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Our aircraft forced its way through successive sheets of freezing rain during the approach into its destination. A growing unease settled over me during the trip, intensifying as I walked through the airport. I felt bitter over having to be the city where I had grown up, after making a home on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a few days, I headed out to get a haircut. My mind was far away, focused on an vast expanse of water, when I was startled by something strike the sidewalk. I gazed down to see a bird on its side, sprawled, and convulsing.

The crash occurred just as children were streaming out from the local primary school and so within minutes a little crowd of little ones had formed, surrounded by their parents. This group of confused faces peered down at the pigeon, unsure what to think or act. The kids were more certain: “Daddy, she needs a vet, can we call an emergency service?” I removed my anorak, knelt down and scooped the pigeon inside it. “It’s okay, sweet, the kind man will take care of her!” exclaimed one parent with a sigh of relief. I had turned into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, against its will, as I had a couple of days prior.

I walked slowly home, arms held out, with the bird curled up inside the garment.

Little did I know that my on-the-spot decision to aid Belinda (the name I bestowed upon my new friend) would guide me to a network of city dwellers devoting significant amounts of time to provide not only transport for street birds but scans, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I located a cardboard box for Belinda, placed inside it with an old T-shirt, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those moments of mutual confusion marked my hectic search for what to do after that. I contacted friends for advice and one suggested trying Facebook, where, to my amazement, I discovered a bird rehabilitation group, and submitted a request to join.

A Grassroots Network

Boasting thousands of members, the group follows an decentralized method: someone in Manchester discovers an injured pigeon, a urgent post is made, then a comment section “assessment” follows. If the bird is judged in need of an scan, someone with a vet link can get it one; if it needs therapy, a “rehabilitator” will offer to look after the bird.

Volunteers each have their own highly developed specialities, whether it’s setting broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their tremendous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on goodwill.

Belinda was rapidly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a concussion, and matched with a rehabber who would administer pain relief and a program of gentle physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I took up the role of pigeon ambulance once more, boarding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could obtain the care she deserved.

Rediscovering Home

After discovering this hidden pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my home town. I question any of the places I had lived in while away could claim anything comparable. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one fall from the sky into the grounds of my secondary school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the courage to pick it up and take it to safety.

The friend in question has since died – one of a number of companions to die in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a big part of what had made coming back so hard.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a history as “companion” animals, especially in the North. Laborers started to keep the birds because they gave them solace and an reason to look up at the heavens between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the economic downturn, workers on the unemployment also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often dismissed as unintelligent, unclean or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a animal doctor, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave it in the car park and we’ll euthanise it.”

The bird? Not this bird. Although unlikely to ever take to the skies , she has taken to her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each satisfied call, often elicited by her favourite food, frozen peas, feels like a example in resilience and resilience – and I am eternally thankful to her for unveiling for me a different facet to the city I thought I knew.