I’m currently reading the Ladybird Book of British Birds and their nests from the 1950s. Times have changed:
The Wren is our smallest common bird. It is only three-and-a-half inches long and weighs only one-third of an ounce, which is about the same weight as an ordinary envelope and a sheet of notepaper.
Apart from inches and ounces having been consigned to history, which child now uses envelopes and notepaper and knows how much they weigh? Maybe just by writing to Santa once a year?
Wrens like to live in gardens near houses…
They certainly like to live in mine.
…(as well as in the country), and run up and down the tree trunks, banks and walls, looking like little mice, and stopping every now and then to sing their cheerful, shrill little songs.
Here’s one from this summer:
I wrote a blog all about it:
It certainly loved to sing its ‘cheerful, shrill little songs’.
And then I found it on my front doorstep courtesy of a local cat.
Everyone who loves domestic cats should make sure they are neutered and have a bell on their collar.
When I was twelve years old I was very excited to see a Wren. I drew it with pencil and pencil crayons:
Here’s my blog about the Wren in my childhood nature notebooks:
Wrens are special for me because one nested in the back garden of my house, Einar, on the island of Westray in Orkney. It had been attacked and badly injured and carried on feeding its family. Read the full emotional story here:
Its injuries? I suspect a cat did it.