Georgie thought he was one of the family. When he wasn't flying around the room he was on my head being carried.
Some of Mrs. Honor Weightman’s memories of a life in Burradon written down and kindly contributed by her daughter Lindsey. These memories have been split into seven separate parts because they have so much rich material in them. If you’d like to read the whole story you’ll need to read Burradon Memories Parts 1 to 7. They cover many aspects of life in Burradon and offer a fascinating insight into village life
This is the story about Georgie, my Mam’s budgerigar, who came to live with me when she died. He thought he was one of the family. When he wasn’t flying around the room he was on my head being carried. His favourite saying was, “give me a kiss Georgie”.
One bitterly cold winter’s day, I had hung the washing out, hoping it would dry. It began to sleet and rain and, forgetting the bird was on my head, I rushed out to collect the clothes. The poor bird was blown off his perch and was carried away. I only caught a glimpse of his lovely blue plumage and he was gone. Dick got in from work (off night shift) and instead of going to bed he went out to search for Georgie but, no luck. He talked to Mr. Black who used to breed budgies and he said: “rest assured it will be dead. It couldn’t survive in the severe cold”. We just consoled ourselves by believing he would have died quickly. I stood the birdcage up in the garden (just in case).
Next day Mrs. Ovens called on some errand and I told her what had happened. She ran to the door and shouted to Mr. Ovens, “Bob, hurry up. The blue budgie we saw up at the Church belongs here”. Off he went, to return birdless. He said John Anderson had tried to catch it and it had again flown off. Vicar Frank Bartley, on hearing the tragic news, came down to assure us that the bird’s end would be swift, the Kestrel that nested up at the Church would kill it with one swoop.
Three days later Mr. Ovens came rushing in and said, “Hurry up. Georgie is sitting outside our window. Bring the cage”. Our feet never touched the floor and sure enough the bird was there, so weak and thin he didn’t even open his eyes. I just said, “give me a kiss, Georgie” and he stepped straight onto my outstretched hand. I took him straight home, gave him a little warm water with a drop of brandy and covered his cage, having been told once again he was dying but, at least we had the satisfaction of knowing where he was.
To cut a very long story short, within a week the bird was hale and hearty and flying around saying “Give me a kiss Georgie”. The only places my Mam ever visited were my house, the Church and Mrs. Ovens, the three places it had been seen. I used to make the ending so dramatic the listeners always ended up clapping.
I’ll try to put into words exactly what I believe and hope it will be to someone’s benefit. Everyone should leave at least one thought behind. I believe and advise, “Always look for the best possible interpretation of people’s behaviour. Usually the faults we see in others are our own faults”
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