Ep 2: Nighthawks

21 MINS

‘If music be the food of love, play on!’ Iridesco, Lulu, Dolly and Dove are helped by Roger who lives beneath the thatch of a beautiful barn on the South Downs Way. As romance blossoms, a rude interruption brings out another side of Roger’s personality.

Iridesco: A Homer’s Odyssey is an almost fictional story about a flock of feral pigeons in lockdown. Set in Brighton, London and the countryside in between, it follows the lives of Iridesco, Lulu, Dolly and Dove as they embark on a journey that teaches them about the dangers and delights of life as a bird and the relationship between humans, pigeons and homing pigeons.

Part adventure story, part rom-com, the series features raucous crows that speak in iambic pentameter, a trip along the Regent’s Canal and a mysterious code of honour that all birds must follow.

Writer/narrator: Kitty Fisher  Music : The Big Push   https://www.thebigpushband.com/  Producer : Dominic North  Artwork: Lotte North  Sound effects: Freesound   https://freesound.org/  Original story idea: Ed Hill.

Transcript

Episode 2: Nighthawks

The sky turned pink, and then colours saturated the horizon like a Polaroid. That day, all the pigeons had been in deep discussion. It had been agreed that the youngsters should head inland in search of food and report back if they found anything. With a peck on the cheek from Ma, they took to the sky and flew north.

In Western Road, queues snaked around the corner of Waitrose and grimy sleeping bags and cardboard signs were stuffed into doorways. Dove noticed that the plushy Scooby Doo toy that resembled Simon Cowell was now wearing a tiny blue surgical mask.

They climbed steadily, following the contour of the hill. The Regency villas of Montpelier Road glowed in the evening light, their windows reflecting the sun.  Fancy stained glasspanels pictured birds nestled in pomegranate trees and twisting vines. Iridesco marvelled at the beauty of his hometown. In the summer, he had sat high upon the balconies of Sussex Heights or on the srairwells of Embassy Court, gazing in at the groundlings that stood at their open windows smoking and staring out across the rooftops. Those individuals had often shared quiet moments with him, holding out morsels of food or telling him about their hopes and dreams as though he were a priest in a confessional. He thought of them now, holed up in their nests, unable to fly, and hoped they would survive this strange plague. Ominously, an ambulance screamed down the road, disturbing his thoughts.

At the top of the hill the roads radiated out in a seven pointed star. Tilting their wings in unison the pigeons turned left and flapped steadily to keep airborne and gain height. After a mile of so the road grew broader and the houses larger. The styles were mixed in this neighbourhood: an old Victorian mansion stood next to a glass fronted cube; Italianate villas and state of the art fortresses with electric gates jostled for attention. Behind the houses lay a patchwork of pools, hot tubs, horse boxes and sports cars. Every conceivable gadget was displayed for the pigeons’ inspection. 

“Cor..” exclaimed Lulu and Dolly. They had never been beyond the densely packed streets of the city, and marvelled at the views below. They were soon almost level with the houses, glancing through windows and remarking on the occupants gazing at huge flickering dream-boxes or taking selfies, their skin plump and shiny like hot dogs on the pier. As though one thought had simultaneously dawned on them, the pigeons swooped down on an ornamental cloud tree that stood by a pool house. 

Putting out their claws to land, they all skidded on the slippery plastic bark. Dolly clung to a cluster of leaves that snapped off with a strange pop and fell onto the surface of the pool. “These ain’t real trees!” she remarked disgustedly. “Where’s the bugs and nesting stuff?”

It was getting dark now and the light of the groundlings’ nests shone out into the night. The interiors were spacious and clinical, like enormous hospital wards but the people were much the same: from every window, faces stared out, deep in thought.

Soon Dove and Dolly became distracted. A beautiful blue pool glowed in the centre of a lush lawn. In the water’s depths the tiles distorted, their lines wobbling as a generator buzzed in the darkness. The pigeons flew to the shadows of the pool house and sat on the roof staring down in wonder.

Dolly gave a playful wink at the others and dove into the water, snatching a beakful and returning to squirt it into Lulu’s face. Soon they were all at it. Exhausted and laughing, they lay shivering on the plastic lawn.

“We should really find somewhere to roost for the night.” said Dove.

“Yeah, somewhere quiet.” added Lulu, suddenly noticing the security cameras and dog houses.

