25 MINS
‘I’m sorry, she was a great girl.’ The friends say goodbye to Roger and travel along the motorway stopping at a service station just south of the metropolis. There they meet Princess Noodles, an old friend of Roger. As the bed down for the night a silly mistake spells disaster for the pigeons.
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.
25 MINS
‘I’m sorry, she was a great girl.’ The friends say goodbye to Roger and travel along the motorway stopping at a service station just south of the metropolis. There they meet Princess Noodles, an old friend of Roger. As the bed down for the night a silly mistake spells disaster for the pigeons.
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.
Episode 4: Lazarus
“ Don’t stop, I’m loving this.” A familiar voice called out.
Iridesco looked across the tarmac to see Lulu staring at him listening intently. Emotions flooded through him: confusion, surprise, joy, embarrassment and finally rage. Was this some sick practical joke? If so, it wasn’t funny.
Lulu seemed to realise his confusion and tried to explain.
“One minute I was getting a drink and the next a huge tyre was rolling over me. My life flashed before me and I saw Dolly smiling and beckoning towards a light; then it went dark and I thought, well this is it...but it seemed wetter than heaven...and it stayed wet. I looked up and realised I was trapped in a great big pothole. I could hear you and Dove but you couldn’t hear me so I stretched out on a sort of ledge and tried to get some kip. I was scared of getting trench foot so I kept checking my feet and they felt bigger in the dark and I started to panic. I tried to wiggle my toes but that gave me cramp so I thought I had too much salt in my diet...or is it not enough? Anyway...” She let out a huge sneeze and a couple of soggy feathers spluttered out of her beak.
Forgetting his anger, Iridesco scrambled across the grass and flew over to her, wrapping his wings around her cold wet feathers and spontaneously kissing her face and beak. Despite feeling as grotty as she had ever felt in her life, Lulu’s heart leapt with joy.
She ached all over and she badly wanted a sleep but they had to get going if they were to find a place to stay that night. Princess Noodles had some connections in Soho and Chinatown but it had been a long time since she had been into London. She suggested they fly northwest until they could see the city centre and the Thames. There they would find the Globe Theatre, a place where she and Roger had enjoyed nights out in their courting days.
The weather was once again sunny as the pigeons said goodbye to Noodles and her bodyguards. They gained height rapidly and headed away from the sun towards the distant silvery cluster of sky scrapers on the horizon. Buildings of all shapes and sizes jutted out: sharply pointed, angular or curved, each one glistened like crystal stalagmites.
At first the countryside below them was dense woodland; bluebells had sprung up beneath the trees and the scent of wild garlic floated in the spring air, causing the pigeons to swoop down through the leaves to investigate. Further north, fields gave way to clusters of brick houses, allotments, trampolines, roundabouts and traffic lights; then rows of shops and recreation grounds, railway stations, bridges and tunnels. These were places where groundlings would normally be seen scurrying around with shopping trolleys and baby strollers. Now it was a ghost town. A few individuals furtively entered corner shops or jogged through the streets in pink and green lycra but each seemed to be intent on completing their business and returning home. The only consistent activity was of police cars steadily cruising the streets.
Being naturally gregarious creatures that had always lived close to humans, the pigeons felt a sense of anxiety at this strange new world. In Brighton they had huddled in the chlorine scented air pumped out of pipes above the leisure centre or in bakery extractor fans. Scraps of discarded food were another benefit of living near groundlings. Their first impressions of London were of a silent world, one that suggested empty beaks and cold feathers.
The Thames was a greyish green ribbon that snaked out of the city towards the sea. On the riverbank, cyclists and joggers passed each other at an equal distance as though repelled by invisible magnets. They passed Tower Bridge and the Golden Hinde and eventually saw the half-timbered walls of the Globe Theatre.
The thatch of The Globe was warm and crunchy under their feet. It spread out in an ‘o’ shape with a hollow centre like a giant doughnut. Iridesco, Lulu and Dove walked cautiously around the edge and peered down inside.
The building was completely empty now except for a number of pigeons. Just below them three birds were engrossed in conversation. Peering down, Dove cleared her throat to indicate their presence.
