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Our aircraft forced its way through layer after layer of sleet on its descent into Manchester. A growing unease settled over me during the flight, growing stronger as I shuffled through the arrivals hall. I felt bitter over having to be the city where I had been raised, after living on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a couple of days, I went out to get a haircut. My mind was miles away, lingering over an ocean, when I was startled by something strike the ground. I looked down to see a rock dove on its back, splayed out, and twitching.

The fall occurred just as kids were emerging from the local primary school and so within a short time a group of little ones had assembled, accompanied by their parents. This ring of bemused faces stared down at the bird, uncertain what to say or do. The kids were more decisive: “Daddy, she needs help, can we call an ambulance?” I removed my jacket, crouched down and picked up the pigeon up into it. “Don’t worry, love, the nice man will look after her!” said one mum with a audible relief. I had become the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just come down hard, involuntarily, as I had a few days before.

I made my way home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird tucked safely inside the garment.

I had no idea that my impromptu decision to aid Belinda (the name I bestowed upon my avian patient) would direct me to a web of city dwellers devoting significant amounts of time to provide not only rescue services for city pigeons but diagnostic imaging, convalescence, and even “pigeon physio”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, prepared it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those moments of mutual confusion interrupted my hectic search for what to do next. I contacted friends for suggestions and one recommended trying social media, where, to my astonishment, I discovered a local pigeon rescue group, and submitted a request to join.

An Anarchic Model

Boasting thousands of members, the group operates on an anarchic system: someone in Manchester discovers an injured pigeon, a pleading post is made, then a comment section “assessment” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an examination, someone with a connection to a clinic can get it one; if it needs rehabilitation, a “carer” will step forward to care for the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own carefully cultivated expertise, whether it’s repairing broken wings or treating wounds. Their tremendous, combined effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on volunteerism.

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with neurological problems, likely a head injury, and assigned to a rehabber who would administer medication and a program of gentle physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to drop from above. I resumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, taking the light rail across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could obtain the treatment she needed.

Rediscovering Home

After stumbling across this hidden pigeon “health service”, 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 have anything remotely similar. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one plummet from the sky into the grounds of my old 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 aforementioned friend has since been lost – one of a number of companions to die in the years before my exit from Manchester. I understood that this had been a major reason of what had made the return so hard.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “companion” animals, especially in the north of England. Laborers started to keep the birds because they gave them solace and an excuse to look up at the heavens between long shifts of darkness below. During the hard times, 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 unintelligent, unclean or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had contacted a vet, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave that in the parking lot and we’ll euthanise it.”

That? Not this bird. Although improbable to ever soar , she has embraced her newly earthbound life with success in a volunteer’s extra room. Each contented sound, often elicited by her favourite snack, vegetables, feels like a example in resilience and strength – and I am forever grateful to her for showing me a new dimension to the city I was familiar with.