I hear them but invariably don’t spot them without a bit of patience. And when they do pop up into view they are soon dashing off. So annoying.
‘Ever so sorry mate, must fly – got another meal waiting.’
That’s the problem with being so tiny. Breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner needs to be eaten around the clock in daylight hours or you conk out.
Such is the frenetic life of the Wren, one of the tiniest birds in Britain. Only the Goldcrest and Firecrest are smaller.
When it is not hopping around on the ground or deep in bushes, a singing Wren will briefly pose on a branch or a fence and reveal it is not just ‘a little brown job’ but is intricately patterned across the body, wings and tail with fine, black barring.
A crème eye stripe, cocked tail, fine thin bill and long pink legs complete the picture and it would be difficult to confuse it with anything else.
If this species’ widespread presence in and around Cranleigh is anything to go by then eating like there could be no tomorrow seems to be paying off handsomely.
I consider it our most common bird. It can be found on commons and heathlands, in gardens and hedges, in undergrowth alongside streams, fields, hedges and roadsides, ‘Careful with that axe (or strimmer), Eugene!’
They may weigh just ten grams – little more than a two pence piece – and measure only around nine centimetres long, but they pack a powerful punch.
Their Spring song seems to continue all year and in the days when a trudge over apparently bird-free terrain saps the soul there is one song that carries on. Good old Wren. Never giving up. ‘It might be freezing – but I’m still standing!’
The Wren’s song is a pretty three to five second burst of high-pitched musical trills, sung so fast it is impossible to differentiate the individual notes.
Perhaps that is no surprise because I’m told its vocal output adds up to an astonishing 740 notes a minute.
For the bird’s size, the song is also one of the loudest and can often still be heard above the constant noise intrusion we get from Gatwick and Heathrow aircraft.
As the Wren belts out its spirit lifting music in even the harshest weather it reminds us there are birds out there in the vegetation, even if we cannot see them.
It punches above its weight in all directions. Its Latin name is one of the longest and best – Troglodytes troglodytes. Note the repetition just in case you were unsure.
The term ‘troglodyte’ can also refer to a member of an ancient race who lived in caves or holes. It derives from a Greek word for ‘hole, mouse hole’ and also in ‘go in, dive in.’
Wrens are extremely territorial and when rattled by intruders they respond with their own scolding call, described as a rattling ‘zerr.’
But, when a winter freeze threatens their survival, they are forced to think big and they welcome rivals as feathered friends. Down a hole. Dozens have been known to cram into a nest box to keep warm while roosting for the night. Pity the birds at the bottom.
So that nest box now being – hopefully – occupied by Blue Tits or Great Tits in your garden could be doing a bigger job than you realise.