The pigeons cocked their heads as though weighing up the new arrivals. Then a small angular bird stepped forward and spoke to Dove directly:
“Good morrow, art thou hungry fairest one?
The golden eye of day sets in the west
Full on thy brow the rays do chide thy cheeks
And warm soft plumage ruffled in the wind.
Let’s feast on vetch and grain from yonder park
Whose seed pods do disgorge for weary beaks
And water glisters on this sceptred realm
For birds that strut and fret upon this stage.”
Dove sighed. She was exhausted and in no mood for idle chat. What she wanted was a beak full of junk food and a roost above an extractor fan. After that she might contemplate some small talk. This reminded her of the strange conversation between Roger and the crows that night at the dovecote. It had sounded like complete twaddle then and she didn’t like it any more now.
Sensing her lack of interest, the pigeon that had spoken changed tack.
“Allow me to introduce myself, I am Iago, playwright, player and director at the Globe. These fellows are my companions, Red and Biscuits. You must be exhausted dear friends, please, make yourselves comfortable, there’s food in the auditorium and water in yonder fountain.” he gestured in the direction of a park they had just flown over.
The friends settled in a quiet corner of the balcony while the actors finished rehearsing. Red was a large sandy coloured male with a ruddy complexion and Biscuits was a fast-moving nervous looking bird with eyes that darted around and thin legs that moved as though he were walking on hot coals.
Like most of the other tourist attractions in London, the building was closed now but the open roof meant that the pigeons had it to themselves. Several nests had been established where the wooden beams joined together and broody parents sat contentedly on their eggs, watching the actors rehearse.
Red charged at the others, feathers puffed up in fury. They backed away and Biscuits then pretended to faint as a number of actors crowded around him weeping. In the next scene a fight broke out and Biscuits tried to break it up. Iridesco and the girls soon forgot the world around them as they absentmindedly munched on seeds.
When the rehearsals finished the actors invited their guests to join them. Since the theatre had closed it had been a dull life for the pigeons that lived at the Globe. They were birds who thrived on arts and entertainment and they missed seeing the groundlings performing. Many of them had been drawn to London by the promise of street theatre and buskers and had stayed there to raise families.
“There’ll be no place left for us if this goes on.” muttered Biscuits. All the coffee shops are closed and food is getting scarce.”
“It’s very kind of you to invite us in. Brighton is the same. Everyone’s getting hungry.” said Lulu.
“ We’re heading to Trafalgar Square to speak to the pigeons there. We were told they would be able to help.” added Iridesco.
“Well I dare say they would.” Said Iago, looking thoughtfully at Iridesco and the others. “Of course you’re about twenty years too late; the great pigeon council of the past no longer convenes there. It’s more of an underground network now but there are a few of the old faces still around.”
Red turned the conversation back to food. “We pigeons have to change fast. The river bank used to be littered with all kinds of food: burgers, cakes, chocolate...it’s not good for wild birds or humans. We are granivorous.
Dove made a quizzical expression, twisting her beak and looking to Lulu for clarification.
“It means we should eat only seeds.” added Iago.
Lulu was fascinated. “But where do they find seeds and berries in the city?”
“The parks are good for blossom and greens now; and there are roof gardens and wild areas; but a lot of groundlings have started to feed us since they’ve been stuck indoors. Not junk food though, proper bird seed. I could take you to some of the best spots if you like.” Iago ventured. “ We could head over the river and up Regent’s Canal. It’s like being in the countryside.”
Crossing The Thames, the pigeons gazed in awe at the bridges that spanned the river. Each one provided comfortable lodgings for a number of birds and their families. Next to wooden piers, river cruisers were moored alongside floating restaurants. Flowers wilted behind Perspex windows. It was a sad sight. The friends remembered the bustling tables outside restaurants in Brighton; they too would be empty now; shutters closed and plants left unwatered despite the warm weather.
Soon they reached the basin of the canal. Tubs of geraniums stood on railway sleepers along the edge of the towpath. On the opposite side, Victorian red brick warehouses had been converted into studios and gyms, their reflections rippling on the water below. A pair of swans glided between the colourful barges that were tethered to the bank.
Iago perched on a girder beneath a bridge and the others joined him to survey the scene.
