Fruity

My father came from a long line of parrot-keeping men. From his infancy, around 1913, he could remember a white cockatoo who had campaigned with Wellington’s “infamous army” in 1815. This old bird spoke, or rather swore, in a version of English long gone from the world, just distinguishable, and as my father put it, fruity. His own parrot, an African grey, Punlel, did not swear but enjoyed a spot of sarcasm – “very funny, very funny, that’s very funny, good night.” He bit female children.

A characteristic mix of savagery and humour in Elspeth Barker’s Tales From the Henhouse. Ideal summer night reading.