It came out of nowhere. Sudden, loud, sometimes clipped and vehement, sometimes frantic but mostly anguished, and somewhere in my neighbour’s garden.
I had been woken by what I thought to be an animal in profound distress, before 4am. It was far too early for any creature to be up and about. I sat up, confused, and rose befuddled to my window. The sound continued – long, agonising cries punctuating the stillness before dawn. As sense took shape in my brain I began to feel very upset. I got dressed and went down into my garden to see what was going on.
Listening carefully, the screaming appeared to be coming from the bushes near my neighbour’s shed, at the bottom of his garden. I didn’t know what to do. The gate was locked, and the fence too high to climb over. I got a torch and shone it into the gloom, scanning for whatever clue I could find.
The creature called again, this time at some length. By this time I realised that it was a bird, either trapped and injured or most likely having been mauled by a nocturnal, prowling cat. I had to make a decision. I went back into the house, got a stepladder, unlocked the fiercely stiff gate, and went in. I shone two torches into the bushes, but I couldn’t see anything. I thought I heard a sigh coming from the back, but I couldn’t be sure. Everything went quiet. I didn’t know what to do – so I went and rung the neighbour’s doorbell at the front of their house. No answer, even though their car was there.
I went back and locked their gate from the inside – then the bird started calling again, its brittle, rasping cheeps conveying intense pain: ‘Help me – PLEASE FIND ME.’
‘I’m here, my love, I’m here – I’m coming to find you,’ I said, softly, ‘Be calm, save your strength – tell me where you are.’ I stopped and listened again, and realised that it was further back beyond the bushes, somewhere in the narrow gap between our fence and the shed. I shifted the bikes on my side of the fence, pushed the stepladder closer and leaned over it as far as I could. I took a torch and shoved aside the stubborn bindweed and passiflora to peer into the undergrowth. But the space was too narrow to climb over and whatever I tried, I simply could not see anything.
I stepped down and waited quietly near the fence, but only silence remained. At ten to five I stood solitary in the garden, desperate for a last call, and resigned myself to the worst.
I trudged back into the kitchen, sat down and wept.
This morning there was no dawn chorus. I went up to my bedroom and lay on the bed, desolate and wracked with guilt. A creature had suffered so badly, I was the only person who could have saved it, and I had failed. As the sun rose, the riotous, hopeful chirrup which normally greeted the gardens was absent, save for a lone wood pigeon calling somewhere in the far distance. They must have heard it. They must have known. There was nothing I could do.
Somewhere tangled in the green, the poor creature was lying still, its journey ended, while my heart grieved and the living continued their sad, relentless march on through another ordinary day.
