I can empathise very closely with Amy-Jane Beer (Country diary, 27 January) and her moving encounter with a singing robin. Thirty years ago, on the night when my father died, we returned to the family house and were greeted by the unmistakable sound of a robin’s song.
This threnody that greeted our return from the hospital was heard in bitterly cold February conditions – and this was after midnight. As a seasoned birdwatcher, it seemed very unusual to me to hear this song at that hour, but I couldn’t help attributing some deeper significance to it.
Adrian Hughes
Castell Caereinion, Powys
• In the weeks and months after my husband died in October 2024, like Amy-Jane Beer, I’m sure I was “visited”. Encounters with urban foxes – granted, not unusual in themselves – became much more frequent and weirdly more intimate. One settled in the garden for a few days, basking in the autumn sunshine and watched me closely. I saw them in the streets much more often. Then, in the frosty early morning of New Year’s Day 2025, I came face to face with one rounding a corner. We locked eyes. I tipped my hat and said, “Happy new year, Pete”. He strolled off and hasn’t visited recently.
Jane Charteris
London
• Thank you, Amy-Jane Beer – you must have touched many readers’ hearts. Looking back nearly 20 years, I often wonder if I imagined that a robin visited me in my house, first thing after I got up, on the day of my husband’s funeral. Now I will stop doubting that memory. I join other readers in sending you sympathy, Amy-Jane, on the loss of your sister.
Barbara M Foster
Welwyn Garden City, Hertfordshire
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