by Martha Moore
Homer panicked, and flew around the ship where he could see his friend, and remain undetected. The cage held about ten other carrier pigeons, and unknown to Clovis, his archenemy Vogelzar. Clovis became fearful when Vogelzar began shoving his way toward him.
“Did you plan to intercept my message too? I sent an army of birds to destroy you, but you destroyed my army, didn’t you, wimpy dove?” Homer witnessed Vogelzar’s wrath as he began to tighten his talons around Clovis. Clovis tried to rise above his fears.
“If you hurt me, your sea commander will think you are a bird killer, and you will lose your job, Kommandant Vogelzar.”
As much as Vogelzar wanted to destroy Clovis, he knew the dove was right, and released his grip. His large beak opened and closed silently to demonstrate his frustration.
“Very well,” he whispered, as he looked outside the cage where sailors were walking about. “But, I will see that you starve to death!” Vogelzar returned to the door to stand guard with his notorious intimidating laugh.
After watching the confrontation, Homer left the ship under cover of darkness. He planned to fly to the coast of Denmark, and return later with food for Clovis. He landed inside a forest and rested in the grasses for the night. Homer rose at dawn and found himself near a little pond. After browsing for food, he gathered some food for Clovis. Someone was watching him.
“Hello.”
“Who are you?”
“Grouse Breda, I live here with my father.”
“I’m Homer.”
Grouse Breda was reddish brown with a black tail, and white legs. He told the friendly grouse about his dilemma, and she offered to help him gather seeds and dried berries. They placed them inside a leaf that he could transport back to the ship.
Meanwhile, Clovis felt doomed as he remained in the back corner of the cage, afraid he would starve to death. He was already hungry. The leading edge of the sun began to rise over the horizon as Homer arrived with food. He quietly pushed the leaf through the bars; then returned to Denmark before daybreak. Hiding in the shadow of another dove, Clovis placed the leaf under his wing, consuming one morsel at a time. When he was finished, he pushed the empty leaf behind him.
The cage door opened at daybreak and a long rectangular pan filled with fine grain mixed with seed was laid in the middle of the cage. Smirking at Clovis, Vogelzar began to eat, and allowed all the other pigeons and doves to gather around the tray. The other birds were too afraid of their Kommandant to help the newcomer.
Each morning, Homer provided fresh food for Clovis, and each morning, he consumed the food in the shadow of the same dove. She was white with pink markings, and decided to turn around and introduce herself.
“I’m Fraulein Seabird.”
“My name is Clovis.”
“I don’t think it’s fair for that big beak to keep food from a stranger.”
“Do you carry many messages from the ship?”
“Yes, but if it is not delivered successfully, you get no food.”
“Why don’t you escape next time?”
“Is that what you tried to do?”
“No.”
“I plan to fly far, far away.” she whispered.
On his return to land on the third day, Homer stood on the seawall, watching the light cruiser out on the high seas, and wondered how he was going to help his friend escape. Remembering their first encounter with Vogelzar made him feel incapable of ever saving his friend. Feeling anxious, he wondered what Clovis would do. He always focused on the task, never the obstacles, which Homer had always thought was a little irresponsible. Now, he must focus on the task. After all, he thought, Clovis told him he was good at making brave decisions. Committed to saving his friend, he went back to the ship, unaware that a British destroyer was about to sink the cruiser.
When Homer returned, it wasn’t long before the German cruiser was attacked by the allied British Royal Navy. Explosions aboard the cruiser were followed by emergency alarms, and its seamen prepared to abandon ship. The pigeon pen began to slide as the ship tilted and water spilled over the deck. Vogelzar leaned against the door, waiting for one of his comrades to free the scowling bird, but no one was paying any attention to him. Homer told Clovis to distract Vogelzar while he released the chain pin on the door. Incoming water made it difficult for Clovis to make his way to the door.
“Hurry, Clovis,” urged Homer, “There’s not much time!”
While Clovis was making his way toward Vogelzar, Seabird stopped him.
“Please take me with you!”
“Sure, but stay close behind me!”
As Clovis approached Vogelzar, he put on a near-death performance. “Please give Taube food.”
