Our walks in St. James’s Park are regularly punctuated by stops to admire the six pelicans who usually spend their time on the paths where walkers gasp to see the bird with the second-largest wing span in the world strolling companionably beside them. Sometimes, for a change, one of them will Clamber up onto a bench to sit nonchalantly next to a nervous admirer. And on days when they are not feeling gregarious, they may all make do with sunning themselves on their rock in the middle of the lake.
During our past few walks we have seen only one of them – is it Isla, Tiffany, Gargi – or one of the recent additions – Sun, Moon or Star ? We have no idea. But we do know we’re seeing the same one each time – the pinkest one- and we are truly anxious as to what has happened to the others.
We make up tragic stories:
All the others have migrated to the warmth and this one is left alone and pining.
The others have had some devastating accident and this one will have to build a life for itself without its family.
This one has been ostracised by the others – too pink, perhaps – while they make a new home for themselves down the road in the lush gardens of Buckingham Palace.
Generations of pelicans have lived in the park since the Russian Ambassador presented the first birds in 1664 and the idea of their no longer being around is truly upsetting.
Eventually, I can stand the speculation no longer (I have talked in this blog before about the difference between “The Writer”, who would rather have a good story, and me, who would rather know the truth. Fiction versus documentary.)
I ask one of the army of gardeners preparing the park for Spring. (Planting and burgeoning is going on all around us, flower beds being laid out, trees sprouting their first shoots of green and snowdrops dotting the ground.
The true story, of course, turns out to be more prosaic than any of our attempts at High Tragedy: There is a pandemic of Avian ‘flu raging, so the birds have been Locked down in order to avoid infection. They are isolating in a small house on an island in the lake and taking their daily exercise swimming in its small private pool.
So why is this one bird left at the mercy of the virus ?
It turns out our renegade peli. has evaded all attempts at catching him and quarantining him with the other because he, alone of the gang, is able to fly far and fast enough to outwit his keepers. Far from being unhappy and alone as the hero or of our fantasies, he is free to roam the park while the other five are confined to barracks for the foreseeable future, no more to relish the click of camera shutters or preen themselves to star in a thousand selfies.
“The Writer” is right, of course, the stories were better.
But when we discover that the birds turn pink in Spring when they’re ready to mate – and look at the blushing bird remaining at liberty, there is scope for a whole new series of tragedies about the sad pelican who is ready for love but will never, never find it because of lockdown.
Locked down in London 