PHOTO POMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy
They called her Polly-Mynah on acount of her own given name and the bird that needled her shoulder.
Down the muddied gullies of the Thames, neath crumbled eaves and untrusting eyes, one body needs another to keep watch or a body won’t last too long. That’s what Polly-Mynah had. Yes, the body in question had an oily black head, a beak gold as a sovereign and eyes sharp as frost, but he watched for Polly, keen as any madhouse copper.
Even when the creature died she kept his name, like a pining widow twines to her marriage vows.
On seeing today’s pic, I was minded of a novel idea I haven’t yet found the time to write, about a young girl and her pet bird and their adventures along the fetid, treacherous streets of the capital and the unconventional friend they make their.