - so plenty of fresh bread.
I swear some of us would have starved if we'd had to rely on our mothers. Unless you like jam butties of course. Fire every - every - day either down on the beach or in the woods near the river.
People just don't understand in these days of elfinsafety do they. Today kids like us are considered "Feral" (which I suppose we were) and to be feared - in my day we were to be battered by anyone who caught us.
I reckon life was better in my day - and rural.
Only one orchard for the pears, that is - plenty for apples - but our favourite was the one that grew the cider apples.
I can remember the year in the allotments belonging to the nearest town, one man had spent a whole season nurturing a single prize gooseberry - as big as a golf ball and purple.... I had that one; and very nice it was too ta.
Was a hard judgement to make - several boys knew about it but we wanted it to get big and juicy and sweet - so it had to be left to grow ... but how long before some other little bastard couldn't wait any more and nicked it ... eventually I was the one who cracked - couldn't have got much better anyway, was my judgement.
We've all been there ... haven't we?
Had a robin hanging about on the terrace around Christmas: perfect seasonal cheer. Interesting link about old Christmas: thank you.
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