In the city thousands of lights glowed in a sodium haze; they turned back to the dark strip of land that surrounded it and flew on, following white chalk pathways that snaked through the undergrowth. Soon they were on the South Downs Way, perched together on a wooden gate.  Behind them, the city glowed orange like the last embers of a forest fire; ahead the ground fell away in almost complete darkness and clusters of rooftops clumped between a patchwork of fields.

None of them had any idea where they should sleep. Each looked for something familiar and safe: a broken pipe, a missing tile or the scent of warm air from a groundling nest but there was nothing. 

Then a faint whistling sound began. Within a fraction of a second it was a roar; then a whirl of claws and beak followed by the hot stink of rotting flesh and furious snapping. Suddenly they were knocked forward and propelled into the air.  They flew close together, tearing down the hillside. Not daring to look back, they instinctively shot under the eaves of a cottage and, without losing speed, ducked under the thatch. A piece of loose chicken wire tore into Dove’s face causing blood to pour from the gash. But there was no time to stop. The beak was only a feather’s distance behind. It snapped at Dolly and she fell, flapping frantically, she tried to free herself from the powerful claws. The others could only stare as the hideous winged monster threw its head back and prepared to take a bite.

Just then there was a scuffling noise followed by a whine and a yelp. An elderly yellow dog lunged towards the commotion and the winged monster vanished into the darkness. Dolly flew up to join her friends and they huddled behind the thatch trembling.

When the dog had snuffled about for a moment on the ground it headed back to the house and they heard the door shut.

“Dolly...are you alright? asked Dove, her beautiful  face red and sticky with blood.

“I think so.” 

 At that moment a head poked out of a hole in the thatch and called out. “ Pst...get in here. It’s not safe to be out at night.”

The young pigeons pushed through the hole and found themselves in an attic above a groundlings’ nest.

The space was cramped.  On one side spines of books formed a wall and on the other a dust sheet hung, half concealing the image of a ruddy-faced groundling staring out from the varnished canvas. The other sides of the roost were made up of several small nesting areas where straw and droppings carpeted the compartments and each pigeon dozed comfortably or curiously peered down at them.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. That sounded a bit close. Are you ‘urt?” asked the pigeon.  He seemed to be the spokesman for the group. His friendly manner immediately put them at ease.

As if to answer him, Dove collapsed in a heap and was helped to an empty nest box by her friends.

“Let her get some kip. I’ll find you somewhere to sleep for the night. I’m Roger by the way.”

The pigeons introduced themselves and hopped up the pile of books to a vacant space under the thatch. From behind them a rumbling, scuttling sound could be heard.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s the mice stealing walnuts.” said Roger. “I’d say they do about fifty a night.” he added. “I’ve got a small wager on it so I’m studying the form.” 

The young pigeons understood nothing of his easy banter but they were safe...for now.

When they awoke, shafts of soft light lit specks of dust that drifted through the crowded sleeping area beneath the thatch.  Iridesco opened his eyes and noticed that on the other side of the pile of books a huge attic stood almost sixty feet long and thirty feet wide.

It was low pitched and the floor space was scattered with boxes. Dusty velvet curtains lay heaped on a wicker basket and an anatomical model of a groundling stood next to a lamp in the shape of a winged cherub, its chubby leg raised slightly and its hands extended around the stem of the lamp. At the far end of the attic a plaster saint stood with its hands clasped in prayer. A bundle of twigs and droppings balanced precariously on its head and a heavy bodied snoring bird sat in the middle of the nest like an Edwardian hat.

In every nook and cranny, pigeons of all shapes and sizes dozed peacefully. 

As the temperature rose, the roof space became alive with the twitching of wings and beaks. Pink and red scaly legs stretched out and amber eyes blinked as the sunlight warmed their feathers.

“Now five to one that postman delivers a parcel today.”  Roger muttered to another bird.

“Well the odds are lower since that box arrived yesterday.” 

The two birds perched on a leather suitcase, deep in conversation.  Around them, the pigeons preened themselves and pecked out loose feathers. Some helped their friends clean their faces and necks, picking out mites and dust; others scratched themselves and stretched, shaking out their plumage and cooing contentedly.

 Just then a brawny wood pigeon soared down from the rafters, landing with a thud. He eyed Iridesco, tilting back his head so that his chest broadened and he seemed to grow in stature. He remained expressionless but he appeared to be evaluating the newcomers.

 “You planning on staying long?” He turned his head sideways and his powerful neck muscles tensed slightly as he watched them.

