He marks the fall of a sparrow

First published on the Dublin South-West Forum

So it was a glorious sunny end of a day re-decorating when the bird started singing inside the wall. Herself & I looked at each other. There were holes in the front of the house that used to hold anchor bolts for a long-removed television antenna. Every year something small nested in there. The bloody bird must have fallen down the cavity in the wall all the way from near the roof!

"We can't just leave it there to die!"

I was doubtful. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Apparently it was inside a cavity block behind a coat of plaster, behind wallpaper, behind a bookcase, sundry piles of books, a couple of half-empty plastic Coca-cola bottles, videotapes...

"I suppose I could cut one of the floorboards on the offchance it got into the floor space..."

The poor little birdy whistled sweetly from behind the wall, singing a joyful little tune despite the hopelessness surrounding it. There was nothing for it.

D**n it! I had just put away the toolbox. Herself started shifting books while I considered the best way to break into the floor without having to make too many repairs afterwards.

Then the bird started singing from the other side of the room...

"What the f....!"

I crawled through the miscellaneous tools, extension cords, books, videos to the place from which the "birdsong" was sweetly coming. I poked a plastic Coke bottle suspiciously. It squeaked and went on whistling.

The bottle had been heated in the "glorious sunshine" and as its lid was only partially on the escaping gas that bubbled out made a sweet, sweet song....

I started putting tools back in the box while She moved the books. That plastic bottle went in the bin. The hard way.