All hail the king of winter

NOW that the clocks have gone back, it’s officially winter.

The wren has become king of the birds. In a reversal of good governance, he will reign until St Stephen’s Day when, traditionally, the little Lord of Misrule is hunted down and assassinated. The forces of darkness banished, the light can return, the sun rising higher in the sky as the days lengthen.

People think the ‘wran’ is our smallest bird but it isn’t. Weighing about 10g, it ranks fifth from the bottom among the commoner species. The willow warbler and chiffchaff tip the scales at 7-8g. These migrants, not being here in winter, aren’t pretenders to the avian throne. The tree-creeper, a resident and a gram or two lighter than the wren, is too shy and timid for the cruel sport of politics.

Europe’s smallest bird, the goldcrest, weighs a mere 5g. With a gold and orange crown on its head, it is surely the rightful winter monarch. Indeed, in America, it’s known as the ‘kinglet’. The winter revellers long ago must have caught and sacrificed this regal little bird. How then did the wren come to occupy the throne? Was there a palace coup?

Perhaps climate change was a factor. Small creatures, such as goldcrests, suffer terribly in hard weather. A cold period, known as the Little Ice Age, began around 1550 and lasted until 1850. The rivers froze in winter and ice fairs were held on the Thames. The goldcrest population must have been decimated. Wrens, on the other hand, probably fared better. They could still be found close to human habitation and were easier to catch for the festivities.

Edward Armstrong Allworthy, whose monograph The Wren appeared in 1955, claimed that the hunt, which is found in several parts of Europe, dates back to the Bronze Age. The story of the little confidence trickster hoodwinking the eagle by hitching a ride on its back, is said to be of Greek origin.

However, the account of a diminutive shepherd boy confronting the giant Goliath in the 1st Book of Samuel must also be a source; David, like the wren, usurped the throne. Then he fell from grace, beginning an adulterous affair with Bathsheba and sending her husband into battle to have him killed.

According to tradition, the wren also sinned; his noisy alarm call alerted soldiers to the bush in which St Stephen, the first Christian martyr, was hiding; the loud rattle resembles the roll of a military drum.

In folklore, generally, this little bird is malevolent but is the bad reputation justified? The highly competitive wren is certainly a bully. He is also a cheat.

Not much to look at, this tubby little Napoleon is dark brown all over with a cocked-up tail. The wings are short and rounded, providing excellent manoeuvrability in confined spaces. Wrens, therefore, are most at home in the undergrowth: you seldom see or hear one singing more than a metre or two above the ground. The song is extremely loud for such a small bird; the invisible little skulker relies on his voice to warn off rivals and secure a mate.

In what psychologists call ‘charming manipulative’ behaviour, the courting male constructs several nests. The prospective female partner is taken on a tour of these show houses, known as ‘cock nests’. Selecting one, she proceeds to line it with fur hair and feathers, the avian equivalent of a wife choosing the wallpaper and the carpets. The nest is an architectural masterpiece, a beautifully camouflaged ball of leaves grass and moss with a discrete side entrance.

The structure gives the wren its Latin name ‘troglodytes’, the ‘cave-dweller’. The cock is all sweetness and light until the eggs are laid and the female is incubating. Then he loses interest in her and seeks potential mistresses to occupy his other cock nests. He feeds nestlings only towards the end of the season, when it’s too late to seduce other females.

There are 83 wren species worldwide, although ours is the only one found in Europe. Adultery occurs among some other wrens but by no means all. The marsh wren of North America makes up to 35 cock nests and then constructs an entirely new one for each newly acquired mate. The cactus wren, on the other hand, is strictly monogamous, fathering up to four broods per year.