Vogelzar looked down at Clovis and wondered how the dove could be thinking about food at a time like this.
“Sie dummer idiot!”
Homer successfully released the chain pin. Clovis knew that if Vogelzar was the first to escape, he would leave the birds trapped inside. Clovis quickly made his escape as soon as the door was unlocked. Unfortunately, Vogelzar pushed Seabird back inside the cage in pursuit of Clovis. During his flight, Clovis looked back in the smoky waters for Seabird, and was shocked to see Vogelzar hot on his trail. Flying just above the surface of the water, Clovis raced toward the coast, in fear for his life.
Homer was fearful for Clovis as he flew at high speed behind Vogelzar, unaware how he was going to save his friend from his deadly clutches. Focusing on the task, Homer saw an opportunity to stop Vogelzar. Like a hawk ready to attack his prey, Homer gained speed at record level to catch up with Vogelzar. With seconds away from landfall, Homer lifted his legs forward and glided above his huge wing span. With one swift downward thrust, he slammed Vogelzar into the seawall at high speed, breaking his neck. Crashing sounds from the deadly impact brought Clovis back to the site, where he was surprised to find Vogelzar had been destroyed. Homer couldn’t resist looking over the seawall below at the lifeless wingspan banging up against the wall in the rough seas.
“I knew I could outfly that old buzzard!”
Meanwhile, Clovis was preoccupied with the fate of the sinking German cruiser.
“Goodbye Fraulein Seabird, goodbye,” said Clovis, having failed to save her.
“Who is Seabird?”
“A friend who wanted to escape with me.”
Homer was anxious to show Clovis around Denmark, and convinced him to forget about the war. They joined Breda at the eating ground, near the pond. Clovis thanked Breda for helping Homer provide food for him, and was proud to tell the story of Homer’s courageous triumph over Vogelzar. Breda watched Homer’s combs rise with pride, as Clovis praised his best friend.
Soon, Breda introduced her new friends to her father, Oost Clodhopper. He bowed silently to the right, and then bowed to the left. Breda told them that her mother left one day to forage for food and never returned, and when he couldn’t find her, he never spoke again.
Breda wanted to take Clovis and Homer to a special place. When they arrived, she tried to impress Homer by telling an old folktale.
“This very island was supposedly created by some goddess who tricked a King by taking a piece of his land, and then she transported it here to Denmark.”
“And this is stolen land?” asked Clovis inquisitively.
“That’s how the story goes.”
Homer rolled his skeptical eyes.
The three of them spent several weeks in the woody landscape, where Homer and Breda spent a lot of time together. The weather began to change, and the air turned cool. Clovis and Homer agreed it was time to return to Belgium. Before departing, they thanked Breda for their pleasant visit.
“I didn’t think you wanted to leave Breda behind,” chided Clovis.
“Grouse aren’t clingers like you doves,” he mused. “Let’s play leapfrog.”
They played leapfrog across the sea until they reached the Netherlands. There was a peaceful frontier between Belgium and Holland. At the onset of the war, t
he enemy had erected an electric fence line to separate the two countries, and to discourage fugitives from trying to escape. Clovis and Homer were unaware of the danger that lied ahead.
Unsuspecting Homer made a sudden downward swoop and perched on the deadly fence. As he fell to the ground, Clovis landed next to him, thinking Homer was pretending to be injured.
“That’s not funny, Homer,” nudging him to one side. When blood trickled from his beak, Clovis looked down the fence line in horror. A man lying on the ground with one arm entangled in the wire. A killer fence, he thought.
All too sudden and without warning, Homer was gone. Clovis felt responsible for his death. If they had not followed Vogelzar, Homer would still be alive, he thought. Expectations that they would both survive the war had been shattered. He rested next to Homer’s body, and wept.
“You are the only friend I have.”
Sometime in the afternoon, Clovis prepared a final resting place for Homer, and paused for a moment. “You were the brave one, Homer.” Clovis stood proudly on his grave and whistled a tune in tribute to a war hero for all of Belgium to hear.
