Into the Darkness.

"Come on up," he said, "And make sure you step on the beams and not the ceiling." I reached out for the strong arms above me and allowed myself to be lifted into the dark interior of our loft. As I rose up hooks were visible, though no sides of bacon hung from them as was usual when we had just killed a pig.

"It's black in here Dad." The words were uttered with no sense of fear for he was with me and Mum was in the kitchen. A torch sent a weak beam of light across the loft, probably the same torch that, for the first time in my life, I was allowed to shine into the night sky in May 1945. My eyes noticed a thin line of natural light in the distance at a slightly lower level than I was.

Dad halted, made sure that I was standing in the right place, and pointed the light upwards. "These are the reasons for the noises in the loft son." All around us were birds nests, all the same, there must have been a score or more. Each nest was occupied by a sleek black bird, a screaming one when in flight. Sitting on their eggs they were almost oblivious of the two alien intruders. Dad reached down, picked up one of the birds, handed it to me. "Handle it like a pigeon son only with a lighter touch." I knew about pigeons, we kept them, knew how to hold them, knew a good racer when I held one.

Apart from the sparrows that we caught using a dustbin lid, a length of string and some bread crumbs this was the first wild bird that I had actually held. That is why the swift will always be a bit special to me. No longer would I throw stones as they flew round and round the green across from our front garden, no longer would I be a collector of birds eggs.

Suddenly the swift made a movement, escaped, flew through a gap in the eaves and did a belly flop on our lawn. Was it dead? We went downstairs, outside, Mum joining us. Dad once more picked up the bird, handed it to me. "Let it go David. Let it fly." I did. The swift soared off into the sky only to return to its nest while we stood watching.