Life in The UNC Part 8

We were discussing the use and value of hydrated lime in the management of racing pigeons. I well remember as a boy hanging around the allotments where the pigeon lofts were. There were no taps on the sites in those days and most fanciers either had a well or collected rainwater for their birds. Most of them did in fact put a handful of lime in the water prior to using it and I'd always assumed it was an attempt at sterilisation. Or something like that.

This conversation brought it all back to me. Some houses actually had a third tap for rainwater and many people washed their hair in a mixture of rainwater and vinegar. The discussion then naturally slipped into the "good old days" which of course were nothing of the kind. There was nothing good about having to use the same bathwater as your brothers or parents because the heating systems then, and I hesitate to call them systems, were so primitive. And outside toilets did nobody any good. Winter or summer. Each had their own problems!

In the event five of us had turned out that night and the talk ranged from comparisons of the worth of inland and channel wins (depends on what you are trying to do) the idiosyncrasies of other pigeon men (be reasonable, see things my way) to genetically modified foods, mobile phones, acid rain, the greenhouse effect and the possible outcome of all these things on our birds. The general consensus being that these things are not going to go away. So, the pigeons we want are those that can win under whatever conditions prevail in the future. And not the ones that can't! All in all a pretty varied mixture of topics were duly considered. And sorted out. No bother. Talk is cheap. The reality can be vastly different! A legendary local fancier, now long dead but certainly not forgotten, was the main topic of conversation over the weekend. I remember the first time I went to see him. He had been largely responsible for the success of one of the best lofts in my area at that time and I wanted to visit the fountainhead. In the event it was the man who impressed me most. Not the birds. The loft was nothing fancy. It was situated on the downward slope of the south bank of the river Wear. The natural flow of water being channelled down to the river by a system of small herringbone-patterned ditches running under the loft.

Not a good fly-in and not a good place to fly to. The birds were out pecking about at what little dry ground there was between the narrow channels. And he was in the loft. A little man in an old overcoat. He came out to talk to us and I mentioned a mealy cock walking around the garden as being a nice looking bird. He walked into the middle of his pigeons. Bent down. Picked up the aforesaid mealy and said "this one?" Then handed it to me. Not another pigeon moved. Thinking that particular bird might be a pet I mentioned a different bird. A blue this time. Out he walked amongst the birds again. And picked it up. Just as before. "No, not that one" said I "the one over there." And that one was picked. Quite as easily as the others.

It was then, just as I realised that I was in the presence of someone special, that he decided to get the birds in. Instead of standing by the door and rattling the corn tin, as most local fanciers would do, he simply walked into the loft and called to his birds. Which, as one, flew in beside him. Then he simply walked out and closed the door. Just like that. When he was forced to relocate his lofts to a new site the birds, naturally, went back to the old site. Which had been completely cleared of any lofts. The man simply went there with a big cardboard box. Picked the pigeons up, one by one and put them in it. No bother at all! Disease decimated his youngsters one year. Leaving him with only single figures to race. It made no difference. He still won the young bird average! A previous Up North Combine winner, this fancier left an impression on me which I have never forgotten.

One of my recent visitors kept producing an eye-sign glass each time that I gave him a pigeon to handle. Eye-sign is not a subject that interests me any more. Although it did once. And I have a huge collection of slides to prove it! I eventually came to my own conclusions about its value or otherwise and moved on. And am happy with that. I have a similar collection of slides of the wings of various wild birds and pigeons. And again I drew my own conclusions. Nowadays I have a more balanced view of pigeons and pigeon racing. Fanatical about nothing and open-minded about everything, that's me. As you get older you are supposed to get wiser. It has been my experience that some people just get old!

We, in the North East, were really into group discussion evenings at one time, moots if you like. And invited guests from far and wide. Men such as George Buschaert and Emile Deweerdt from Belgium and their counterparts from elsewhere. We always had capacity audiences. One such guest, a well known scribe and pigeon man, worked abroad at the time and knew the continental scene better than anyone in the U.K., He was attempting to answer a question about eye-sign against a background of a somewhat rowdy audience. As is often the case late in the evening when the drink is beginning to tell.

Unfortunately for him he was using the eye colours of his immediate family as examples. His tormentor-in-chief was a local fancier, now sadly deceased. Renown for his boisterous quick wit. Our guest explained that his eyes were brown. His wife's were blue. He had a son whose eyes were hazel. And a daughter whose eyes were grey. Yet others in his immediate family had brown eyes or blue eyes. Like him and his wife. I well remember that whatever he was saying at the time made perfect sense to me but his interlocutor had a question. And would not be denied. From the back of the hall, in a voice that would have woken the dead, he asked it. "What colour eyes" he demanded to know, "has the milkman got?"

ROD ADAMS.