Siblings

This is the story of nine siblings and a boy named Billy. We meet the nine for the first time in early summer. Accompanied by their parents. They are not babies, not chicks. But they are still very young – still small, still fluffy.

Nine siblings. Nine cygnets. Herded protectively by their parents. Dad at the front, mum bringing up the rear.

The tide is in and water flows inland between the central arches of the Coombe viaduct. The parents forage for food among the shallows – saltmarsh grass, sea plantain, algae. They teach their young where and how to find food.

This inlet lies in a small valley sheltered to the north and south, but exposed to the easterly winds blowing from across the river. On the northern side there are houses with gardens that back on to these tidal waters. Closest to the viaduct, in an ancient looking house with a large chimney that appears to lean at an impossible angle, lives Billy. He’s perched in his wheelchair watching as the young swans parade past him. At his side is a small white dog, with furry brown patches on its flank. The dog runs towards the boundary fence that separates the garden from the water, looks eagerly at the swans and then bounds off in a different direction.

Billy cannot speak. The dog never barks.

*

A week or two later, a tragedy occurs. But we are not witness to this. One of the cygnets dies. Now when they cross under the viaduct in search of food there are only eight siblings. Nothing else has changed. The parents remain as watchful guardians. The cygnets keep in close proximity. When it is time to move on they follow dutifully in a tight formation, guided by their parents.

This is how the summer months will pass. Billy watches from his wheelchair, or if he is not well enough then you might see his face peering out from the window of the house with the crooked chimney. The dog will still run around the garden, but perhaps with less excitement. If it gets too hot, the dog will sleep in the shade of one of the trees.

An occasional train rumbles restlessly across the top of the viaduct, slowing down to arrive at the nearby station or picking up speed after its departure.

*

In the autumn the cygnets are now close to fully grown. They’ve lost much of their grey, fluffy plumage. They still look young. Sometimes you will see them rear up in the water and flex their fledgling wings. It seems absurd to think that birds of this size can fly, but it’s true. Not yet for the cygnets, but soon. For the adults it’s a rare sight, but occasionally a nearby pair will attempt to enter their territory. Dad will take the lead, but the now adolescent cygnets will fall in behind as he heads purposefully towards these intruders. There’s a brief stand off and then a flapping of wings. The rival pair concede the territory and fly away into the distance, chased by the dad for several metres down the river.

Life out here is calm for the most part. Events like this are rare and they are dealt with swiftly.

Billy likes to watch – he likes to track the ducks as they paddle up and down with the tide. Or the seagulls that come and go in search of easy food. There’s a heron that stalks around, lonely in its solitary forays along the banks of the river. But his eyes always light up when the swans arrive. Nothing is more graceful. Nothing commands the landscape like this family of ten.

*

Swans are fierce protectors of their young, but everything turns eventually, just like the tide will turn twice a day. As the cygnets lose their muddy plumage they start to appear as rivals. The dad will snap at them in an attempt to encourage them to learn to fly. These bouts of rage are brief but sometimes violent. The siblings have gained some independence. They don’t cluster quite so tightly together now. Occasionally one or two will stray from the pack. You might only see five or six crossing under the viaduct. The others might turn up later, quietly joining the rest. Sometimes they jostle amongst each other. Fighting, as siblings of all species are wont to do.

What Billy likes about the cygnets are the way their necks bend and the way they turn their heads to the side to look in front of them because their eyes aren’t centred like human eyes, but stuck on the sides of the head. He could watch the swans all day, but he’s bound by the tides. Sometimes he’s sleeping and he misses them, but always he has his faithful dog waiting for him.

*

Winter is cruel. At a certain time the young must leave their home. There is not enough food for a family of ten when the weather turns colder and the grasses and other tidal vegetation don’t grow. It happens suddenly, sometime in November. The weather has turned, there are endless days of rain. When it clears again, only the parents remain. There are scattered sightings of one or more of the cygnets in nearby stretches of the river. On one day Billy witnesses two of the clan forlornly darting around the inlet, digging up what food they can find, restless, doubtless aware their parents could appear at any moment to chase them away.

It is a sad way to say goodbye to these sweet creatures that have given so much pleasure for the past six months or more. In winter the young will often fly ten, twenty miles or more to find neutral ground where they can hang out with other displaced cygnets. In time they can mature, find a mate to pair up with and then begin their adult life afresh.

Billy is aware of this. His mother has read to him from bird books. Slowly, patiently, imparting knowledge while the little white dog sleeps at the boy’s side.

*

It’s March when the cry goes out amongst the townsfolk – “The swans have come back for Billy!”

Plenty are sceptical. There are birds by the viaduct, but are they the same ones? Can anyone really tell? The parents are away mating. They’ll have built a nest somewhere safe from prying eyes and neither will stray far while there are eggs to protect and hatch. For that reason it may be deemed safe for last year’s young to return. But it’s never been seen before.

Winter has been long and hard. Daylight in short supply. The rains were often relentless. The rumour is that Billy hasn’t long to live. The little dog maintains a faithful vigil by its masters bed. The chimney seems to lean a little further, weighed down by the passing of time.

The cygnets have grown. Not greatly, but now their coats are almost entirely white. Just a few streaks of grey remain. With no one to lead them they wander in random directions. One heads off towards the open waters of the river, two follow behind. But others remain near the bank. Eventually the stray returns. They cluster on the north shore, out in the warmth of an early spring day. Still with their adorable necks that bend so perfectly. And their way of turning their heads to look forward. Up close they look like what they are, still children at heart. Their return seems like a miracle. Like a sign.

Billy’s mother steps outside with her camera, so she can film them as they move gracefully against the tide. Later she’ll show what she’s captured to Billy, even though mostly he just sleeps these days. But she sees something fresh in his eyes as he peers at the screen. On his face is the ghost of a smile.

*

After the funeral people came back to the creek to look for the cygnets. But they never returned. For a while there were just the ducks, busy with their small lives. And the heron, still stoic, still alone. But eventually the swans came back. They had new young to nurture and protect. Not nine this time. Just the two. But the cycle had been renewed. These fresh birds would get to grow as the summer blessed the little valley with its sweet warmth. Eventually these birds too would have to leave, but that was a long time away for now.