He leaped from the gravesite, with the faint echo of his lonely wing beats. Flying over no man’s land, Clovis stopped by one last time at the post of the grenadier, to visit the kind soldier who had befriended them. Much of the forest near the trenches had been toppled by heavy gun artillery. Clovis perched in a sparsely treed area in the distance overlooking the raging battlefield. Charging troops continued to move over the top toward the enemy; their flags, once carried with songs of victory, lay crumpled in the mud. In the wake of desolation and sorrow that engulfed him, Clovis remembered the encounter with the wise old bird in Brussels. “Maybe that old Fantail was right. What can birds do anyway?” he muttered.
Suddenly, he sensed a signal from one of the soldiers lying out on the battlefield. Maybe someone he knew. He paused on the ground and plucked an ornamental weed stem. Soon, he lightly perched on the chest of the grenadier, next to his hand clutching the letter he had read so many times. Clovis dropped the stem across his smoke-charred face, and bid farewell to the brave soldier.
Disillusioned by the war, Clovis flew away from the trenches, and away from the raging battlefield. Higher and higher he flew, toward the west coast of Belgium.
During his flight, he recalled the fondest memories of his dear friend, Homer: How they had perched everyday on their lookout to help the allied troops; a foolish struggle over a leaf cover on a cold winter night, followed by their first serious conversation; when Homer led Clovis to his nest where he was losing his feathers, then discovering noticeable changes with their coming of age; and most of all, helping him escape from a sinking ship. How grateful he was when he found out that the hero that saved him from Vogelzar, was Homer. As he approached his destination, the last memory of his dear friend faded into the clouds.
Clovis arrived on a deserted shore off the west coast of Flanders, amid dunes with scattered plumps of sea grass. In the far distance, the fleet of the British Royal Navy lined the horizon to reinforce its command of the high seas, while guarding the coast.
The bold patriotic spirit that had sustained Clovis was replaced with bitterness and resentment. He stood firm against the spontaneous gusts of the North Sea winds, and resolved that he would never become involved in the war again.
Like the pact he made with Homer to forget their beloved homeland, he would again leave the painful past behind, including the loss of his best friend, Homer. As the sun began to set over the North Sea, Clovis leaped away into a future of uncertainty, wondering why he, alone, was left to survive.
CHAPTER 12
Determined to remain in Belgium, Clovis flew to the town of Veurne, yet untouched by war. Landing on the belfry of an ancient cathedral in the town square, he rested for the night.
At daybreak, he proceeded to prepare for winter, and constructed a nest close to the spire of the steeple, a task that took most of the day. He found nestling materials in small shrubs, and twigs in the underbrush. He stored food deep inside his nest, a trick he had learned from Homer. Still haunted by the ravages of war, he left a small opening in the side of the nest that would allow him to keep vigil.
Clovis paused at the edge of the tower as hundreds of new troops were being transported over the muddy flatlands toward the battlefield of Ypres (Leper), singing songs of their homeland. The City Hall in Veurne was used for Belgian headquarters, and a military hospital had been set up nearby for wounded soldiers. Other countries had joined the allies, carrying flags from far away countries as Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and Africa to support their mother country of England. Army trucks were making runs back and forth across the battlefield, taking new recruits, and returning with wounded soldiers. While Clovis was focusing on the western front, two doves appeared. They had been watching him fly back and forth from the grasslands.
“G’day mate! We’re the Diamond Doves from Australia,” said both doves in unison.
To win his friendship and trust, they began to perform their rendition of one of their country’s songs, Waltzing Matilda. They promptly introduced themselves as brothers, Banjo and Mookie. Although Banjo was a little larger than Mookie, their markings were identical. Their bodies were brown and gray, their heads and necks, light blue-gray, and their beaks an even darker gray. Their eyes were a striking orange with red eye rings.
Clovis recognized the familiar canisters attached to their legs. They explained that their commander, Jolly, was enlisted in the Army Signal Corps, and had trained them to be release doves. They would be carrying important messages on the battlefield. Even though Clovis had lost his patriotic spirit, he was inspired by their allegiance to Australia.
His new friends wanted to show him their temporary bird quarters. Clovis followed them through a barred window that led them down to the floor of a storage room. Nearby were stacked bales of hay used for the horse stable next door. In one corner were several burlap bags of grain for the birds. Empty pigeon baskets were stacked against one wall, including some with straps, designed to be carried as a backpack. Against the wall stood a couple of bicycles with attached pigeon baskets.