Iridesco was reluctant to answer. He had no idea when and where they were going but he wasn’t going to be pressurised. “Dunno.” He replied off-handedly.

 Outside, a clanging could be heard and then the sound of seed being scattered. On hearing this, the other pigeons filed out of the hole in the thatch, jostling and flapping, sometimes pecking at their neighbour and making low guttural sounds to show their disapproval.

The wood pigeon stood for a moment, his eyes fixed. Then he turned and joined the others.

Dove shuffled out of her roost. She looked a mess. Her normally beautiful face was scaly with dried blood and one eye was half closed. Dolly was not much better; her tail feathers were half missing and one foot had been twisted back on itself. They stumbled out of their roosts looking like a couple of prize fighters and blinked, taking in the scene in the crowded attic. Despite their appearance, Lulu’s face broke into a smile and she flew over to her friends, just happy they were alive.

“You better get yourselves some grub or there’ll be none left.” called Roger. “I bet those buggers have had all the barley.”

The city pigeons joined the queue and were soon outside. A line of washing billowed in the breeze and an enormous bee buzzed close to the house.  In shady areas violets and wood anemones dotted the grass and an orchard of stumpy apple trees sprouted tiny leaves.

The pigeons followed the crowd to a hexagonal dovecote that stood at the end of the lawn.  Grain had been scattered on the platform at its base, and sparrows, robins and finches joined the pigeons and doves searching for food.  

The dovecote was a beautiful building: the wooden shingles were coated in moss and under the eaves, arched doorways led to warm dry apartments that had been lined according to the occupant’s personal tastes. Most had chosen sweet smelling grasses, but downy feathers and dried herbs were woven in amongst the bedding and some had added sprigs of fresh vetch and violets.

“The dovecote is generally preferred by the doves.” pointed out Roger, somewhat unnecessarily. “Although I bet some of those larger compartments would be nice in the summer. ‘Corse... if you marry a dove you can stay in the dovecote or the loft.” 

Wheezing slightly, he pecked out some grains of barley and cast his eyes over the garden appreciatively.

“We don’t do too badly ‘ere.” He added. “Stay as long as you like. There’s usually a bit of entertainment in the evenings...on account of the groundlings.”

Through the window of the barn, the pigeons could see a music stand and a ukulele and guitar. Whilst not all pigeons are gifted musicians they are naturally drawn to all forms of entertainment. Despite the difficulties of the night before and the uncertainty that lay ahead, the youngsters felt a tingle of anticipation.

Just then, the wood pigeon flew down onto the platform, knocking into Iridesco, whose wing smacked into the wall of the dovecote, renewing the pain caused by the collision with the bus.

“Sorry mate, didn’t see you there.” he smirked.

Pecking at the surface of the platform he quickly gathered morsels of peas and cracked corn and proceeded to place them into Dolly and Dove’s beaks. They blushed and backed away but he continued to feed them, laughing at their shyness.

“Seriously, this is great stuff for getting you back into shape. Relax. You’re in the country now.” They looked at each other and shrugged.  Why not eh? They needed to accept the help of strangers if they wanted to survive. 

“Hey Iri, shall we take a look around?” called Lulu. She was perched on the roof of the dovecote. 

By the time he had flown up to join her she was off, bombing down through the orchard and flapping her wings rhythmically until she was balanced on top of a gnarled oak tree. The view was breathtaking. 

The barn was one of a number of outbuildings that stood by a half timbered farmhouse. The house itself seemed to grow organically out of the earth. Around it, a dry stone wall was overgrown with ivy. Beyond the wall, ewes and lambs baaed stupidly amongst primroses and cuckoo flowers.

 “Wow, this place is wonderful.” sighed Lulu, opening her beak to take in the sweet country air.

Iridesco was still looking down at the dovecote, where Seth was now tossing corn into the air and catching it in his beak, as Dove and Dolly fluttered around him in delight. 

“Are you even listening?” she snapped.

“Yeah, right.” he said.

She sighed and lobbed a rotting acorn at his head. It met its mark and Iridesco slipped off of his perch before regaining his balance and casually settling on the branch below as though nothing had happened.

“What do you think about this ‘evening entertainment’?” said Lulu.

“Could be a laugh.” He replied, noncommittally. 

“Yeh, that Seth’s a bit of a character. Wood pigeon eh? Bit too showy for my tastes.” she added, trying to cheer him up.

“Hmmm.”

 Lulu was piqued. She had made an effort to show him support and this was all the thanks she got. Next time he needed her he was on his own. “Nice strong wings though.” she said slyly. “and he’s clever.”

