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T pushed through successive sheets of freezing rain as it landed into Manchester. A sense of dread settled over me during the flight, growing stronger as I made my way through the airport. I was unhappy about having to be the town where I had spent my youth, after living on the other side of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a few days, I ventured out to get a haircut. My thoughts was miles away, back across an sea, when I was startled by something strike the pavement. I looked down to see a pigeon on its side, splayed out, and trembling.

The fall happened just as children were streaming out from the local grade school and so within a short time a small chorus of children had formed, accompanied by their mothers and fathers. This group of puzzled faces peered down at the pigeon, not knowing what to do or say. The kids were more certain: “Papa, she needs a vet, can we call an animal ambulance?” I took off my coat, knelt down and gently lifted the pigeon up into it. “No problem, sweet, the gentleman will take care of her!” remarked one mother with a audible relief. I had been transformed into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, involuntarily, as I had a couple of days prior.

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

I had no idea that my on-the-spot decision to rescue Belinda (the name I chose for my new friend) would guide me to a web of Mancunians sacrificing significant amounts of effort to provide not only transport for street birds but scans, recovery care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I retrieved a shoebox for Belinda, lined it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d open the box just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those periods of mutual perplexity marked my hectic search for what to do from there. I contacted friends for suggestions and one recommended trying Facebook, where, to my astonishment, I stumbled upon a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to become a member.

A Community Effort

Over 3,000-strong, the group operates on an organic system: someone in Manchester discovers an ailing pigeon, a pleading post is published, then a comment section “triage” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an X-ray, someone with a veterinary contact can get it one; if it needs physio, a “rehabilitator” will volunteer to look after the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own carefully cultivated specialities, whether it’s repairing broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their tremendous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on kindness.

Belinda was promptly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a blow to the head, and assigned to a rehabber who would give comfort and a course of careful physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to fall from the sky. I took up the role of pigeon ambulance once more, taking the light rail across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could obtain the attention she required.

Rediscovering Home

After discovering this hidden pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my city. I doubt 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 connected to a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one plummet from the sky into the schoolyard of my old school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the gall to pick it up and take it to security.

The individual has since been lost – one of four friends to die in the years before my exit from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a big part of what had made the return so difficult.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a tradition as “therapy” animals, especially in the certain regions. Laborers started to care for the birds because they gave them company and an opportunity to stare at the sky between long shifts of underground work. During the economic downturn, workers on the unemployment also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often dismissed as stupid, unclean or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a vet, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave it in the parking lot and we’ll euthanise it.”

The bird? Not our Belinda. Although not expected to ever take to the skies , she has adapted to her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s extra room. Each happy sound, often caused by her favourite food, frozen peas, feels like a demonstration in resilience and resilience – and I am forever grateful to her for revealing to me a new dimension to the city I believed I understood.