1. The Host

    One day, as Mo adjusted his hat, a loud chirp sounded.

    It was surprising to discover that Mo was a bird man. He hadn’t said anything. But on hearing that chirp I realised that he was one of the growing number of people who have chosen to carry their feathered friends around with them everywhere they go. 
    It sounded a bit like a sparrow to me but I knew that it couldn’t be. Sparrows never stop tweeting. He couldn’t keep that secret for long. He patted his cap gently and smiled over to where I sat, thinking that his secret was out. 
    I knew that he wouldn’t want the world to know so I winked and said nothing. Those people who don’t keep birds just do not understand those who do. It is, as they say, something that you keep under your hat. 
    My finch heard the cheep too and peeked out from under the rim of my trilby. I wore it jauntily, to one side. It made it easier for him to come and go or, like now, to just look out. He chirruped quietly before retreating back inside where he did a little dance on my head.
    I was pleased too. Mo was the sort of person that would be kind to a bird. I was happy for the bird, whatever sort it was. 
    Bird lovers in general are intensely curious by nature. If they hear a song or catch a glimpse of a bird they will not rest until they have it positively identified. Some birders, as they are known, go to great lengths racing around the countryside ticking off rarities and making endless lists. And they study behaviour in great detail and marvel at the individuality of each species. 
    But this new type of fancier enjoys the companionship of birds above all else.
    Choosing a bird is a complicated process. It is choosing a partner, a decision about who to spend your life with. Sociability has to be taken into account. Mistakes can be costly and upsetting. But a good match brings so much happiness into the lives of both parties. 
    Later on when I was certain that we were alone I asked, ‘Who’s your friend, Mo?’
    He answered, ‘I can’t say.’
    ‘That’s OK,’ I said, not wanting to put him under any pressure.
    ‘No, really. I can’t say,’ he said again.
    He looked a bit panicky. I detected a slight movement from underneath his pom-pom. His grin looked more like a grimace.
    ‘Are you alright, Mo?’ 
    ‘Yea, I’m fine,’ he said but let out a little ‘Eek!’ His eyes widened and he turned away.
    I took my hat off and looked at Hercules who was rolling a seed around on his tongue looking deep in thought. ‘Oh dear,’ I said to him. ‘I don't like the look of this. It looks like we have an uninvited guest.’
    Whilst it is rare for a bird to attach itself to somebody uninvited, it's not unheard of. And once they've made themselves comfortable they can be hard to get rid of too. In the worst cases they invite others in to share their good fortune until the reluctant host turns into little more than a colony, covered in guano and squabbling birds both day and night. It could make life unbearable for the unlucky 'host'.
    ‘What are we going to do?’ I asked. Hercules shrugged before cracking his seed and swallowing it whole. But I could tell that he was upset.

    Early the next day we set out across the fields to the village where I grew up. 