On the other side of the room were occupied pigeon baskets, each holding two to four carrier pigeons, ready for duty. The demand for pigeon coalition had grown, and Clovis was proud of all of them. Banjo and Mookie pointed out their own basket. Divided into two separate compartments, it was identified with a tag marked, ‘Australia.’
Before the Diamond Doves could introduce Clovis to other carriers, footsteps were heard. Waiting to be fed, the birds gathered on the floor, where grain was scattered. On his way out, the soldier lifted four baskets of carriers located next to the door.
“You see, Clovis, whenever baskets are placed near the door, it means they are next to be loaded on the trucks for duty,” said Mookie.
It was the last two weeks of December of 1916, and the weather was a wintry mix. Clovis was spending everyday having his meals in the warm storage room with his two friends, sometimes trading stories about their respective homelands. Clovis told his friends about the loss of his family, and how his homeland in the big valley was destroyed. He did not tell them about his war experiences, but he enjoyed hearing the wonderful stories about the kangaroos that carried their young in their pouches. Other carrier pigeons gathered around the room clicking their canisters together to provide a rhythm to the beat of the kangaroo song performed by Banjo and Mookie. Together, they all hopped around the room, mimicking the kangaroos jumping in the countryside of Australia.
It was the middle of January, and things were about to change. Clovis visited his friends once again, and was disappointed to learn that the basket marked ‘Australia’ had been placed by the door. Banjo and Mookie confirmed they were next to be transported to the western front.
Wanting to leave Clovis with food provisions, they stuffed some grain and seeds in little remnants of torn burlap. The three of them transported the food to Clovis
’ nest. Hopefully, it would be enough to last him the remainder of the winter. Banjo and Mookie turned to say goodbye before leaving the belfry. Clovis tried to warn them about the dangers of the war, but his intentions would be misinterpreted.
“Do you ever think about staying out of the war?”
“Oh, we could never leave our Jolly!” exclaimed Banjo.
“No, we love our Jolly. He takes good care of us!” added Mookie.
Clovis did not mean to question their patriotism. Meanwhile, Banjo thought Clovis was jelly kneed.
“You don’t like the war do you, Clovis?”
“I want to see my country at peace again.”
“But, peace is what we’re here fighting for, mate!” replied Mookie, finally settling the argy-bargy.
Clovis wanted to part on good terms.
“Good luck to you, my friends, and watch out for those flying missiles!”
“Oh, we’ll speed like bities on a dingo!” said Mookie.
“Yep, we’re the best winged diggers in the bush!” added Banjo.
“Like waltzing matildas across the sky,” exclaimed Clovis in an effort to show his support for their patriotic spirit. It was time to say goodbye. Banjo and Mookie broke the long silence.
“Well, hoo-roo mate!” said the doves bidding ado in unison.
Parting company, the Diamond Doves disappeared under the cover of darkness. Clovis remained on the belfry, feeling cold, and utterly alone.
Flickering lights lit up the sky over Ypres as muffled sounds of gunfire continued into the night as the allies vigorously defended the last ramparts of Belgium.
Early the next morning, military trucks rolled out of Veurne, over the snowy flatlands. Clovis approached the edge of the tower in time to watch the last truck ramble its way toward the western front. His friends, Banjo and Mookie were leaving the safety of the city. They would probably not survive the horrible war, he thought as he sadly uttered, “Goodbye, my friends.”
There was a deadlock on the western front; the battlefields would once again be challenged with a new kind of stalemate ~ winter. But, the frigid weather would not keep new recruits from moving over the snowy flatlands toward the blazing battlefield. The low lying shrubs began sinking under the snow like quicksand with branches springing upward for a rescue that would not come. Clovis left his nest occasionally to observe the battlefield from the icy surface of the tower. At times, freezing rain pelted the belfry, bouncing back and forth, up and down, chiming, pinging. Clovis rested safely inside his warm nest, located next to the pitch of the spire, and waited for one of the harshest winters of Belgium to come to an end.