A little more detail..

Mr Robin

An Old Silver Shilling. A Victorian Penny. And Britain’s Most Familiar Little Visitor.

Some pieces begin with a drawing.

Some begin with an old coin.

Mr Robin began with a question.

Could I make his red breast from another piece of British history?

The body of the robin is created from an antique silver shilling.

But the little flash of warm copper across his breast comes from somewhere else entirely.

An old Victorian penny.

I carefully cut a tiny piece of copper from the penny, shape it by hand and meticulously inlay it into the silver bird.

Two old British coins.

Two different metals.

Two histories brought together to create one small bird.

Mr Robin.

A Hairy Growler Signature Piece

There are pieces I make because I like the design.

And then there are pieces that seem to contain almost everything Hairy Growler is about.

Mr Robin belongs to the latter.

Old silver.

Old copper.

British wildlife.

Traditional hand tools.

Folklore.

Recycling.

And the belief that materials carrying a past can become far more interesting than something newly manufactured.

The robin is not stamped from sheet silver.

The copper breast is not painted on.

The colours are the colours of the metals themselves.

Silver for the bird. Victorian copper for the breast.

The Red Breast

It is a small detail.

But it is the detail that makes this piece.

The robin’s famous red breast is created from genuine old copper recycled from a Victorian penny.

Not copper-coloured paint.

Not enamel.

Not plating.

Another old coin.

I cut a small section from the Victorian penny and begin shaping it to fit the breast of the robin.

It has to follow the bird.

The curve of the chest.

The line beneath the head.

The transition into the wing.

Little by little, the piece of Victorian copper is refined until it belongs within the silver.

Only then can it be carefully inlaid into the robin.

The result is subtle.

Warm old copper sitting against cool old silver.

The colour does not sit upon the bird. It becomes part of it.

Two Coins. One Bird.

I love the thought that the two metals may have lived entirely separate lives for more than a century.

The silver shilling passed through one pair of hands after another.

The Victorian penny travelled through different pockets, different shops and perhaps even a different generation.

Neither was made to become jewellery.

And neither could possibly have known where it would eventually end up.

Then, more than a century later, both arrive at the same workbench.

A piece of one becomes the robin.

A tiny piece of the other becomes his breast.

Two forgotten pieces of currency meeting again as something entirely different.

The Robin and Us

Few wild birds seem quite as comfortable in our company as the robin.

Turn over soil in a garden and one may appear almost immediately.

Work quietly outside and there is a good chance a robin will eventually come to investigate.

They watch.

Hop closer.

Tilt their heads.

Then come closer still.

Perhaps that is why we have formed such an unusually intimate relationship with them.

The robin does not always feel like a visitor.

Sometimes it feels like company.

When Robins Appear

The robin has gathered a remarkable amount of folklore around itself.

In Britain especially, many people associate the appearance of a robin with remembrance and with loved ones who are no longer physically present.

You may know the familiar sentiment:

When robins appear, loved ones are near.

For some, that is simply a beautiful piece of folklore.

For others, the connection feels much more personal.

A robin appears at a particular moment.

On a particular day.

In a garden once shared with someone.

Or unexpectedly when that person is already in our thoughts.

I don’t think jewellery needs to decide what those moments mean.

That meaning belongs to the person wearing it.

A Messenger

Across different traditions the robin has been associated with hope, renewal, courage and spiritual presence.

It survives the winter.

It sings through cold mornings.

Its bright breast appears against bare branches when much of the landscape seems asleep.

So the robin has become a little symbol of persistence.

Of warmth surviving amongst the cold.

Of life continuing.

Of something familiar returning.

A small messenger carrying a surprisingly large amount of meaning.

There Is Courage in a Robin

They are small birds.

But nobody appears to have told them.

A robin will defend its territory fiercely.

It will approach creatures many times its own size.

And while other birds disappear into the branches, a robin may remain only a few feet away, watching what you are doing.

That little streak of boldness is part of what I wanted to retain in this piece.

Mr Robin is not intended to be fragile or overly sweet.

He has character.

Small. Curious. Familiar. Brave.

The Old Silver Shilling

At the heart of the piece is an antique British silver shilling.

These old coins make wonderful jewellery because they bring something that newly manufactured silver simply cannot provide.

A past.

The silver has already travelled.

It has been held.

Spent.

Counted.

Carried.

Lost and found.

Some of these old shillings survived for more than a century before reaching my bench.

I don’t melt that history away.

I work with it.

The Victorian Penny

Then there is the copper.

The little piece that gives Mr Robin his identity.

Victorian pennies are wonderful objects in their own right.

Heavy old copper coins that once belonged to an entirely different monetary world.

The penny I use for the breast has already outlived the people who originally carried it.

Its surface has darkened.

Its copper has mellowed.

Time has changed its colour in a way no factory finish can quite reproduce.

And now a tiny part of that old penny becomes the warm heart of a silver bird.

Victorian copper, given another life.

Nothing Painted. Nothing Pretending.

There is a principle behind the materials in this piece that matters to me.

If something looks like copper, I want it to be copper.

If it looks like old silver, I want it to be old silver.

The contrast between Mr Robin’s breast and body comes from the materials themselves.

The copper will naturally respond to touch, air and time.

The silver will do the same.

That means the necklace will continue changing subtly as it is worn.

Real materials acquiring a real patina through a real life.

Drawn Directly onto the Coin

The transformation begins at the bench.

I sketch the robin freehand directly onto the old shilling.

