JACK KENDAL'S PIGEONS by David Nuttall

Jack Kendal was a pigeon man
He'd been a collier too.
His pigeons were his pride and joy..
He marvelled as they flew.

His lofts were like a palace..
Pink painted and unique.
His birds would wheel and soar and sway
Then Jack's loft they would seek .

The mornings they would see him
Put birds in baskets there
Then on the back of old Jack's bike
Their calling wrent the air.

And from South Elmsall then the train
To London , Scotland went
And even to the South of France
His precious birds he sent.

Then he went home to wait and fret
About them getting back.
His tin of corn he'd rattle..
A nervous wreck was Jack !

His fame it spread from his race success...
International, club and county
Gold cups and cash were his rewards
But not his real bounty.

To him it was a .miracle !
I , too , marvelled as a lad
To see and hear him call them home..
Jack...happy , proud and glad !!

But we were left heart- broken
When fools came in the night
And set the fire which killed his birds
It was a dreadful sight.

Undaunted ,though , his lofts rebuilt
The effort took him years.
A thriving loft emerged once more
Replacing all his tears.

One morning as his birds flew out
Jack fell victim to the coal..
Those years of toiling in the dust
It sadly took it's toll.

He passed away remembering
His birds fly overhead
They seemed reluctant to return...
Perhaps sensing he was dead.

Today when I see pigeons fly
I think of ailing Jack
I realise those days are gone....
It's just THE PIGEONS coming back.