The Bird Club

Gawky, spindly youths on the cusp of manhood, insecurity rife

Could have gone either way — fight! fight! fight! — baying for blood

Chanting in the playground, no shortage of takers, crowds gathered

Blood spats, broken noses, and never a good outcome

Mr. Few, the Geography teacher, took Ornithology classes after school

He tried to tempt them in; the wayward boys, the no-hopers, the loafers

With promises of field trips and a free badge to sport on their Crombie coats

As if that would lure them in; a field trip — maybe but a badge. No way.

Binoculars nick-named ‘bins’ and educational pamphlets crumpled in disrespect

The core of the class keen and interested in birds wore their binoculars with pride

Pencils sharpened and notebooks at the ready, they were a pleasure to teach

Even the boys at the back quietened, intrigued, happy to be doing something different

The bird table near the fountain at the main entrance to the school building

Was where they gathered at a distance on school benches, hushed by Mr. Few

A tiny Goldfinch skittered to the feeder clinging to the side, pecking the seeds

It’s blood-red cap and bright yellow go-faster stripes on its wings pretty and alluring

Urban landscapes in the concrete jungle of the new-town where the school was built

Offered little scope for wildlife to flourish, save for handkerchief-sized gardens

Attached to rows and rows of identical plain brick houses, every front door the same

The residents scratching a living in the post-war era of 1950s Britain — food-rationing

Fresh in people’s minds, second-hand clothes the norm, home-made uniforms

A necessity to make ends meet.

“Your boy in that Bird Club, Marge?”

“Yes. Is yours?”

“No! Said it was for sissies. Left school early and got a job. Brings home a fortune”

Marge unpacked her groceries and stashed them neatly in the larder

Her two kids, Shirley and Billy, were out in the garden, hiding in some tent they’d made

Eating jam sandwiches and watching birds through their binoculars

The ones they’d had to borrow from school. Pete’s wages could never have stretched that far

She’d seen Paul, her friend’s son, driving a flashy new car and wondered how he could afford it

None of her business. She had a meal for four to prepare out of a few scraps

She was used to it. Pete would get promotion one day. She was looking for work

Besides, she enjoyed listening to Shirley and Billy discussing birds at the dinner table

* * *

This story was first published on Medium, where you can find more of my work. Why not get a weekly update from my village in England by signing up to Rosy's Ramblings?

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