GULL WOMAN.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 274, 18 November 1936, Page 23

GULL WOMAN.

By REX MILES,

(SHORT STORY.)

WE met her for the first time on the hill road that stretches up and away from what surely is one of the smallest and loveliest harbours in England. Our house stood half way up the hill, and the sensation of dwelling in it; the early morning sounds washing through the window, or the standing at the door gazing upon the toy-scene below, was an experience the like of which I had not known before. Then one day, with the passing of feet outside the dining room window, our good lady called and beckoned to us, and we, blinking in -the sunlight, food still in our mouths, were introduced to her. "I have noticed your place," I said. "The Jackdaws' Hospital, you call it." "You must come and visit it." Her voice was refined, her eyes were pale as a daw's, ar»d her hair black and curly, stood about her head like a mop, boy-like. "Indeed, we should love to." "To-morrow, then!" She smiled straightly and carelessly at us, as often I find, Itlo people whose interests and work place them above the ordinary, and walked steadily up the hill with her basket of groceries. "She is a clever woman," said our lady. "Her father was Spanish. She herself is an artist." * » * * One ascended to her studio and the , Jackdaws' Hospital by way of steps cut in the bank at the roadside. She nodded, and asked us to follow her. We were told, as cautiously we peered round the door of a weather- blackened shed, that often people' brought to them birds found maimed on the shore; gulls, shags, guillemots, sanderhngs—all found a haven of rest and restoration here.

It was a wood and wire-netted structure in which we were standing. Along one side was a wide shelf which extended through the wall to form a caged balcony, and which looked out to the road and the small land-plots falling away to the sea. Within the shed the feathered patients were free to walk, hop or flutter as best as their various disabilities would allow. One had lost legs, another wings, another wings, tail and most o£ its feathers. Broken-limbed jackdaws, returning love for love shown. Ben, tailless and; windless, had dwelt here for five years, we learned. He was cheerful despite his great incapacity, and, as the oldest, resident, asserted his rights with aloquacity gained from close contact with human beings. But another inmate, proud of his power of flight, clacked and circled about the cage, and, excited at the presence of visitors, Hew from a trapdoor in the balcony, and with much demonstration, toured above the colonj. - We emerged from the slied, the pale eyes of the woman upon the jacky. bhe spoke amusedly: "He never goeei from sight .... we simply cannot get him to leave us." She looked as one completely happy and fulfilled in this, her strange and beneficent occupation, absorbed m the care of these creatures of the wild. * * * * Tmentioned gulls. G.ulls? Why, yes, she would show us some. Down a path and then more cages, this time in the open, set in the sloping field, square structures of wire-netting,, big as a r °Herrin<r gulls and great black-backed trulls—these the fearsome robiber-birds of the ocean, proud of mien, standing silent and tolerant.

Sad it was to see them broken of limb within sight and sound of the foamcrested waves breaking over St. Clements Isle. "Wo are about to release one," said our remarkable companion. "His wing should have mended sufficiently by now." Our hostess .entered a cage; as she closed the door there was a general movement from the lialf dozen gulls within. Marking out the patient she proposed to discharge, she edged it into a corner; it threw out a screech like an angry cock in a poultry run as she bent down and grasped it, and smoothing its spread wings, tucked it under her arm. They carried it into the open field facing' the sea. The field sloped downward, having at its lawer edge a high ■bank of fuchsias that screened from view the sea; but it was an admirable ■taking-off ground, since the decline enabled a weak bird to obtain benefit from the extra wind-leverage.

The woman knew by experience that a gull, if sufficiently recovered, should clear the hedge. The huge, buoyant-looking bird was placed on the ground. It stood still, regaining its composure, lifting its head, sensing its freedom. It walked a few paces, ran, then stopped. It ran again, and again it stopped. It spread its wings, feeling the soft upward flow of the air which was its life; it raised them high and lowered them to its sides, fluttered slowly and stopped; fluttered again, a prolonged unavailing beating, raising a foot fiom the ground, then running a few yards and coming to rest again. The women looked at each other, shaking their heads. I thought that given time the gull would gather assurance, give higher and higher flights until it had gained confidence enough to launch into freedom. But time passed, and beyond a few desultory wing-beats, the bird was content to remain settled on the ground, sadly ineffective yet innerly proud.

Our friend was disappointed; said that although its wing had mended, it had not yet the strength of movement necessary to lift the weight of its body. So they captured the bird again and placed it with its brethren in distress.

We said we felt sorry about the gull. We were sure that it soon, under their care, would regain its old lawless spirit and take to the affinity of air and water. We jumped down, bidding them goodbye, and walked along the lane above the studio and the cages and the broken birds. I turned, feeling acutely the vain struggles of the gull, the proud exil; that could rise no further than a foot above the earth. Far across the bay I could see the Lizard. I thought of the ship, beaten upon the rocks the previous night. I thought of a gull dashed and splintered upon the rocks by the same mountainous waves. Yet here in the sunlight the water was smiling, and dappled with guinea gold, and within the tiny arms of the harbour, the absurdly small fishing boats lay imaged in a stillness of dreams, so that it came to me that the beauty of life sprung from laughter and pain.