🔗 Share this article

Our aircraft forced its way through successive sheets of icy precipitation on its descent into the city. A growing unease filled me during the flight, only deepening as I walked through the terminal. I felt bitter over having to be the town where I had been raised, after living on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a short while, I went out to get a haircut. My attention was miles away, focused on an sea, when I became aware of something smack into the ground. I gazed down to see a bird on its back, splayed out, and convulsing.

The impact happened just as kids were streaming out from the local elementary school and so within moments a little crowd of children had gathered, accompanied by their parents. This circle of confused faces looked down at the pigeon, unsure what to do or say. The kids were more definitive: “Dad, she needs help, can we call an animal ambulance?” I slipped off my coat, bent down and gently lifted the pigeon into it. “It’s okay, love, the kind man will look after her!” said one parent with a audible relief. I had turned into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, against its will, as I had a couple of days prior.

I trudged home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird nestled inside the jacket.

Unbeknownst to me that my on-the-spot decision to medivac the bird (the name I bestowed upon my new friend) would lead me to a community of city dwellers devoting significant amounts of their time to provide not only rescue services for street birds but X-rays, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, prepared it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those moments of common bewilderment interrupted my frantic search for what to do from there. I called friends for advice and one proposed trying Facebook, where, to my astonishment, I stumbled upon a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and submitted a request to join.

A Community Effort

With a large membership, the group follows an anarchic method: someone in Manchester discovers an hurt pigeon, a pleading post is published, then a comment section “assessment” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an X-ray, someone with a connection to a clinic can arrange it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabber” will step forward to look after the bird.

Carers each have their own finely honed specialities, whether it’s mending broken wings or dressing wounds. Their significant, collective effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on goodwill.

Belinda was promptly assessed with neurological problems, likely a concussion, and placed with a rehabber who would give pain relief and a program of gentle physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I took up the role of avian courier once more, boarding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could get the care she needed.

A New Perspective

After discovering this secret pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my hometown. I question any of the places I had lived in while away could claim anything even close. It also struck me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one plummet from the sky into the grounds of my secondary school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the courage to scoop it up and take it to security.

The friend in question has since died – one of several friends to pass away in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a significant factor of what had made returning home so hard.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a history as “companion” animals, especially in the north of England. Miners started to raise the birds because they gave them company and an reason to stare at the heavens between long shifts of darkness below. During the economic downturn, workers on the assistance also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as stupid, unclean or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave that in the lot and we’ll euthanise it.”

The bird? Not our Belinda. Although not expected to ever take to the skies , she has taken to her newly land-based life with success in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each contented sound, often caused by her favourite snack, peas, feels like a example in perseverance and resilience – and I am forever grateful to her for unveiling for me a different facet to the city I believed I understood.