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Our aircraft battled through layer after layer of sleet on its descent into Manchester. A growing unease filled me during the journey, growing stronger as I made my way through the airport. I felt bitter over coming back to the place where I had spent my youth, after making a home on the other side of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a few days, I ventured out to get a haircut. My attention was far away, focused on an sea, when I became aware of something strike the ground. I gazed down to see a rock dove on its wings, splayed out, and convulsing.

The fall took place just as schoolchildren were filing out from the local grade school and so within moments a little crowd of little ones had assembled, surrounded by their parents. This ring of puzzled faces stared down at the creature, not knowing what to say or do. The kids were more decisive: “Daddy, she needs a vet, can we call an ambulance?” I slipped off my anorak, knelt down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “Don’t worry, love, the gentleman will look after her!” exclaimed one mum with a sense of relief. I had become the ambulance for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, against its will, as I had a few days before.

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

I had no idea that my spontaneous decision to rescue the bird (the name I bestowed upon my patient) would direct me to a community of city dwellers devoting significant amounts of time to provide not only rescue services for street birds but scans, respite care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I retrieved a cardboard box for Belinda, prepared it with an old piece of cloth, 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 bewilderment punctuated my desperate search for what to do after that. I called friends for suggestions and one proposed trying social media, where, to my amazement, I discovered a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and sent a request to participate.

A Community Effort

With a large membership, the group has an organic model: someone in Manchester finds an injured pigeon, a heartfelt post is made, then a comment section “assessment” takes place. If the bird is deemed in need of an examination, someone with a connection to a clinic can arrange it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabilitator” will step forward to foster the bird.

Volunteers each have their own carefully cultivated expertise, whether it’s setting broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their momentous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by goodwill.

Belinda was quickly diagnosed with neurological problems, likely a head injury, and matched with a rehabber who would give comfort and a regimen of gentle physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to plummet. I assumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, taking the light rail across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could obtain the attention she deserved.

Rediscovering Home

After discovering this secret pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much better about being back in my home town. I doubt any of the places I had called home while away could boast 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 drop 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 courage to scoop it up and take it to safety.

The friend in question has since passed away – one of four friends to die in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I understood that this had been a major reason of what had made coming back so hard.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a tradition as “emotional support” animals, especially in the certain regions. Miners started to keep 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 assistance also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as stupid, dirty or a annoyance. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a vet, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the parking lot and we’ll put it down.”

The bird? Not our Belinda. Although unlikely to ever take to the skies , she has adapted to her newly grounded life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each satisfied call, often caused by her favourite treat, vegetables, feels like a lesson in resilience and resilience – and I am eternally thankful to her for revealing to me another side to the city I believed I understood.