“Most of the barges along here are empty now, although those ones are great places to get food.” He gestured with his claw at a green painted barge and a black one moored alongside it. The black one had metal oil drums filled with plants lining the deck. A rusty bicycle lay against them and an orange cushion was next to one of the hatches. The hatch was slightly open and a stainless steel bowl of water sparkled in the sunlight with a few fine hairs floating on top.
The green barge was equally cluttered with plant pots. Inside the narrow windows, below the level of the deck, yellowing books sagged along shelves.
Iago pointed to an enormous wilted sunflower that leaned crazily to one side. Its petals had long since disintegrated and the ridged stalk was greyish yellow. The pigeons swooped down and were soon pecking away obliviously. Tasty seeds were embedded in the now dead flowers but could be extracted by tugging firmly with your beak. It was the kind of meal that provided both food and entertainment and the pigeons were soon completely absorbed, the way groundlings are when they work on a tricky jigsaw. As their beaks worked away at each seed, a pair of yellowy eyes watched them with interest from inside the hatch. Behind the planters another pair of eyes followed them intently and a tail twitched. Iago had positioned himself on a post by the tow path; he leaned over and smiled at his reflection in the water and his reflection smiled back, distorted by the ripples.
Crouching slightly, the cats moved in on their quarry. They slunk between the oil drums until they were within pouncing distance. Their backsides wiggled as they perfected their position, carefully calculating the speed and effort needed for a direct hit. Five, four, three, two...
At that moment Iago called down to the girls and gestured for them to join him under the bridge. Lulu and Dove looked over to the bank and started to take flight. Meanwhile, Iridesco was intent on extracting a particularly tricky sunflower seed. As if responding to a cue, a flash of ginger fur leapt from its hiding place. The girls were still flying up onto the bank and facing away from the barge. Iridesco heard their wings flapping and turned, just in time to see the cats leaping towards him.
Desperately he scrambled forward but the hunters were too quick for him. With lightning speed they sprung into the air and extended their claws, catching the edge of his wing. He continued towards the bank but his feathers had been pushed out of formation and he tumbled through the air into the murky water of the canal. Below the surface slimy weeds brushed against his feathers and he felt the snap of jaws.
The next minute he was bobbing up to the surface, watched by two pairs of malevolent eyes. The cats leant forward but would not venture any further. Licking their paws they casually stepped along the edge of the deck then retreated back through the hatch. Iridesco shook the water from his feathers and flew up onto the towpath.
“Thank goodness you’re safe.” said Iago, rushing forward and checking him over. “Are you hurt?”
Iridesco was in shock. “I’m fine.”
“I feel completely responsible. If I had known there were cats here I would never have suggested we stop to eat. Please, let me take you somewhere safer. I’m dreadfully sorry.”
Iridesco wasn’t sure he would be able to fly far. The cats had clawed at his feathers but there didn’t seem to be any permenant damage. He shook off the last of the canal water and followed Iago, Lulu and Dove towards the city.
They flew behind Iago as he took them between mirrored panels of glass. The wind felt colder today and seemed to funnel through the streets between the towering sky scrapers that cast long shadows on the pavement below. They soon reached a building with a glass cylinder on the side that shuttled passengers to the top. Iago started to fly up and around until they reached a terrace on the twenty-third floor. The place was unoccupied and the pigeons swooped down onto a cushioned bench. Spiky palms sprouted between each seating area and a D.J. booth and cocktail bar looked out over the London skyline.
It was getting late. To the north, Polaris sparkled like a Tiffany’s diamond. The view was breath-taking: a building resembling a rocket clad with mirrored panels stood in front of them, and further in the distance something like a spiky shard of broken glass glinted in the fading light. Traffic lights splayed out in clusters of red and green and beyond them chimneys and church spires jutted from the horizon. This terrace was higher than they had ever been. Although in Brighton the girls had once dared each other to sit on top of the i360 as it went up, they had chickened out before it reached the top.
Iridesco wondered how many pigeons lived in London. He longed to peck around looking for crumbs outside the coffee shops or sit on the glass roof of a station. It was fun hanging out with the other birds; not necessarily talking but checking them out, tussling over food and watching the world go by. He missed the casual bustle of being in a flock; feeling part of something just by virtue of being there. He wondered if the groundlings ever felt like that.
