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Our aircraft pushed through layer after layer of sleet during the approach into Manchester. A sense of dread had accompanied me during the trip, growing stronger as I walked through the arrivals hall. I felt bitter over coming back to the city where I had spent my youth, after living on the other side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a couple of days, I went out to get a haircut. My attention was distant, back across an sea, when I was startled by something strike the sidewalk. I glanced down to see a pigeon on its back, splayed out, and convulsing.

The fall occurred just as schoolchildren were streaming out from the local primary school and so within a short time a group of youngsters had assembled, accompanied by their mums and dads. This circle of bemused faces stared down at the creature, uncertain what to say or do. The kids were more definitive: “Dad, she needs help, can we call an ambulance?” I took off my coat, bent down and picked up the pigeon up into it. “It’s okay, love, the gentleman will look after her!” said one mother with a sigh of relief. I had been transformed into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just come down hard, against its will, as I had a few days before.

I trudged home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird tucked safely inside the garment.

I had no idea that my on-the-spot decision to rescue the bird (the name I chose for my avian patient) would direct me to a network of Mancunians giving up significant amounts of time to provide not only rescue services for feral pigeons but scans, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I retrieved a cardboard box for Belinda, placed inside it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those moments of common perplexity punctuated my frantic search for what to do after that. I called friends for guidance and one recommended trying online groups, where, to my surprise, I found a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to become a member.

A Grassroots Network

Over 3,000-strong, the group has an anarchic model: someone in Manchester stumbles across an injured pigeon, a urgent post is published, then a comment section “evaluation” follows. If the bird is judged in need of an scan, someone with a veterinary contact can arrange it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabber” will volunteer to look after the bird.

Carers each have their own carefully cultivated expertise, whether it’s repairing broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their momentous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on volunteerism.

Belinda was quickly diagnosed with brain trauma, likely a head injury, and placed with a rehabber who would give pain relief and a regimen of careful physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to fall from the sky. I assumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could get the treatment she required.

A New Perspective

After stumbling across this underground pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much better about being back in my hometown. I doubt any of the places I had lived in while away could have anything even close. It also struck me that this was not the first time I’d been connected to a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one plummet from the sky into the playground of my old school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the courage to pick it up and take it to security.

The aforementioned friend has since been lost – 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 the return so difficult.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a tradition as “emotional support” animals, especially in the North. Workers started to keep the birds because they gave them solace and an excuse to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of darkness below. During the economic downturn, workers on the dole also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as stupid, 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 that in the parking lot and we’ll euthanise it.”

It? Not her. Although improbable to ever soar , she has taken to her newly earthbound life with success in a volunteer’s home. Each satisfied sound, often caused by her favourite snack, vegetables, feels like a lesson in perseverance and strength – and I am forever grateful to her for unveiling for me another side to the city I was familiar with.