Flight Delays

As I descended the stairs, first thing in the morning, there was a strange almost electronic and synthesised sound ringing in my ears.

It was very brief and at first I thought it was from a particular tread under foot. Considering my body mass and the age of the staircase timbers it could have been one of those unnatural sounds of resistance between wood and old nails, like a twanging.

The house was built in the 1920's at a time of scarcity of good building wood following the massive drain of the 1914-18 war. I likened some of the floorboards, when first revealed under layers of carpet and canvas to be remnants of munitions boxes. I would not have been surprised to see the Crown mark or an arrow with WD for war department.

The brevity of the moment did not cause me to linger and speculate for more than was necessary particularly with the prospect of a first cup of tea for the day.

A little later , having returned upstairs for a moment to rouse The Boy, I was in roughly the same spot on the stairs when the noise zoned in on me again. Once could be just an anomaly but twice and in the same position was establishing a trend. The resonance made it difficult to directionally locate the sound. It could as easily be under the stairs as in the stairs or even outside in the road. 

In the past I had been startled by a similarly freakish noise from the loft space. The chain of events that led to the outburst of mechanical sound was evidently complicated in that instance. I suspect that a light wind, generated by the coming together of a weather front in the Ural Mountains of Russia had built up momentum as it flowed westwards over Europe and the North Sea.  Hitting the landmass of East Yorkshire the now stronger breeze will have been funnelled through the streets of Hull and out into the suburbs. The bulb of wind pressure, in due course, striking my semi detached house, will have caused a stirring under the roof slates, the wobbling of a precariously stacked pile of  loft relegated toys and in the avalanche of Barbies, Action Man and Star Wars Figures a button on the front of the Buzz Lightyear character was activated with an outburst of to infinity and beyond causing panic amongst the children as though being invaded by aliens.

There were to my knowledge similar electronic games and figures in the gas cupboard under the stairs with potential for an anauthorised transmission of a pre-recorded message. Possibly an explanation of the strange noise.

I had a quick look in the storm porch, more out of frustration than a committed search. I always closed up the outer door before going to bed and was confident that this remained locked and secure.

I could see nothing. 

The computer in the back room was switched off and was therefore eliminated as a source. I had not turned on and tuned in the digital radio in the kitchen. Early morning broadcasts on BBC 4-Extra can include the sound affect filled Goon Show but not today. On completing a cycle the dishwasher does emit a high pitched beeping but my tantalising noise was very different. My enthusiastic DIY motivated neighbour was not yet awake and firing up his tools. It was a thursday and the bin men were not scheduled for another 24 hours. The mobile streetsweeping vehicle had been a victim of the stringent budget cuts of the local authority and had not been seen for some weeks. The Boy was not yet sufficiently motivated to twang his electric guitar.

After a few minutes of silence it could be heard again. It must be coming from the porch. The acoustics and transmission of sound must be from the porch. I carefully looked again.

Nothing under the small table and plant pot. The hanging basket, not yet filled with seasonal plants was empty. Then, a small movement caught my eye.

Stood on the black and white mosaic tile floor was the leaded and stained glass terrarium. 14 sided , resting on a level plane , flat topped and with one open panel through which to place the soil and small ornamental heathers and aromatics.

It was now the self imposed confinement cell for a chubby, fat and scruffy bird. The creature was downy and fluffy, so only very young and from its piercing and vibrating cries mightily distressed, hungry and wanting its mother. The accumulated droppings in the bottom of the geometric shape testified to an all night imprisonment.

The fat fledgling must have been in the porch when I locked up the night before but quite content to sit it out until roused by the otherwise happy and free dawn chorus in the garden. My presence in the porch, whilst intended to be non-threatening in my impression of tweeting and clucking was enough incentive for the bird to discover the sole open panel by which it had got itself into the present trouble.

I tried to put myself between the inner wall and the flapping fluff ball after swinging open the outer door. The theory was to coax and flush out the bird to the fresh air beyond. Confusion and a little panic set in. My profile, initially viewed through the terrarium will have been quite like that seen by a fly's eye and therefore not a little bit scary. The reluctance of the bird to escape was understandable. Free from the glass jail perhaps my appearance was still frightening, after all I was still in my nighttime attire of shorts and T shirt and I had not yet shaved.

It was stalemate so I retreated to behind the inner door, out of the line of sight. In a gay skipping action, a slower walk and a hop and jump the creature cleared the threshold and careered across the lawn and into the bushes just within my front garden wall. I did not see it after that but did check the new refuge on my way to work and it had evidently flown away in a shower of immature feathers and dried, formerly caked on droppings.

Things returned to normality in our household although I did shamlessly exploit the tale of the fat bird and all the accompanying double entendres.