Page 79 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
I follow his gaze. ‘Oh yes, so there are. Do you know what sort they are?’
Robin and I spend the next twenty minutes watching the birds feed from the table and the hanging feeders. I get one of Evelyn’s bird books out for him and he happily sits, spotting the birds and referencing them to his book.
It’s unusual to see this many birds feeding so late in the day, but I’m pleased they’ve come so Robin can see them, and so that it keeps him amused for a while.
‘You see that one with the red tummy,’ I say, pointing to a robin bobbing around on the grass, feeding from the food that some of the other birds had knocked to the ground. ‘He has the same name as you.’
Robin looks eagerly at his namesake. ‘I know. I’ve seen him on some of the Christmas cards my mum gets. I like him. He’s funny.’
‘He sings really loudly too,’ I tell him. ‘Quite often at night and first thing in the morning if he goes to the top of one of the trees.’
Robin gets up from the armchair and walks slowly towards the window, and to my amazement after a few seconds the robin flies across towards the little patio in front of the windows and lands on the other side of the glass in front of him.
‘I think he wants to talk to me,’ Robin says and he reaches for the handle of the door.
‘No, don’t—’ I begin to say, but it’s too late, the robin immediately flies up to the top of one of the large fir trees that line the back of the garden before Robin can even open the door.
‘I scared him,’ Robin says sadly, turning away from thewindow and coming back to sit next to me on the sofa. ‘He didn’t like me.’
‘It’s not that he didn’t like you. He came across specially to see you. I’ve never seen him do that before.’
‘Really?’ Robin asks, looking up at me.
‘Yes, really.’
‘Then why did he fly away?’
‘Perhaps you scared him just a little bit. He probably wasn’t expecting you to open the door.’
‘Will he come back?’
‘He might do. Let’s just wait and see.’
‘Did you scare the vicar?’ Robin asks suddenly, catching me unawares. ‘Is that why he left too?’
‘Er . . . perhaps I did scare him?’ I reply truthfully. ‘That might explain why he left so suddenly. Maybe I opened the door a little too quickly as well.’
‘Which birds do you like the best?’ Robin asks, already accepting my answer while I’m still considering how right he could be.
‘Gosh, I don’t know, they’re all interesting in their own way.’
‘Tell me about them,’ Robin asks, and I feel him snuggle into my side a little.
I’m touched. I haven’t had a child push into me for a cuddle since Hannah and Matt were small. I put my arm around him and try to recall all the birds that come to the garden.
‘Hmm . . . like I said, our friend the robin is pretty to look at, and he sings beautifully. But he doesn’t like sharing the food, and sometimes he tries to chase the other birds away.’
‘Even when they’re bigger than him?’ Robin asks.
‘Yes, even when they’re bigger – he’s a brave little bird. Sometimes a thrush comes and sings at the top of the treeslike the robin does. He has a really loud song, but I never see him on the bird table feeding with the others.’
‘Where does he get his food from, then?’ Robin asks.
‘I expect he forages for berries and worms and insects. Not all birds will feed from a table. Now let’s see, the blackbirds are friendly and quite brave, a bit like the robin; they will sometimes come when I’m putting the food out in the mornings and sit and watch me. The blue tits are very pretty and sometimes they hang upside down on the feeders to get food – they’re like little yellow and blue gymnasts.’
‘I would like to see them,’ Robin says, ‘they sound funny.’
‘Yes, they are; maybe one will come in a minute if we’re lucky. Sparrows are a bit like blue tits, only not as colourful – they have their own little characters as well. The starlings are noisy birds, and they always come in gangs all at once. The pigeons and the doves are not as clever as some of the other birds; they can be a bit silly. But they’re interesting to watch. Sometimes I get a couple of jackdaws come to feed – they were wary of me to begin with. But they’re very clever birds and now they’re used to me feeding them, they come as soon as I put the food out. Oh, and there’s a pretty little bird called a chaffinch – he’s a pinkie colour, and he only seems to come when all the other birds have gone and the table is almost empty.’
