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Into the Darkness

“Come on up,” he said, “and make sure you step on the beams and not the ceiling.” I reached out for the strong arms above me and let myself be lifted into the dark interior of our loft. As I rose up hooks were visible, though no sides of bacon hung from them as was usual when we had just killed a pig."

“It's black in here Dad.” , the words were uttered with no sense of fear for he was with me and Mum in the kitchen. A torch sent a beam across the loft, probably the same torch that, for the first time in my life, I was allowed to shine into the night sky in May 1945. My eyes noticed a thin line of natural light in the distance at a slightly lower level than me.

Dad halted, made sure that I was standing on the beam, and shone the light. “There are the reasons for the noises in the loft son.” All around us were birds’ nests. Well not birds plural for they were all the same. A score or more of these sleek, black, screaming creatures were sitting on their eggs almost oblivious of the two alien intruders. Dad reached down, picked up one of the birds and handed it to me. “Handle it like a pigeon son only with a lighter touch.” I knew about pigeons, we kept them, knew how to hold them, knew a good racer when I held one.

Apart from the sparrows that we caught using a dustbin lid, a length of string and some bread crumbs this was the first wild bird that I had actually held. That is why the swift will always be a bit special to me. No longer would I throw stones at them as they flew round and round the green across the road from our front garden, no longer would I be a collector of birds eggs.

Suddenly the swift made a movement, escaped, flew through gap and did a belly flop, landing on our lawn. Was it dead? We went downstairs, outside, Mum with us. Dad once more picked up the bird, handed it to me. “Let it go David. Let it fly.” I did. The swift soared off into the sky only to return to its nest while we were still watching.

Dave and June Sargeant.