‘And, it’s all because of your flying display,’ Saxon added.
‘My display?’
‘Your display,’ he repeated with a grin.
Sidney took up the story. ‘The tourists thought the Sign People were wrong to chase you and George away,’ he explained in his rich and gentle voice.
‘That’s right,’ Sophie added, as she adjusted her necklace of shiny pearls.
‘The tourists, along with Mrs Harris and her friends, agreed Penzance wouldn’t be the same without its seagulls and said that we have a right to be here,’ Sidney said.
‘That’s right,’ Sophie added again.
‘They told the Sign People that they’d sooner visit other seaside towns where seagulls are welcome. It was their choice,’ Sidney explained.
I listened with eyes wide open. Humans standing up for the rights of seagulls, I mean, wow! That was a nice change. It made me feel wonderful and very humble both at the same time.
‘The Sign People were made to realise they were behaving in an unreasonable manner…’
‘What’s unreasonable?’ George piped up.
‘Stupid,’ I replied.
‘I only asked,’ George answered crossly.
‘No! Unreasonable means stupid or pointless.’ I laughed and tweaked a tuft of his baby feathers.
‘… and if it continued, they’d not only have no seagulls on the seafront, but no tourists either,’ Sidney said, and paused. ‘They had to reconsider and do what was best for Cornwall and everyone concerned. Including the seagulls.’
‘Grandad, does this mean you’re not angry with me anymore?’
‘I was never angry with you, Sally, only concerned for your safety and that of George’s,’ Grandad replied as he put his wing round me.
‘It turned out all right in the end though, didn’t it, Grandad?’
‘Yes, it did.’ Grandad answered with a nod before continuing. ‘And in future, I promise I won’t treat you as if you’re nothing but a fledgling. You’re growing up fast my little Sally, into a remarkable young gull - and I’m proud of you,’ he added.
I blushed and found the ground the most interesting thing in the world whilst Grandad furiously began to clean his glasses.
‘Now, everyone, please gather round and listen.’ The powerful voice of Sinclair Seagull rang out.
I listened to what Sinclair had to say. He was older than Grandad and was considered to be the wisest of the seagulls.
Sinclair continued. ‘I suggest to you, my feathered friends, in order to keep things on a happy and harmonious level, we set aside a section of the seafront for feeding purposes only. How about that grassy area by the palm trees?’
I looked round as a group of heads nodded in agreement.
‘That way, we give the Sign People no reason to complain,’ he said, and spread his wings wide open before continuing, ‘and everyone’s happy.’
We all cheered and squawked in agreement.
‘And let’s not forget a big cheer for Sally Seagull.’
‘And the tourists and Mrs Harris and her friends,’ I said. ‘And my baby brother,’ I added as I winked at George.
What a day that turned out to be. I felt quite the hero. Or, I should say heroine seeing as I am a girl or a young lady as Grandad now calls me.
I only wished my mum and dad could have been there as well.
Chapter Six
It’s been two weeks since that wonderful day.
And here I am sitting on the seafront on our very own official eating area waiting for Mrs Harris and her sardine sandwiches to arrive.
Let’s not forget her sandwiches! Oh, I’m not just a greedy ball of feathers. Of course it’s nice to see Mrs Harris... and her sardine sandwiches.
In fact, I can see her coming round the corner now.
Mum and Dad are home to stay and everything’s fine… in fact, as cool as any kingfisher and ooh! Before I forget. Let me bring you up to date with the latest on Saxon Seagull.
He and I are going out together.
And, he’s given me his most treasured possession - his portable waterproof CD player. There was me thinking at the rate things were going I’d be as old as Grandad before I was lucky enough to own one.
We spend our time flying along the coast or hanging out at Sennen Cove. Sometimes we go out together in a group (or I should say a flock of seagulls) along with Saffron and Selwyn.
He’s a gull she’s seeing. He’s from the cool gang. She never did get her beak pierced. I knew she wouldn’t. She bought a pair of sunglasses instead.
