Robins, Christmas, and longevity

It’s the time of year when we buy, and send, Christmas cards and there is a wide selection to choose from. A common subject is the European robin (Erithacus rubecula), that first appeared on cards in Victorian times and which achieved popularity by association, postmen of the time wearing red coats [1, 2]. Those of us with long memories remember the pleasure that letters from loved ones could provide, with the postman/postwoman as the agent of that pleasure. Their visit was sometimes keenly anticipated.

Robins have been named by UK residents as our favourite bird. They appear to be friendly, approaching close by when we are gardening, and we enjoy the idea that “our” robin comes back each year to maintain the friendship. However, their interest is opportunistic, as they are looking for food that gets turned up, rather than wishing to make contact with us, and the friendly bird we know year on year is not always the same one. Although a robin has been recorded to live for 11 years, most die within a “couple of years” [3], and, for some reason, cards with images of dead robins (and other small birds) were popular in Victorian times (see below for a well-known example).

Robins are unusual in holding of a territory throughout the year, with a male and female sharing a territory during the breeding season [4]. Territories are defended by singing and, if necessary, by fighting, and the scene shown on at least one design of Christmas card is very unlikely, as adult robins in such close proximity would certainly result in challenges that could lead to death of a participant in a fight.

The life of robins set me thinking about longevity in birds of various species and I found two interesting papers on the subject that use data from ringed wild bird populations. Placing rings on birds’ legs enables recorders to determine their range, and the distances that they fly, and, understandably, there are more records for common short-lived birds than for less common long-lived birds [5]. Nevertheless, Lindstedt and Calder showed a positive correlation between longevity and body mass of birds of a wide range of species in North America. They further showed that, on average, captive birds lived longer than wild birds, the latter facing greater challenges in finding food and coping with climatic conditions. The longest-lived wild bird (recorded at 37 years) is an albatross [6], with a captive cockatoo living for 80+ years, although the records for many large wild birds are likely to be eclipsed once we have more ringing returns.

A further study by Sæther [7] confirmed the positive relationship between survival rate and body mass in natural populations of European birds, so it is no surprise that the European robin, being a small bird, is short-lived and produces large numbers of offspring to compensate for this mortality rate: larger birds, on the whole, are likely to produce fewer offspring. Perhaps Victorian Christmas card designers knew more about the mortality of robins than most of us do today?

 

[1] https://leedsunilibrary.wordpress.com/2021/12/15/the-changing-styles-of-christmas-cards-from-the-victorian-age-to-the-early-20th-century/

[2] https://scottishwildlifetrust.org.uk/2019/12/why-do-we-associate-robins-with-christmas/

[3] https://www.rspb.org.uk/birds-and-wildlife/wildlife-guides/bird-a-z/robin/threats/

[4] https://www.rspb.org.uk/birds-and-wildlife/wildlife-guides/bird-a-z/robin/territory/

[5] Stan L. Lindstedt and William A. Calder (1976) Body size and longevity in birds. The Condor 78: 91-94.

[6] https://web.stanford.edu/group/stanfordbirds/text/essays/How_Long.html

[7] Bernt-Erik Sæther (1989) Survival rates in relation to body weight in European birds. Ornis Scandinavica 20: 13-21.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Celebrating Christmas

The celebration of Christ’s birth has been superimposed on a winter solstice festival and many of the familiar features we know today were added in the 19th Century. As a result of this pagan origin, some Christians refuse to celebrate Christmas, with all its familiar foods and decorations. Historically, Philip Henry Gosse, the distinguished Victorian Natural Historian and member of the Brethren, was probably the most famous of these objectors. In Father and Son, Edmund Gosse describes how his father reacted when discovering a plum pudding in the house in St Marychurch [1]:

On Christmas Day.. ..1857 our villa saw a very unusual sight. My Father had given strictest charge that no difference whatever was to be made in our meals on that day; the dinner was to be neither more copious than usual nor less so. He was obeyed, but the servants, secretly rebellious, made a small plum-pudding for themselves.. ..Early in the afternoon, the maids.. ..kindly remarked that ‘the poor dear child ought to have a bit, anyhow’, and wheedled me into the kitchen, where I ate a piece of plum-pudding. Shortly I began to feel that pain inside which in my frail state was inevitable, and my conscience smote me violently. At length I could bear my spiritual anguish no longer, and bursting into the study I called out: ‘Oh! Papa, Papa, I have eaten of flesh offered to idols!’ It took some time, between my sobs, to explain what had happened. Then my Father sternly said: ‘Where is the accursed thing?’ I explained that as much as was left of it was still on the kitchen table. He took me by the hand, and ran with me into the midst of the startled servants, seized what remained of the pudding, and with the plate in one hand and me still tight in the other, ran till we reached the dust-heap, when he flung the idolatrous confectionery on to the middle of the ashes, and then raked it deep down into the mass..