    In those days every village had a man who was ‘good-with-animals.’ Children took sick or wounded creatures to them, poor needy souls that they had come across whilst out at play. That's who I hoped to see, to ask his advice.    
    ‘We called him Birdman Bill,’ I explained to Herc as we trudged across the muddy fields. ‘He might not be alive now,’ I said. ‘It was a long time ago. But I don’t know who else to turn to. 
    'I once took a blackbird with a broken wing to him. My father had teased me that he would have wrung its neck as soon as I’d gone. But the following weekend I returned to find him feeding it big juicy berries in exchange for saucy whistles.'
    It was growing dark as we climbed the last style and into the cul-de-sac at the top of the lane where I had lived as a boy. The house where I remembered him living looked exactly the same and just as untidy as it did all those years ago. 
    There were no lights showing in the tatty looking old house. The place looked deserted. I felt a small trembling from beneath my hat. 
    ‘Don’t worry little fella,’ I said to reassure my travelling companion. ‘I’ll protect you. Don’t be afraid.’
    Together we crept around the side of the house and peered in through its dirty windows. The garden was overgrown, like a jungle. Brambles seemed to reach out and grab hold of my coat as we struggled to pass. My ankles tangled in the undergrowth.
    There was a shriek, a squall and flurry of fur and claws. I stood looking at a pair of yellow eyes crouched low in the undergrowth, my heart beating wildly. I could feel tiny talons holding tight on the top of my head. 
    ‘Who’s there?’ shouted a man from inside the house, alerted by the noise.
    I couldn’t speak, I was paralysed with terror. A second later the door burst open with a loud crash. A huge man with hairy bulging arms filled the opening. He held a shotgun, his terrifying face at the other end of the barrel. I could smell bitter scorched oil and cordite. His gritted teeth and fierce looking eyes were lit by the soft green glow of winged beetles that buzzed all around him.   
    ‘You come snooping around here, this is what you get.’ He nudged the barrel even closer to me.
    Some of the beetles flew over to illuminate my face. They were so close that I felt a gentle breeze as their wings fanned me.
    ‘I remember you,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you leave me alone? All I did was help you and this is what I get in return.’
    ‘I … I have come here to ask for your help,’ I managed to say, my voice cracked with fear. ‘We haven’t come to cause trouble, I promise.’
    ‘WE?’ he shouted, looking past me.
    I cursed myself for saying it but before I could find the words my hat lifted slightly and Hercules showed his face. Seed husks fell onto my nose in the soft green light. What a brave little bird, I thought. But I could feel him trembling.
    The man softened instantly at the sight of my little bird. He lowered the gun and his eyes smiled. The beetles edged away from Herc’s sharp beak. 
    ‘You’d better come in,’ he said, retreating into his dark house whilst scanning the undergrowth behind me.
    We followed him into his kitchen. He settled into a winged armchair and the beetles arranged themselves around his head on its high back. He held on to the gun and gestured with it towards a low milking stool. ‘I don't get visitors’, he said. ‘Apart from those causing trouble.’ 
    I sat down facing him and removed my hat. Hercules cheeped to let me know he was there but stayed inside. I heard a seed crack.
    ‘What happened to you?’ I asked. ‘You were always so kind to us kids.’ I remembered him being such a gentle man. I was still reeling from from having a loaded gun thrust at me.
    He studied me for a moment rasping his chin, before answering.
    ‘You moved away, didn’t you? Not been around for a long time.’ 
    I nodded.
    ‘The others, though . . ‘ I waited for him to continue, not sure what he meant. What others?
    ‘They grew up and changed, told their own children to keep away from me, to be afraid of me.’ He sounded both sad and angry at the same time.
    ‘I could live with that, it wasn't too bad. I didn’t mind being left alone in peace, even if I did miss being the ‘good-with-animals’ man. I actually quite enjoyed it, while it lasted. I was sad at times, but untroubled mostly.
    ‘Then one day a little ’un went missing. The whole village was out searching. Apart from me. Well, how was I to know? The first I heard of it was when a crowd appeared outside shouting ‘Where is he, where is he. What have you done to him?’ I didn’t know what they were going on about but it scared me all the same.
    ‘I had to hide away. They was banging and shouting. I was scared, frightened for my life. After a while a policemen moved them away and stood outside my door for the rest of the night. At first light they found the boy safe and sound, thank heavens. He’d climbed a tree and fallen asleep and when he woke it was dark and he couldn’t see to get down. Spent the night in a tree, the little rascal.' He laughed at the thought. 
    ‘But no one said sorry for what happened to me that night. In fact, no-one said anything to me ever again. And all I get now is people coming up here and making mischief. They do it for fun, kids mostly. One day I’ll end up killing one of the little bastards.’

    We sat and talked all night. Birdman Bill told me many stories about the creatures that lived in those parts with an enthusiasm that was almost childlike. He liked the name we had given him and insisted that was going to be his name from now on. And he remembered the blackbird that I had brought to him.
    ‘If your’e lucky you might see one of his descendants. He drops in most mornings.’
    I asked him about Mo and his uninvited guest. Bill asked me many questions but there was very little that I could tell him. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully he said that much depended on what kind of bird it was under his hat.
    ‘Some can be lured out simply by offering them somewhere nice to live,’ he said. ‘You can make almost anywhere look really nice just by filling it with tasty treats.’
    He chuckled at the thought. ‘Birds will do anything for a nice big juicy worm,’ he said. ‘And if you’ve got a bucketful you could probably even teach ‘em to ride a bike!’ He laughed merrily at his joke.
    ‘But some are buggers to shift. Storm petrels are the worst. And once word gets out, all their mates move in with ‘em.’ He nodded gravely. 'And the smell is unbearable. Not to mention the noise.’
    As the darkness gave way to dawn the gloom inside the kitchen lessened. Very slowly I began to make out all manner of birds lining the walls. There were many types in different shapes and sizes but they all had their heads tucked under a wing and stood on just one leg. 
    ‘Some of ‘em roost here because it’s safer than outside. Most of ‘em just like being here, though. Friends,’ he said with a happy smile. 
    One by one the birds awoke, making soft sleepy cooing sounds as they emerged from their brooding slumber. The resting leg would appear from up in the warmth of its feathers, then stretched out and twisted back into life. One wing would get fully extended, then tucked tidily away, then they'd repeat the exercise with the other wing. Beaks rummaged, preening a little before hopping down onto the floor for a few grains of corn. They'd then fly out through a broken pane of glass above the sink, wings thrumming as they went.
    The dawn chorus sounded from nearby trees and rooftops. Hercules hopped about on a work top and let some young tits share his millet.
    ‘Most of what you can hear out there were asleep in my kitchen just a few minutes ago,’ Bill said with some pride.
    We agreed to each find out more and meet again in two day’s time. He would make enquiries amongst his ‘contacts’ and I would check how Mo was bearing up. 

    Somehow I had to find out what kind of bird he had under his hat.