My father's mother (Bampie I called him. My nana always referred to him as Yer Gransha - both good South Walianisms [the first a childish way of saying grampie, the second a form of Grandsire]), like many urban working class men of the period, kept racing pigeons. He had built a sort of pigeon loft that dominated the garden. I remember the smell of pigeon feathers and excrement and the sound of grain being thrown onto the wooden platform and the clicking noise my Bampie would make to coax the pigeons back in. Bampie would soemtimes win races and was quite knowledgeable. My dad's brother, still living at home, also kept pigeons at one point. I'm always positive about pigeons, therefore, nuisance as they are here in London.
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