That first drawing establishes the character of the bird.

The angle of the head.

The breast.

The wing.

The tiny beak.

From there, the drawing becomes a guide rather than an absolute pattern.

Every coin is slightly different.

Every cut is made by hand.

And every robin develops a little personality of its own.

Cut by Hand

Tiny entry holes are drilled into the areas of silver that need to disappear.

A fine jeweller’s saw blade is threaded through one of those openings.

Then I begin to cut.

Slowly.

Carefully.

One section at a time.

The saw follows the drawing and the robin begins to emerge from the old coin.

After piercing, chisels and files are used to carve and refine the bird.

Feathers are suggested.

Surfaces are shaped.

Edges are softened.

Details begin to appear.

It is closer to making a tiny sculpture than simply cutting out a shape.

Then Comes the Copper

The silver robin alone takes patience.

But the copper breast adds another stage entirely.

A piece of Victorian penny has to be selected.

Cut.

Shaped.

Refined.

Test fitted.

Adjusted.

Test fitted again.

Until eventually the little copper section sits exactly where it belongs.

Only then is it permanently inlaid into the silver bird.

A tiny piece of Victorian Britain fitted by hand into an old silver shilling.

Made Slowly at the Hairy Growler Bench

Mr Robin cannot really be hurried.

There are too many small decisions.

Too many tiny cuts.

Too many opportunities to remove a fraction too much metal.

And once old silver has been removed, there is no putting it back.

So each piece develops gradually at the bench using traditional hand saws, chisels and files.

This slower way of working leaves evidence of the maker.

Look closely and you will find tiny differences between one robin and another.

I like that.

You should be able to tell that somebody made it.

The Marks Stay

The old shilling may carry evidence of its previous life.

Tiny scratches.

Softened details.

Marks around the edge.

A surface altered by decades of handling.

The Victorian copper will have its own character too.

I do not try to erase all of this.

To polish every historical mark away would rather miss the point of using old coins in the first place.

I make the robin. Time makes the surface.

Recycled Before Recycling Was Fashionable

There is another reason I continue to work with old coins.

The material already exists.

The silver has already been mined.

The copper has already been mined.

The enormous amount of energy required to turn those raw materials into metal was spent generations ago.

These old coins no longer need to fulfil their original purpose as currency.

But the material itself remains useful.

Beautiful, in fact.

So rather than beginning with something newly extracted, I begin with something the world already has.

From Currency to Creature

I have always liked the contradiction at the heart of coin jewellery.

A coin is supposed to have an agreed value.

One shilling.

One penny.

A number decided by somebody else.

Then the coin stops being currency.

Its official value disappears.

And suddenly something much more interesting becomes possible.

The shilling becomes a robin.

The penny becomes its breast.

Value stops being about denomination.

It becomes about story, material, craftsmanship and meaning.

A Robin for Remembrance

Mr Robin is often chosen because the bird means something very particular to the person receiving it.

For some, it is remembrance.

For others, hope.

New beginnings.

Courage.

A favourite garden visitor.

A parent.

A grandparent.

A person whose presence seems to return whenever a robin appears.

That is why optional initials can be engraved discreetly onto the reverse.

The meaning does not have to be visible to everybody.

Sometimes the most important part of a piece of jewellery is the part only its owner understands.

A Future Heirloom

I don’t really think of Mr Robin as jewellery for a season.

The materials have already survived far longer than that.

The shilling has passed through generations.

The Victorian penny has already travelled through more than one lifetime.

Now the two have been brought together.

Perhaps one day somebody else will inherit him.

They may know exactly why the robin mattered.

Or perhaps they will simply know that somebody before them wore it often enough to soften the silver and deepen the copper.

Old coins becoming a new heirloom.

Product Details

• Original Hairy Growler Mr Robin necklace
• Handcrafted from an antique British silver shilling
• Approximately 24mm diameter
• Robin individually hand cut, carved and engraved
• Red breast meticulously inlaid by hand
• Copper breast recycled from an original Victorian penny
• No painted or artificial copper-coloured finish
• Made using traditional jeweller’s saws, chisels and files
• Freehand design means every robin has subtle individual differences
• Historic marks and character of the recycled coins retained where appropriate
• Optional initials can be engraved on the reverse
• Optional sterling silver necklace chains available
• Finesse and Flourish silver chains particularly recommended
• Hairy Growler sterling silver Shepherd’s Crook necklace catch with silver chain options
• Optional symbolic charm available with suitable necklace choices
• Associated symbolism includes remembrance, spiritual connection, hope, courage, resilience and new beginnings
• Handcrafted and recycled at the Hairy Growler bench in Cambridge, England

A Hairy Growler Canon Piece

Mr Robin brings together two things I have always believed about jewellery.

The material should matter.

And the story should be worth carrying.

An old silver shilling provides the bird.

A Victorian penny provides the warmth across his breast.

My hands provide the cuts, carving and inlay.

But time has already provided something I could never manufacture.

History.

Perhaps that is why the robin feels so at home in these old metals.

He is a bird we associate with returning.

With appearing again.

With something we thought had gone somehow finding another way to remain.

And that is precisely what has happened to the coins.

They were money.

Their working lives ended.

They could have disappeared into a melting pot.

Instead, two little fragments of British history met at my bench.

Silver became feathers.

Victorian copper became a red breast.

And something that had finished one life…

began another.

Mr Robin.

Old silver. Victorian copper. A familiar little visitor, made to return again and again.