The pigeons were quite hungry now and looked around for something to eat. The tables were empty apart from a half finished cup containing a disc of powdery green mould that fed on the remaining liquid. Lulu scrunched up her beak in disgust and hopped onto the DJ booth. Next to the decks she found a packet of biscuits and a squashed banana inside a brown paper bag. The packet was hard to open but by holding the cellophane with their claws they managed to tear a hole in the side and peck out some crumbs. Iridesco held the plastic wrapper down while Dove and Iago pulled a big oatmeal biscuit out onto a turntable where it spun round, evading their beaks.
“That’s interesting.” said Iago, gesturing towards the metal ring Iridesco wore around his leg. “So you worked for the groundlings; how did you escape?”
Iridesco was confused. He had heard comments about his father’s leg tag before but had associated it with his travels. He had never thought of asking questions about it. It just signified that he was special – like having unusual markings or a long beak. Now he wished he knew more. He thought back to his father’s last words. It had been too much to take in. It hadn’t made much sense but he remembered something about letting his mother down.
“It was my father’s.” he said, hoping this would explain the matter. “He gave it to me.”
Iago smiled enigmatically, taking another mouthful of crumbs. When he had finished he continued speaking. “There used to be a lot of feral pigeons here at one time. Most of them hung about in Trafalgar Square. The groundlings brought offerings to us...as though we were gods.” He laughed, revelling in the memory. “Things have changed now. They have turned against us.”
“But surely not all of them.” said Lulu. “In Brighton Big Daddy was always feeding us.”
“Hmmm, if you lived in Brighton you will have seen a murmeration.” he said, taking another peck at the cellophane. “A few starlings group together and swarm, other groups join them. Soon thousands of birds are moving together; one changes direction and all the others follow. It’s as if one brain was guiding them all... a survival mechanism. Do you think one creature...like...Bad Daddy...could change direction and act independently?”
Dove frowned, “It’s Big daddy, not Bad Daddy.”
“But the principle remains the same. Groundlings are social animals. They do not think for themselves but for their species.
“How do you mean?” Iridesco was confused now. He had seen huge clouds of starlings swarming like bees around the West Pier – but what did that have to do with the behaviour of the groundlings?
Iago resumed his story. “First they started closing down the food stalls in Trafalgar Square. Some people continued to feed us, bringing bread or biscuits. Then signs went up: a pigeon with a red cross stamped over it; it was clear even to us we were not wanted. We had done nothing wrong. No pigeon had attacked a human but they started to treat us differently from then. Word spread that we were diseased. ‘Rats with wings’ they called us. It was propaganda of course – but it worked.”
“What’s wrong with rats?” asked Dove.
“Indeed. I believe the rats were as angry as the pigeons when they heard that one.”
“But you still had the buildings and the parks.” pointed out Lulu.
Iago laughed bitterly. “Yes, you’d think so wouldn’t you. But pigeons like a roost somewhere safe away from predators. The groundlings covered every one of those places with spikes. A few of us were lucky enough to find a hole in an old building or a loose tile in a church steeple but nowhere felt safe anymore. Sometimes even the branches of trees were spiked.”
“They do that to their own kind too.” observed Lulu. “Make the benches thin and sloping or pour dirty water on tramps sleeping in doorways. I can’t imagine treating another pigeon like that.”
Dove and Iridesco nodded their heads.
“ Most of the younger pigeons either stopped breeding or moved out of the city. Now Trafalgar square is filled with kiosks selling cheap knock-off tatt that nobody wants. Alas, London is more about giving the tourists what they think they want than celebrating what made it great in the first place...Do you know, Elizabeth Taylor fed pigeons in Trafalgar Square?” He looked up, checking each of their faces for some recognition of the significance of his words. Receiving none, he sighed and defecated on the turntable.
“Groundlings, and their allies, are not to be trusted any more. We are at war.” Iago glanced at Iridesco for a moment then shook his head as though forcing his mind to focus on the present. “Anyway, allow me to show you around the rest of the city. Red and some of the other players from the Globe will probably be in Hyde Park now. We’ll meet up with them before it gets late.”
