Bilco - RP Column 13/03/2009

[willie reynolds]

RP Column - 13/03/09

Nine Years Ago . . .

Give or take a few days now, my wife of almost 50 years together died from the ravages of lung cancer. She refused to go into a Hospice, and with the sterling aid of our District Nurse and a team of Macmillan Nurses we did our best to ensure her last few weeks were as comfortable as we could make them. She knew the score, and had spent months teaching me to cook, shop, keep house and generally cope. She often told me I should look for another wife because, as she put it, You need someone to look after you. Well I did look, half heartedly, but none matched her standards, looks or competence, so I remain alone. I wrote a poem which my editor at that time in Pigeon Sport put on the front page. The last half dozen lines said . . .

But now my sweet youve gone away

With Angels, and I shall see no more

Your sweet and loving gaze.

Be kind my sweet, my little dove

In dreams come hold my hand, come talk

To me for I miss you so, my lifetimes love.

Well, its nine years now, 19th February since she passed away, and yes, she still comes to me in dreams and talks to me, just as if she were still here, living, interested in what goes on. She looks as she did in her twenties, laughs, talks, often quite seriously about things, then come morning she is gone again. Yes, OK, Im gaga and halfway round the twist I agree, but to me she is as real as she always was when she was alive. Am I supposed to say theres a message here? I wonder. If there is it must be Dont give up.

My Apology . .. .

For being absent these past three months. I got just a little bit peed off when my copy didnt arrive around the Doncaster OC Show time, and as that was the third time in a year thats happened I decided I would take myself a little holiday instead of sitting here bashing the keys to no effect. I took another holiday in mid-January and went off to Tenerife for a fortnight and enjoyed some well merited sunshine, good food and pleasant company. I shall shove off to the south of France in April and go see how my older son is managing with his rockery and I have to say that kicking 80-y-o suits me. I have earned my perch I reckon. I have three American invitations to come over and stay awhile sitting on the mantel, and might even accept them and do a Stateside tour later on in the year. Theres nothing like keeping busy is there?

The New German Nestboxes . . .

And YB perches are in (thanks to Bill Woodall) who arranged things for me, and the good offices of Geoff Priest who attended to their UK delivery. The lofts have been stirred up a bit, some of the oldest inhabitants have been sent on and new faces adorn the sputnik, looking out. If theyre any good youll hear about them in due course. My neighbour spends more time in the loft than I do these days, and with his elder son is very keen. Nice arrangement, I buy the corn, they scrape it out. We all enjoy.

My Old Mate Pete Hollard . . .

Looked well when I dropped in on him last month, and brewed a tasty cuppa in his inimitable fashion. We sat and watched the deer at the bottom of his garden, nibbling at the edges of the lawn, and one large and very beautiful cock Pheasant perched on the wheelbarrow and preened himself for the benefit of his hens pottering about on the ground. Meanwhile some latebred hens kept flirting up and down the bars of the widowers section, where the gentlemen were busily hatching under the watchful eyes of their ladies. Looks to me as if Pete has things well in hand for another attack on NFC honours

And it must be around 20 years since he last topped the Nantes sheet with his Winkie taking 1st Open. I did notice some of Johnny Deardens rubbish in the hens section, good tackle that, so wont be surprised to see Pete having a go later on at Tarbes or even a bit further.

Three or Four .. . .

Years ago I used to keep nagging on fanciers to buy themselves a personal computer, and to get on the Internet, not just for the sheer interest factor, but the ease of communication with the other half of the world, the opening up of infinitely larger boundaries than we had ever known, the fathomless libraries of knowledge world wide and, of course, the facility of being able to have a natter with your mates countrywide. Well now most of the Fancy are on the Inet, all barring the few that cant afford it yet, or those whose brains have solidified and who say they cannot understand computers. Thats rubbish for a start, for they are far and away more user friendly than they ever were in the gloom of history (30 years ago now) and even 4-y-o children can and do use them with facility.

When peregrines became a damned nuisance to me, I started thinking sideways and, as I was taught a long, long while ago the habit of getting to know thine enemy took root again and I started looking for places they might inhabit, with the view to avoiding these places and thus increase my chances of getting my birds home. Apart from the Cliffs on the coast where they bred, I started looking for Quarries inland where they might breed, and when these were logged I started looking for tall buildings where idiot minded bird lovers might erect nesting boxes, and I found them. Use Google Maps to home in on aerial views of houses and homes, locations, etc. The Satellites give you pinpoint accuracy and it is almost frightening at what you can find with very little effort these days.

The Silver Brigade a new name for we old geezers, seem to have taken to computers remarkably well, and they hog the airways Im reliably informed, not that I believe it. I only sit here a few hours every day, nattering to people world wide, when I might be otherwise profitably engaged chopping logs or weeding the greenhouse. Hah !


Time Will Tell . . .

A man died and went to Heaven. As he stood in front of the Pearly Gates, he saw a huge wall of clocks behind him. He asked, 'What are all those clocks?' St. Peter answered, 'Those are Lie-Clocks. Everyone on earth has a Lie-Clock. Every time you lie the hands on your clock move.' 'Oh', said the man. 'Whose clock is that?' 'That's Mother Teresa's', replied St. Peter. 'The hands have never moved, indicating that she never told a lie.' 'Incredible', said the man. 'And whose clock is that one?' St. Peter responded, 'That's Abraham Lincoln's clock. The hands have moved twice, telling us that Abraham told only two lies in his entire life.' 'Where's Gordon Brown's clock?' asked the man. 'Brown's clock is in Jesus's office. He's using it as a ceiling fan.'

Have You Noticed . . . ?

How many really top class pigeons these days are Blues, sporting a third bar, or the large part of a third bar on their wings? Look at this weeks front page of the BHW, and this bird is NOT bred down from continental Van this or Van that, its sire is a Jim Biss/R Clarke and its dam is bred down from good old Scottish long distance families. Whats more, there have been several good third bar pigeons in this fanciers family (Gordon Willox of Peterhead). The feature seems to have become more and more marked lately, and is now used by several fanciers as a guide to a good un.