A rather extreme reaction, although Ann Thwaite, the biographer of both Henry and Edmund Gosse, warns us that Edmund was prone to inaccuracy and that the story may be exaggerated. However, Dr Thwaite writes that she “really want(s) to believe the story of the plum pudding being flung onto the dust heap” [2] and it is a splendid piece of storytelling by Edmund. Henry Gosse, a warm and wonderful man in many ways, is cast in a very stern light and he was certainly inflexible on matters of religious belief. He would never compromise and this eventually led to the breakdown of his relationship with Edmund, something that pained them both.

Like Edmund Gosse, I was brought up in a Christian household in Torbay, but one that was much less restrictive when it came to Christmas. The build-up began at school, where a Nativity Play was performed by one class during a special assembly (there are no pictures of our play, but a similar event is shown below). Choosing the children for each of the roles must have been taxing for the teachers and there was probably hot competition (in the eyes of some parents, anyway) for the star roles. I was not aware of this, but, when it was our turn in the late 1950s, was chosen to be a King, one of the bigger parts. I wore a blue and red tablecloth, sewn in a complicated way to make armholes, and a turban made from the cut-off crown of one of my mother’s felt hats, to which bright cloth had been stitched. My gift of gold took the form of a brass flower vase, kindly donated by Great Aunt Nell for the occasion. 

A few days later came the school carol service, held in Christ Church Paignton, and then, on the last Sunday before Christmas Day, we attended one in Winner Street Baptist Church where our family worshipped. These services were very enjoyable as the tunes of carols are marvellous and fun could be had by altering some of the words....“While shepherds washed their socks by night....”; etc. I think I’m correct in remembering that there was also a model nativity scene in both churches, with the same characters that we had in the school Nativity Play, although with a few less angels, as so many bit-part actors had to be accommodated in the latter. Henry Gosse would have protested at such idolatry.

When growing up, I had no idea that all the fun of Christmas Day had pagan origins, thinking that everything was part of the celebration of the birth of Christ: how gifts from Kings (Wise Men, Magi) to Jesus became modified into presents from Father Christmas (Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, parents) to me was a mystery. It was the only time in the year when we spent the whole day in the front room and it was decorated with paper streamers of various types, hung from corner to corner and along the walls. Excitement built through Christmas Eve and, very early on the morning of Christmas Day, the most nerve-tingling part was finding one of my mother’s old lisle stockings at the foot of my bed, packed with sweets, toys and with an orange in the toe. At some early hour, the stocking was dragged into my parents' room and Christmas could begin. There was an exchange of presents and we moved downstairs once the coal fires had been lit and the lower part of the house became bearably warm. 

There were new toys to play with and books to read before we had lunch and this was always centred on a large chicken, the only time we ate a bird during the year. In addition, there were roast potatoes, Brussels sprouts, bread sauce, stuffing, and gravy but, of course, no alcoholic drinks This feast was followed by the plum pudding that was brought to the table fresh from the steamer. It was a family tradition that the plum pudding was always made by Great Aunt Ede sometime in October and we went to collect it just before Christmas. It was made in a china basin, with greaseproof paper and muslin tied tightly around the rim, the ends of the muslin being knotted over the top to form a handle. We never discovered the recipe, but knew that silver threepenny pieces had been buried in it at some point and that finding one of these in a slice of pudding brought luck (clearly, superstitions were allowed in our Christian household). The rest of the day was an anti-climax and we just munched on nuts and chocolate, listened to the Queen’s speech on the radio, and then went back to playing, reading and dozing.

I’m grateful for the happy memories and it was all very different from the way December 25th was spent in the Gosse household a hundred years before. We must have been rather different Christians.

[1] Edmund Gosse (1907) Father and Son. London, William Heinemann Ltd.

[2] Ann Thwaite (2002) Glimpses of the wonderful: The life of Philip Henry Gosse 1810-1888. London, Faber and Faber.