The pigeons couldn’t wait to swoop off of the balcony and soar down, circling the glass edifices and peering into the buildings. The offices on the top floors were adorned with paintings and sculptures with windows that looked out across the city like the nests of eagles perched on rocky mountain tops.
Iago flew down low over the dome of St Pauls; delicate stone church spires, statues of long forgotten heroes and shelly cottages and grottos nestled like rare fossils amongst bus routes and traffic lights; Candy Kingdoms and Starbucks.
The pigeons followed the river for a short distance and headed north through houses that reminded them of Brighton. The tall white facades, with columned doorways, surrounded squares full of trees and shrubs. Although there were fewer crumbs on the ground, the small gardens dotted around the city presented opportunities for foraging. The branches were also perfect spots to clown around with the other birds, chucking pink blossom at each other and tearing through the branches flapping madly like rabid dogs.
They soon reached the park and joined a group of pigeons pecking around a bench. The bench itself had been cordoned off with plastic crime scene tape but an elderly groundling stood nearby shaking out carrier bags of grain. All the local pigeons seemed to know her and considered her something of an honorary bird. Like Big Daddy in Brighton, she spoke to them and knew many of them by sight, giving them pet names.
“There you go Saffron. Don’t worry Elvis, you’ll get your share. Oh Bluey...I haven’t seen you for some time...here’s some nice bits of apple; I know you like them.” She continued on like this for almost an hour. Birds settled on her head or flapped around as they balanced on the sleeve of her raincoat. When she saw Biscuits her face lit up and she took out a small packet of custard creams from her pocket and crumbled them up for him. He hopped onto her hand and started pecking at the crumbs and looking up into her eyes lovingly. She kissed him gently on the head and stroked his chin. When she had finished she shook out the last crumbs from the bags and folded them up before placing them in a tartan trolley on wheels.
The pigeons had already eaten but were keen to meet the other birds so they flew in amongst the group, pecking at the last of the seeds. They soon saw Red. His body was large and his wings and back were an unusual gingery brown with a dusky pink chest. The birds were soon exchanging stories. It seemed that all the action had moved away from the cafes and tourist attractions to the parks and balconies.
Iridesco looked over at Lulu. She was talking to Biscuits and Iago. At that moment she looked up and gazed into his eyes. Her feathers fluttered in the breeze and she smiled at him. He made his way over to her, pecking at seeds as he went. He remembered the night when they had kissed at Princess Noodles’ and wondered what would happen if he kissed her again. He didn’t really have an excuse now but he was sure he would find one. His thoughts were soon interrupted by a high pitched voice.
“Racing pigeon, eh? How did you end up here?” The newcomer sidled over, eyes wide with curiosity.
“I bet you could tell a few stories, eh? The private accommodation? Heated eh? Chauffeurs? Trips abroad? Alright for some!”
Iridesco’s hopes of talking to Lulu vanished.
“I suppose you had a personal trainer? I can see you work out. Did a bit of racing myself back in the day...’course not at your level.”
“I wouldn’t really know, you see it was...”
“Oh I understand. I suppose you get this all the time. Strangers flying up to you and wanting to chat. Well it’s been fascinating talking to you. I suppose a lot of birds are jealous but you’ve got to remain at the top of your game...that can’t be easy. And now that so many groundlings have turned against us it’s harder for you to fit in. I know you’re just following orders, doing their bidding...so to speak. It’s not as though you’re a collaborator, but when so many of us wild birds are going hungry...Well I wouldn’t like to be in your feathers at a time like this.”
At that moment Lulu came over and started pecking at some crumbs on the path. The stranger gave Iridesco an exaggerated wink. “Well I must be going. I can see you’re busy, eh.”
“Who was that?” asked Lulu, watching as the pigeon waddled off.
“I have no idea.”
As it became darker they found perches in a fluffy cherry blossom tree and settled down to sleep. Iridesco closed his eyes and began to drift off. In his dreams enormous waves and distant voices resurfaced in his mind. He felt desperate, as though he would never reach the safety of the shore. He wondered what his father had done to betray his mother. Had he caused her death somehow?