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The plane forced its way through wall after wall of freezing rain during the approach into the city. A sense of dread had accompanied me during the flight, growing stronger as I shuffled through the terminal. I resented returning to the place where I had grown up, after living on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a short while, I headed out to get a haircut. My attention was miles away, lingering over an ocean, when I became aware of something hit the pavement. I glanced down to see a pigeon on its side, spatchcocked, and convulsing.

The impact occurred just as schoolchildren were streaming out from the local primary school and so within minutes a little crowd of little ones had formed, accompanied by their mothers and fathers. This group of bemused faces peered down at the creature, not knowing what to think or act. The kids were more certain: “Papa, she needs hospital, can we call an emergency service?” I took off my anorak, bent down and gently lifted the pigeon inside it. “Don’t worry, dear, the kind man will help her!” said one mum with a audible relief. I had been transformed into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, against its will, as I had a couple of days prior.

I made my way home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird curled up inside the garment.

Unbeknownst to me that my spontaneous decision to medivac my feathered charge (the name I chose for my avian patient) would lead me to a network of city dwellers giving up significant amounts of time to provide not only ambulances for city pigeons but scans, respite care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I found a cardboard box for Belinda, placed inside it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those periods of mutual bewilderment interrupted my frantic search for what to do next. I contacted friends for guidance and one recommended trying social media, where, to my astonishment, I found a local pigeon rescue group, and sent a request to participate.

An Anarchic Model

With a large membership, the group operates on an decentralized method: someone in Manchester finds an injured pigeon, a urgent post is published, then a comment section “evaluation” ensues. If the bird is judged in need of an scan, someone with a vet link can get it one; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabber” will step forward to look after the bird.

Carers each have their own highly developed 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 blow to the head, and assigned to a rehabber who would administer comfort and a regimen of gentle physio. We never discovered exactly what caused her to plummet. I took up the role of bird taxi once more, taking the light rail across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could get the treatment she required.

An Unexpected Lesson

After discovering this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my home town. I question any of the places I had lived in while away could boast anything comparable. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one plummet 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 rescue it and take it to safety.

The aforementioned friend has since been lost – one of a number of companions to lose their lives in the years before my exit from Manchester. I understood that this had been a major reason of what had made the return so painful.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a history as “companion” animals, especially in the certain regions. Workers started to raise the birds because they gave them solace and an reason to gaze up at the sky between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the Depression, workers on the dole also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as simple, unclean or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a animal doctor, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave that in the car park and we’ll put it down.”

That? Not our Belinda. Although improbable to ever fly again , she has adapted to her newly grounded life with success in a volunteer’s extra room. Each happy sound, often prompted by her favourite food, vegetables, feels like a demonstration in resilience and resilience – and I am forever grateful to her for revealing to me another side to the city I thought I knew.