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opportunely for crumbs of nut. We were about to
witness what my diary records as 'very amusing', but
which we would both now describe as astounding.
One Bluetit became importunate and snatched a piece
of peanut while Sleeky (it had to be imperious
Sleeky) was still feeding. Birds are quick movers,
but what happened next was anything but rapid in
terms of bird action. There was a pause after which
Sleeky turned his head towards the intruder, then back
to eye the food before him. He deliberately selected
a fragment of peanut from the mixture in the clog, and
flung it aside. This could have been coincidental,
but the same operation was enacted time after time
during a minute or more (we whispered an amazed
running commentary throughout), until more than a
dozen pieces had been separately scattered around the
room. After a brief resumption of feeding, the
bird flew away. We could find no peanut fragment
left among the crumbs. We had been astounded, but
the feeling that weighed upon us at the end was quite
different. Nuteaters had been treated with searing
contempt, but we had been rebuked for breaking faith.
Nuts are for Tits, so why had we pandered to them when
our true guests were a pair of Robins? If it can be
alleged that this account of a relationship has been
closed with sentiment prevailing over observed and
recorded fact, I sincerely do not regret it.
The Robins continued to come for nut-free food, but
something was genuinely missing despite all we tried
to do about it. From the end of August they came no
more. Two Robins can still be heard amongst the trees
tittering by day, and calling the sweet-sad Robin
Autumn song at dusk. We never see them, and who they
are we do not know.
E. N. Hooper