Not half as painful.
Tomorrow, Saxon is taking me out on a picnic. We’re flying out to a pretty little cluster of rocks known to the seagulls as the Kissing Stones that jut out into the sea at Land’s End.
What’s on the menu?
Only the most delicious items possible! Bits of stale Cornish pasties that kind old Mr Trewellan throws over the cliffs for we birds followed by a slurp of water from a nearby duck pond.
I can hardly wait!
‘Hello,’ said Mrs Harris as she fishes inside her basket.
I’ve been waiting all morning for this. Tapping my webbed feet in time to the beat coming from the headphones of my portable waterproof CD player.
I take a deep breath. The tangy smell of seaweed hangs heavy in the air which reminds me I must collect some for a bracelet I’m making for an auntie of mine.
It’s to be a surprise for her birthday along with a fish head cake covered in stale iced buns.
The vast ocean in front of me is so green and calm it looks more like a field and I imagine I can almost walk upon it... well, waddle upon it!
And the clouds, so soft and fluffy, they make me think of marshmallows then wish I hadn’t as my tummy rumbles out loud. (I hardly need reminding I’ve gone without breakfast on purpose so I’d have more room for Mrs Harris’s sardine sandwiches).
Ooh, I can hardly wait! My mouth is watering just thinking about them. Yummy! The best meal in the world next to a Cornish pastie when… grumble, grumble! My tummy rumbles again.
Oops! That was embarrassing. It was so loud I heard it over my headphones.
I screeched in reply and flapped my wings excitedly. I’ve been waiting for this moment… this was pure bliss… this... this… this can’t be happening… I don’t believe it.
It’s that pesky sardine sandwich stealing dog again!
‘Hello, Buster.’ Mrs Harris stooped down to pat his head. ‘Have you and your friend been waiting long?’
Buster? Friend? Who’s that? Me! I glared at the four-legged hearthrug.
‘There’s plenty to go round,’ she said.
I puffed out my feathers and was about to make my feelings all too clear when a flutter of tiny wings brushed past me.
‘Hello, Red Eric.’ Mrs Harris looked down as she greeted the plump little bird. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here? You’ve already had a big breakfast.’
Red Eric? Big breakfast? What was that? I looked over at the sardine sandwich stealing dog only to see the sardine sandwich stealing dog looking back at me.
‘Woof!’
‘Squawk!’
The robin kept on hopping. Ha! Got you this time, supermodel. Now, can I please eat my sardine sandwich in peace before the hearthrug gobbles them up?
I mean, what does a seagull have to do?
What was this?
The hearthrug was walking towards me with something in his mouth. It wasn’t the robin, was it? He drops it on the grass next to my webbed feet.
My panic disappears as I recognise a soggy piece of sardine sandwich.
Well, I suppose there is enough to share with, what’s his name? Buster? And, perhaps the supermodel can have some too if he learns to be not quite so greedy.
I’d spied a blob of red hiding in amongst the palm trees. I think he’s sorry for stealing my worm the other day.
Anyway, as long as he and Buster rea
lise we can only be friends because, I am spoken for, as my grandad would say in his rich theatrical voice whilst polishing his reading glasses and adjusting his cravat - it’s an actor thing.
Yes! I am a happy gull... and ooh, before I double forget.
I asked Grandad and he said heavy metal is very loud harsh-sounding rock music with a strong beat.
Grandad said he’d rather listen to rusty tractors... or Kittiwake Minogue. And between you, me, and the Atlantic sea... so would I.
So, now you know my story.
A story about how our homes were saved (I’m glad we didn’t have to move especially to the North Pole... never did fancy myself much in a fur coat. Would have looked like a cross between a wombat and a penguin).
And the story of how humans stood up for seagulls.
Ooh! Is that a worm I spy? It’s all right. Keep your hair on, no need to ring the RSPCW (Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Worms) it’s a dead one... or is he asleep... what!
So shoot me. I am a seagull.
The End
Sally and the Sign People Page 2