For the rest of the day Dolly and Dove were entertained by Seth, while Lulu kept the country birds spellbound with tall tales of life in the city. Iridesco soon forgot Seth’s behaviour and started to enjoy Lulu’s daft stories.  She was clearly making it up as she went along, but the country doves and pigeons were swallowing the lot. Their eyes sparkled and their beaks opened in awe. 

“So them gulls didn’t stand a chance. We just strutted up and took the lot. Corse...one of them was...fifteen times as big as a pigeon...and its beak...just horrible, all slimy...the jaws of death...the mouth of hell.” she closed in on a group of young squabs, her eyes glimmering and they gazed at her, transfixed.

 Inside the house the groundlings gathered around their instruments and tuned up. As if responding to a cue, the pigeons shuffled closer to the edge of the platform, their heads cocked, each straining to make out the beat. 

Soon the farmhouse was just a dark shadow as the sky glowed on the western horizon. The bees sought out places to shelter for the night and as darkness fell upon the earth, the windows of the house radiated warm light and music carried out across the garden.  Within minutes, the pigeons were tapping their feet and bobbing their heads.

(Dusty Springfield: Spooky)

Soon Dolly and Seth were wildly flapping about in time to the music. They leapt into the air and dodged each other before a quick flick of the tail sent them strutting along the platform and repeating the process again.  

Slower music: Ella Fitzgerald and the Delta Rhythm Boys ‘I Love You for Sentimental Reasons’

 By the time the sun had disappeared completely the pigeons were pairing off; old timers shakily waltzing while the youngsters smooched in the shadowy corners of the dovecote. The moon rose up over the fields and settled above the farmhouse.  

 Dove shuffled up next to Iridesco and picked up a piece of corn she had found on the floor. Moving into the shadowy entrance of one of the apartments she turned, her beautiful beak parted and her eyes half closed. Iridesco followed her. The scent of violets and meadow grass filled the air and a cool breeze drifted in. He shuffled up close beside her and felt her soft plumage like cashmere against his wing. The sweet smell of cracked corn was still on her breath and despite the cut below her eye she looked beautiful. Moving closer, he touched her beak with his.

 Just then black wings filled the sky, shutting out the moonlight, huge beaks and claws glinted like coal and the stench of rotting flesh permeated the air.

A raucous voiced cawed loudly at no one in particular. “If music be the food of love, play on.”

“Yeah!” added another gormlessly.

Roger pushed forward from the crowd, shaking his claw in fury. “Oy, clear off you upstart crow.”

The youngster stepped forward swaggering :

“What have we here, old timer long of beak,

His plumage grey and withered on his shank

And yet he dares to challenge those less meek

This night methinks his words an ill planned prank.”

Roger turned, cutting him off before he could continue:

“Don’t start or you’ll regret that foolish talk

These claws, though they’ve seen better days, are strong

Now shut yer foolish beak and cease to gawk

You know you crows are clearly in the wrong.

So carry on like that and I will do

A bit of Chinese boxing and Kung Fu.

“What are they on about?” shouted Dove, exasperated at this sudden change in mood, it had all been going so well.

The crow turned his head towards her and responded somewhat cryptically:

“I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall

Now seeming sweet, convert to bitterest gall.”

With a final stare at Roger, he jerked his head back and flew into the darkness.

Nervously, the pigeons resumed their party. Outside the dovecote, Lulu sat sniggering and joking with two wood pigeons. She was still telling stories and jokes even though all of the other birds had retired for the night. Occasionally the elders muttered disapprovingly or tapped their beaks on the walls. Lulu tried to suppress her chatter by holding her beak under her wing but the muffled sniggers escaped into the night. Stepping out of his sleeping compartment, Iridesco walked past Lulu and her new friends on his way to get a drink. 

“You having fun?” he said, as casually as he could.

Lulu pretended she hadn’t heard him and leant in towards one of the wood pigeons as though he was saying something particularly interesting. Iridesco stopped for a second as if to say something and changed his mind. Just then Dove called out to him, 

“Iri, can you get me a beakful of water.”

The lights in the farmhouse turned off one by one and the pigeons made their way to their beds. As Dove slept peacefully under Iridesco’s wing he gazed out at the moon. Wearily, Lulu made her way up to the loft and perched alone amongst the books and dusty cloths. With a sigh she put her face under her wing. 

Play Fontella Bass This Would Make me Happy