🔗 Share this article

Our aircraft pushed through successive sheets of icy precipitation as it landed into Manchester. A growing unease had accompanied me during the flight, only deepening as I made my way through the terminal. I felt bitter over returning to the city where I had grown up, after residing on the other side of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a short while, I went out to get a haircut. My attention was miles away, lingering over an ocean, when I was startled by something hit the pavement. I glanced down to see a rock dove on its side, sprawled, and trembling.

The crash happened just as schoolchildren were streaming out from the local elementary school and so within moments a little crowd of little ones had gathered, surrounded by their parents. This group of confused faces stared down at the creature, uncertain what to do or say. The kids were more decisive: “Dad, she needs hospital, can we call an ambulance?” I took off my anorak, crouched down and picked up the pigeon inside it. “No problem, love, the kind man will look after her!” said one mother with a sigh of relief. I had been transformed into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, against its will, as I had a short time earlier.

I walked slowly home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird nestled inside the jacket.

Little did I know that my spontaneous decision to rescue Belinda (the name I chose for my patient) would direct me to a web of Mancunians giving up significant amounts of their time to provide not only transport for street birds but X-rays, respite care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I located a shoebox for Belinda, lined it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those moments of mutual confusion punctuated my frantic search for what to do after that. I contacted friends for guidance and one suggested trying online groups, where, to my astonishment, I stumbled upon a local pigeon rescue group, and submitted a request to join.

A Grassroots Network

Over 3,000-strong, the group has an decentralized system: someone in Manchester stumbles across an hurt pigeon, a urgent post is made, then a comment section “triage” takes place. If the bird is considered in need of an examination, someone with a vet link can get it one; if it needs physio, a “rehabilitator” will offer to foster the bird.

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

Belinda was quickly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a blow to the head, and placed with a rehabber who would give pain relief and a program of careful physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to drop from above. I assumed the role of bird taxi once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could obtain the care she needed.

Rediscovering Home

After stumbling across this secret pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much better about being back in my hometown. I doubt any of the places I had resided in while away could have anything remotely similar. It also struck me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one drop from the sky into the schoolyard of my old school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the gall to scoop it up and take it to safety.

The individual has since been lost – one of four friends to lose their lives in the years before my exit from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a major reason of what had made the return so hard.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a tradition as “therapy” animals, especially in the north of England. Laborers started to care for the birds because they gave them solace and an opportunity to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of darkness below. During the hard times, workers on the assistance also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often disparaged as simple, diseased or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a vet, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the car park and we’ll euthanise it.”

The bird? Not our Belinda. Although unlikely to ever soar , she has adapted to her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s extra room. Each contented sound, often caused by her favourite food, vegetables, feels like a example in perseverance and strength – and I am always appreciative to her for unveiling for me a different facet to the city I was familiar with.