Following Part One of Chapter Four yesterday, read on to find out what happens next to our feathered friends.
The following morning, just as the sun was rising, the birds left the roost to look for a couple of birds that Shultz and Klara had insisted would be good enough to join their gang. They flew out of the city, and stopped by the banks of the Havel river, just outside Potsdam.
“Well, where are these tough birds you were talking about Shultz?” asked Yul.
“Just wait a while, you’ll soon hear them,” Shultz replied.
The birds remained on the high branches for five minutes, not knowing who or what they were listening for. Suddenly they heard a loud ‘tap-tap-tap-tap-tap,’ coming from a tree across the river.
“That’s them,” exclaimed Shultz.
The birds flew across to the tree where the noise had come from, and there they saw the source of the tapping – two great-spotted woodpeckers. Yul was first to speak. “We heard you were good birds. We’ve got a job for you south of the border.”
“Cheek-cheek-cheek – Who’s the opposition?” asked one of the woodpeckers.
“A large gang of men with guns,” replied Yul. “There’s no pay, but lots of sunshine – which is better than you’d get holed up here on this cold German river bank.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right there.”
The birds shook wings, the woodpeckers introduced themselves and then they all flew off together – to head back to Berlin. Back on the Brandenburg gate, the two swallows soon joined them.
Two days later, Dickie Bird, Mucky Duck, the seagulls, Yul, Bluey, Eric’s starlings, Shultz and Klara and the woodpeckers landed on the roof of a large theatre in Madrid, the capital of Spain. The gang was still on the lookout for more birds to join their flock as they realised they didn’t have far to go to reach their destination. The journey south through Frankfurt, Zurich and Toulouse had not yielded any suitable additions. As they discussed which direction to head next, their attention was drawn to the sound of cheerful singing coming from a roof adjacent to the theatre.
“I’m singing in the rain, just singing in the rain, what a glorious feeling, I’m happy again.”
The birds flew closer to take a look. There, skipping along in a channel of running water was a medium-sized black bird with white markings under his beak.
“Let the stormy clouds break.”
Shultz coughed loud enough for the skipping bird to hear. The bird stopped singing, cocked his beak in the air, bowed, swept his wing to one side and greeted the group in a fine theatrical voice,
“Good afternoon, and who might I have the pleasure of entertaining on the roof of my theatre?”
Have you come for an audition? Now let me see, what play would it be – Macbeth, Midsummer Night’s Dream? Or is it something a little, shall we say, less cultural. Me and my Girl perhaps, or one of those beastly new plays – Cats, or Starlight Express?”
The other birds were amazed by this incredible character who spoke such perfect Shakespearean English.
“No,” responded Mucky, “We’re not here for an audition, and anyway, even if we were, it certainly wouldn’t be for Cats!”
Dickie began to tell the tale once more. The new bird listened intently, and then in a completely different voice altogether, said, as the gangster-actor James Gagney might say,
“Ah, I see. You wise guys sound as if you might need a little help sorting out these two-bit hoodlums. Now then, what’s the bank roll for this job?”
Dickie explained the non existent wage structure for the mission, and the bird burst out laughing in a voice that sounded like an old cockney, music hall comedian,
“You what guv’nor? Leave it out will ya. What do you fink I am eh, a blinkin’ charity? Oi missus, come an’ hear this one for a laugh.”
Reverting to a normal voice, he said, “You are joking – aren’t you? Surely you don’t mean it when you say there’s no wages. Nothing?”
Bluey explained the intricacies of the job, and the other birds voiced their support.
“I can speak decent English,” said Bluey. “But I’m only a macaw, and we could sure do with a mynah bird on our side.”
“Well now,” replied the mynah bird, adopting his Shakespearean voice again, “I’ll have to cancel all my appointments for the next two weeks, plus of course the invite to the Palladium, and then there’s the dinner with Sir Michael. Oh – er, okay then, I accept, though I think I must be mad.”
“He is blinkin’ mad,” whispered Bluey, through the side of his beak.
The mynah bird introduced himself.
“My name is Rory,” he began. “My owner is a film and theatre critic who takes me all over Europe. He doesn’t take me in a cage though. I fly on ahead and meet him. We’ve always had this special understanding you see. I fend for myself most of the time, but Clarence lets me watch old films on his television set back in Oxford. That’s how I learn all these different voices. Who shall I do next? Richard Burton, Cary Grant or Humphrey Bogart?”
