Night bird

my Red Popsy

Let there be no misunderstanding this isn’t going to be a cock-and-bull story concerning some lady of pleasure. No, we are talking of harmless pigeons.  Already as long as I have been racing pigeons I always have been in bad luck with certain colored birds. No matter whether they were white, black or grey; they never did stay at my loft for long. They got lost, collided with obstacles, fell ill, birds of prey seized them or they were disposed of due to insufficient records.

I still remember my satisfaction when I got as a junior member my first two  black pigeons from the chairman of our local pigeon club. 

The next day they left my pigeon house, they climbed incredibly high into the sky and disappeared like ink blots  heading eastwards  across the neighbouring river. I was utterly disappointed. In those days I still believed that black pigeons were to prefer because an old crippled pigeon owner  had told me that them nasty dangerous birds of prey weren’t likely to catch the black ones because of their resemblance with the nasty crows. 

Until last year  brick – red pigeons didn’t also bring me any luck. I probably bought a dozen of them but over and over again they left my pigeon theatre. I even had  bred  some dark and a  yellow one with them but the latter wished to stay permanently  in my neighbour’s shed.

A few years ago I bought two pigeons from a fancier from the famous pigeon centre at Putten. One of them was dark red and she performed well at  the longest distance races with youngsters. I called her by the name of Red Popsy.    

In that way I referred  more or less to the  flyer from the village of Putten who was a sturdy man with red hair and to the fact that the red hen was at random  flirting with every cock available. 

After the flying season I phoned the man from Putten and asked if he was willing to sell  another couple of red birds. That was possible, but I had to wait until the next spring or summer.

A week after the phone call my  young Popsy however bounced against the kitchen window and died of interior bleedings within minutes. And my plan to collect the ordered  red pigeons never came to anything. 

Again a year afterwards by the end of a  splendid spring the telephone rang. It was  my Putten connection; my forgotten young pigeons were ready and if I by any chance I was willing to jump into my car instantly to fetch them. But I wasn’t   in the position because I had just been dismissed from hospital with a new hip. 

Consequently I asked my eldest son. He wasn’t very pigeon minded so it took some pains to persuade him. Grumbling he left with a little basket and returned later on with a red and dark bird. So I got hold of my second Red Popsy and  unlike her unfortunate predecessor she stayed. She had a different pedigree but  never mind I was in high feather.  

In the summer of 99 she went as number ten of my list to Ruffec. The pigeons took of  somewhere between 2 and 3 pm. The wind was due South and it was open weather. From Ruffec to my house the pigeons had to cover approximately 490 miles and they weren’t supposed to arrive before dawn the following morning. Somewhere along the line the birds had some how to make a stopover because it was common knowledge that pigeons didn’t like flying around during the dark hours.

As I was the man in charge at this Ruffec race every local participating pigeon owner had to inform me of the arrivals at his loft. Because I was  rather bad on my feet due to a hip disease the committee of our club had considered it wise to entrust me with that duty.  In their opinion answering  the phone couldn’t be a hell of a job. However there would be quite a lot of unexpected calls  in store for me. 

Harrie schrijft

It still began late Friday evening  around eleven o’clock; it was Harry. The man who mostly is the administrator of our  little pigeon-club  He wished to know if any pigeon had already reached its destination. I asked him if he was drunk or had lost his senses. In the background I heard laughter and shouting; they were having a party. 

‘There has been a rumour that the first Ruffec pigeon has already landed near Vianen and Eric and Henry they want to know if they ought to be now at their loft’,  jabbered Harry. 

' Go on with your celebration there won’t be pigeons at  your feast.  Have it your way, I am going to bed.’

So I did and I had pleasant dreams. 

Towards half past twelve the phone rang. It was Jan from Leusden. ‘I’ve got a pigeon’, I was coming home from a birthday party’, he stammered excited,’’ she hovered round my farmhouse in the dark. I helped her to the loft with a flashlight.’ Another party, and one more tipsy merry-maker, I thought to myself. 

But now I was wide awake and I switched on my bedroom light, wrote down the details of Jan’s speedy and reckless pigeon. I went  back to bed again  but my interrupted dream with some vague seductive blond Anita didn’t make any progress. It started raining and the wind grew stronger, Several things stirred my mind and a little later I had a nightmare of crashing helicopters. A moment after I heard a rustling sound. When I looked through the curtains I saw the silhouette of a pigeon in the gravel on the flat roof of my neighbour’s shed. I rubbed my eyes; unbelievable, there possibly was one from Ruffec. My heart was beating faster than in my romantic dream.

On slippers and in my  pyjamas I went downstairs, shuffled to the scullery and learned from the pigeon timer  that my Red Popsy had exactly arrived at 01.46.26 o’clock. I walked into the garden. Now the nightly pigeon was nowhere to be seen.

Then I discovered her on the loft of the youngsters. I said in a kind voice;’ Ah, my love, is that you, that really is a surprise.’ I opened the pigeon entrance tot the main loft.’ Come on, don’t be afraid; this way please.’ 

It was a good thing that nobody overheard me talking then and there in my backyard garden in the middle of the night dressed like I was.   My night bird slipped into the breeding section. She pushed her cock aside demanding her place on the eggs.

The following morning my remarkable Red pigeon soon  became the talk of the town and Harry dropped by to admire the miracle. He still looked a little  worn-out after the party. He examined my  brick red fly- by- night pigeon and considered her a revelation. 

’Now you’ve got your own genuine night bird’ , he said with a husky voice. 

‘That’s not a suitable name, Harry’, I replied, ’because night birds are girls of pleasure and they only wake up late at night.’ 

He looked at me with curiosity. What a foolish story he probably thought. He shook his head and left.

Cor Uitham 

Kijk voor een  Hollandse versie van het verhaal  Nachtvlinders hier;  http://duivenpad.blogspot.com/2011/10/nachtvlinders-steenrood-steenvroeg.html