David Yate’s serialisation of The Last Bullfighter continues this weekend, with Part One of Chapter Three today. Catch up on previous chapters if you have missed them. Ed
Yul The Raven
The ship had stopped moving. The birds heard loud noises as if something long and heavy was being dragged across the deck above their heads. They felt a little frightened, but knowing how well Whacker had looked after them so far, they knew that they probably had little to fear. Some time passed before Whacker reappeared in the magazine. He looked sad.
“Well little shipmates, it’s time for you to fly home now. Come on, I’ll take you back up to the flag deck and let you go.”
Of course, Dickie Bird and Mucky Duck still didn’t understand what the man was saying, but once more he lifted the box up gently, wrapped it in large paper bags and carried it through the ship. The birds could hear excited voices every couple of yards, and men calling out to Whacker,
“Have a good leave mate. See you in two weeks’ time.”
As Whacker stepped through one last door, the birds felt fresh air rushing into the bag. Fresh, but much colder than they had felt when they were last in the fresh air. Whacker peeled back the paper bags and sat the box on the flag deck.
“Right then. I shall be sad to see you birds go, but I’ve done me best and I hope you’re all better now.”
Whacker lifted the lid, and the birds hopped onto the edge of the box and stretched their wings. There were small tears in Whacker’s eyes, as he fed each one a last crumb of ship’s biscuit and said his farewells.
“Bye then, my little shipmates. It’s been great havin’ you onboard. I hope you get home safely – and don’t get shot again.”
Dickie flew onto Whacker’s shoulder and rubbed his beak up against the young sailor’s ear. Then they flew off. Whacker stood and waved. Tears rolled down his face, as he shouted out one last time,
“Don’t forget to send me a postcard.”
The birds flew round HMS Slinger a couple of times like homing pigeons trying to get their bearings, and that was exactly what they were doing. After being cooped up in the box for so long, it took a little time to regain their sense of direction.
“Let’s fly to that tall tree over there – the one without any leaves,” Dickie called out, as he flew one last time over Whacker waving from the ship – with a puzzled Gunnery Officer scratching his head just behind him.
They landed on the top of the tall, bare tree, and were quickly joined by another, much bigger and older bird – who only had one eye.
“Kyoo-kyoo – good afternoon gents, and what may I ask brings you to perch on my ship?”
“A ship! Is this a ship? Oh sorry, I thought it was a tree,” replied Dickie.
“This ship was a whole forest of trees once,” the old bird explained, “Then they turned it into Admiral Nelson’s Flagship, and now I live on here ya’ see. So come on, what are you two up to?”
“Well,” began Dickie, “It’s a long story, but we were emigrating across the sea from Africa, when a group of men blasted us out of the sky with their guns. They do the same every year, and we’re losing hundreds of lives each time. We were shot and wounded, and now, after being looked after by one of the sailors on that big metal ship over there, we’re trying to reach the rest of our flock again – wherever they are.”
The old bird raised his right wing and scratched the scar above his missing eye.
“See this scar? This was caused by one of those same bloomin’ guns. T’was when I was nuffin’ more than a fledgling. I was mindin’ me own business one day over by the great rubbish tip, when suddenly, BANG, a lump of lead took me eye right out. I was lucky like you though, cos an old woman picked me up and took me home. She bandaged me up for a week and her old man, an ex-sailor himself, called me Jack and dyed this anchor on me wing. Looks good don’t ya fink?”
The swallows nodded, and Dickie spoke again, “Why do men keep shooting us when we do them no harm? What can we do to stop them? We’re only birds. We can’t shoot back can we? We know how to fly and build nests, but we don’t know how to fight.”
“Then perhaps we should learn, or die!” declared Jack
“But we know nothing about fighting.”
“No,” agreed Jack. “We can’t shoot or fight.”
“So how can birds beat men with guns?” asked Mucky.
“Easy. There are loads of ways that birds can harm humans; poop on their heads when they haven’t got guns, and even poop in their water tanks and poison them. That way we could teach these men a lesson they’ll never forget.”
“That sounds possible, but there are only two of us and over fifty of them back on the beach.”
“Look ere mates,” whispered Old Jack. “You’re only two small swallows, but there are many different sorts of birds in the world you know, and some of them are capable of doing just about anything.”
“But where do we find such birds?” asked the increasingly frustrated Mucky.
“Well for a start I’ll bring my flock of seagulls with us and we’re sure to find plenty of other birds as we make our way back to the place where you were shot.” Jack replied.
Dickie was astounded by what Jack was saying. “You mean we just try to enlist a large flock of birds to take on a big gang of men with guns? You must be crazy. Who’d want to take on such a task as that?”
“Trust me shipmates,” Jack replied. “There are plenty of good birds out there. We just need to find them that’s all, and I think I know exactly who could lead our flock. Just follow me mateys.”
* * *
Though the swallows were astonished by Jack’s suggestions, they also knew it was the only answer. They had to find help and fight back, otherwise every year more and more birds would get shot from the skies.
“Thank you for the advice Jack. You’re right, we’ll start heading back to that terrible place where the men with guns live and we’ll try to recruit an airborne army on the way.”
Later, with Jack’s small flock of six seagulls in tow, they took off again from the Victory and soared into the sky, calling, “Kyoo-kyoo,”. As they felt the wind in their feathers again, the two swallows quickly regained their sense of direction and followed Jack’s flock of seagulls across a narrow stretch of water to a large island lying just off the mainland.
The two birds were anxious as they crossed the wide sandy beach with the long pier cutting through it, in case more men with guns were waiting for them below. But, they flew above the Isle of Wight with no such attacks. Heading south, they took only a few minutes to cross the patchwork of narrow roads, small towns and fields of the island, before they caught sight of the sea again.
“Look. Down there.” Said Jack. “That’s the place I’m looking for, the small park with all the strange plants. Let’s go down and see if we can find the bird I’m looking for.”
Jack’s seagulls and the swallows landed in the top of a banana tree. Dickie had never seen anything like it growing this far north before, so he knew it must mean they were in a very special place.
“Look, over there,” he cried, “Figs, and over there plants from Africa. What kind of place is this?”
Strange, exotic plants attracted strange exotic creatures, and they quickly pecked at some lovely juicy bugs they caught crawling up the large flat leaves of the banana tree.
“Hey, these are beau-ti-ful.” Exclaimed Mucky.
“Pruk-pruk-pruk – I know they’re beautiful,” called out a voice from the ground. “I eat them all the time.”
The seagulls and swallows looked down and saw the striking silhouette of a large black bird looking up at them from the border of a flat expanse of neatly mown grass.
“Tok-tok-tok – Hi. I’m Yul,” the bird called up. “Yul the Raven. How can I help you?”
Dickie and Mucky told Yul their story and ended by saying, “So we’re looking to gather a large flock of birds to stop these men shooting us with their guns. Jack knew you lived over here and thought you might be just the person we need to lead us?”
Yul flapped his wings and landed in the banana tree next to the other birds.
“Yeah, sounds just the sort of job for me. Anyway, I’m bored in this Botanical Garden, living off insects and the occasional mouse or rabbit. I’m your Raven, and I think I can get hold of another good bird too, from the Rare Breeds Centre next door. Wait until you meet this guy. He’s a real cool dude this one.”
Find out what happens next by tuning in tomorrow.
Images: Atli Harðarson
