what a good read

Life in The UNC Part 10

We were talking about good trappers and bad trappers and the consensus was that they are made not born that way, although I would expect some of the necessary attributes such as temperament and agility to become fixed in a strain after many years of breeding towards these things. The old allotment site, which I hung around as a kid, was a long linear strip of land divided by a central path. Most of the lofts, though not all, faced due south and most weeks the pigeons came straight down the line and into the South- facing lofts. The few West- facing lofts usually demanded that the pigeons adopt an angled approach or do a sharp right hand turn just before entering.

If there was a West wind it was different. The birds used to come off the coast and pass over the back of their lofts before doing at least a half circle to get in whereas the South- facing lofts had a much easier approach. I watched many races on those gardens and noticed that whichever way the birds came one man’s birds never missed. Straight on or over the back of the loft they were a treat to watch. 45 years later and I can still see them, very high in the air, coming down hard and fast and from behind the loft. One twist and in! If you had a pigeon come with his you were beat. It was as simple as that!

Another friend of mine flew on a different set of allotments and his birds were exactly the same. They just did not miss and bear in mind these were natural pigeons not widowhood cocks. To this day I don’t know what the guy who had the first loft I referred to did, but I know what method this latter fellow adopted. Every time his pigeons went out and I mean every time, exercise, training or racing, it was his practice to prepare his loft as if it was a race day. The separate compartments would be closed up. Doors shut and trappers made ready.

A false clock would be placed in the trapping place and when he wanted them in he would pick his moment, the right moment, to open the door when the birds had the maximum chance of getting straight in. This was selected according to the wind direction and the way that his batch was flying. Then he would throw down the trappers and rattle the beans in the old bread tin that he always used. They knew exactly what was expected of them and did just that, race days or not. They knew no other way.

As one of my early mentors used to say, pigeons have more brains than half the people who keep them! It must have struck other fanciers, as it has often struck me that nervous highly strung men often have bad trappers whilst the quiet, thoughtful, slow- moving guys own the best trappers? And why were the successful long distance men of my youth usually old, bald, and very patient? I once knew a man whose pigeons, every last one of them would vacate their nests and perches to dash themselves against the wires in an attempt to escape from him. Each and every time he walked into his loft. And I used to ask myself are the birds frightened of him or is he frightened of the birds?

We were talking in general terms about the degree of “professionalism” in the sport these days where fewer people now buy more rings and keep and send more pigeons. And how far we have come from the time when it was largely a working man’s sport when fewer birds were kept, fewer bred and fewer sent to the races. It brought to mind a quiz that I once attended, not very far from where I live. It was a good, varied panel of fanciers, mostly from The Up North Combine and The West Durham Amalgamation and one of the questions asked was were the continental pigeons, Belgian and Dutch in particular, really so superior, as often claimed, to those we have in this country.

Every panellist had his say on the matter and I can’t really remember what the general consensus was but I do remember one very respected fancier standing up and saying that he didn’t think the birds in the United Kingdom were any better or any worse than those in Belgium and Holland. But that he did think the continental fanciers themselves were far more professional than the bulk of fanciers over here. All the members of the panel, except one, nodded in complete agreement with him. All were united in their praise of the “more professional fanciers” abroad.

Then all faces turned towards the lone dissenter as he took over the microphone. He was having none of this nonsense and addressing the audience asked them a question. “If this country is so full of amateurs” he said, “can anyone tell me where they are because they certainly not in Hetton?” He was the man who once told me that you needed luck when you were flying well, not when you are flying badly, because then, he said, “nothing at all will help you then.”His name, of course, was Billy Napper.

Pigeons kept me sane when I was working and my allotment was a place to enjoy a good crack or, at other times, a place to be by myself with only my thoughts for company. I enjoy having other fanciers around me but occasionally it is good to be by myself. There is a world of difference between loneliness and solitude and I got to like the peace and quiet of the loft in the days when I was paid to sort out other people’s problems and was under pressure for most of my working week. These days, now that I am retired, the pay isn’t as good but the conditions are brilliant. And there are no problem students to contend with!

We got to talking about the remarkable healing powers of pigeons and how quickly they can recover from quite severe damage. One Friday evening, just as I was getting the birds ready for a race, one was brought to me with a severely damaged neck and crop. Something had to be done and done quickly. The owner took my birds down to the club whilst his Irish friend held the bird for me to repair. It was a long job, necessitating suturing first the crop and then the skin over it and from the nature of the wound I was pretty sure the bird had flown into a television aerial, which later proved to be the case as the following morning the repair man was seen on the roof of the house next door!

My advice, as the bird was taken home, was no water till the next evening and to keep it in for a week. And if there were any signs of infection to bring it back pretty quickly, nothing happened for a few days and I forgot all about it. A couple of weeks later I was in the pigeon club when one of the members approached me and said “the next time Ali Bros. Are trouble mind your own business!” What the hell, I thought, was all that about? All became clear when later on I was presented with a bottle of the finest malt whisky that could be obtained locally and brought up to speed.

The pigeon had won twice, as a youngster, before his accident so the partners had a bit of respect for him and fully intended to follow my post-operative recommendations, including keeping the bird in. They simply forgot and out he went with the rest of the flock and flew the full time. By that weekend he was in such good health he was sent to the race. And with the stitches still hanging out of his neck won the Federation! One week later he won our Federation yet again. Two Federation wins in three weeks after suffering injuries that would have had a lot of fanciers disposing of the bird! No wonder “the opposition” wanted me to mind my own business!

Charlie was not a natural pigeon man and never ever won a race. But he tried. Friday teatime and we were marking for the first young bird race. I got out of the car and saw a group of my club mates standing close together. Completely out on his own and looking very apprehensive was Charlie. The members wanted his young birds out of the baskets. Would I confirm that they should be taken out? His birds were gripping the canes with their feet and flapping their wings frantically trying to escape. And almost succeeding as most of their stunted bodies were nearly out. I gave them the once-over and took Charlie’s side. Apart from the fact that they all had the physique of a street pigeon they showed no signs of any disease and had his rings on. So off they went to the race. The members need not have worried. Two races later and he had none left. Back to the drawing board went Charlie.

Next year he managed a third club from a young bird race on a fast day. He had jammed his clock timing in but we gave it to him anyway, purely out of sympathy. My partner and I were feeling particularly sorry for him so we offered him a pair of eggs from one of our best breeding pairs. If, and only if, he had a pair of eggs laid on exactly the same date. Our eggs were far too good to waste.

He had. And he duly got his eggs. A couple of weeks later I asked him if they were fertile. He said he hadn’t looked. And in any case he didn’t know how to tell. So could I check them for him? I lifted up the hen that was covering them to find not two but four eggs with nothing written on any of them. “Charlie” “I said “what’s going on, there’s four eggs here?” “It’s alright Rod” he replied “your two are at the back!”

ROD ADAMS.

Always a good tale from Rod Adams, when "moots" were popular in the 80's and 90's the WMC Room was always full when he was on the panel. A great flyer too.....