Trafalgar Square, the pigeons may have gone but it's the new Covent Garden.

Trafalgar Square- the pigeons may have gone but it's the new Covent Garden.


For as long as anybody can remember Trafalgar Square was always a menagerie of birds, birds from all over the world, from all four points of the compass, from everywhere and somewhere. In fact there were so many birds in the heart of London's West End that someone must have thought that this would be a great place for a bird sanctuary in the middle of London.

Now, fifty years on the landscape is entirely different and the birds have been emphatically driven away, told never to come back and warned that if they do sneak back very covertly and under cover then those in authority in the land of humanity will give them their marching orders. Besides how dare those marauding pigeons come flying back into our territory?

In the old days we warmly welcomed our feathered friends into the capital city of London because they were quite friendly but also ravenously hungry. They fluttered and circled around that huge open space in Trafalgar Square, forever pecking, hunting, foraging, scavenging, marching around those commanding lion statues, those effervescent fountains and dear old Nelson's Column, that stunning tourist magnet, a soaring, towering column whose occupant did so much to win the hearts of Britain so many centuries ago.

Way back when, I can still see those thousands of grey pigeons, persistently loitering around large swathes of  Trafalgar Square, forever strutting, beaks forever sniffing and scenting vast quantities of bird seed. Ah yes, the bird seed! Now that was the reason we all converged on Trafalgar Square. How they came in their droves to see the birds from the West End gathering together in one mass demonstration of greed, survival of the fittest and always in a spirit of fierce competitiveness.

We can all remember the Trafalgar Square of yesteryear. In a small corner of the square there was the bird seed stall, the place where small pots of bird seed were purchased for a princely sum of a couple of shillings. Then we would all make for the central areas of the square where we knew with some certainty that the birds would always be. Suddenly whole squadrons of pigeons would descend on dozens, hundreds of families and the kids now allowed to fulfill lifetime ambitions.

At this point there would be chaos and mayhem as the entire bird population of the world, or seemingly so, would dive bomb into a sparsely populated ghetto land where only the elite birds would be accepted into their pecking order. It was like watching some enormous bird cage where all inhibitions were thrown to the wind and birds formed the most dominant backdrop to a disbelieving and incredulous West End.

 They flapped, impudently perched themselves onto the shoulders of kids, hovered around children for what seemed like an age and then flew off to the lions or took themselves off for a quick dip in the fountains. There followed a furious frenzy of activity, whole families of pigeons darting or swooping, pushing and shoving to the front of the queue in case they'd missed out on a vital spot of lunch.

But now Trafalgar Square looks entirely different. Trafalgar Square is a pigeon free zone, empty of inquisitive grey pigeons whose only objective used to be complete occupation of the West End. The birds have now migrated to some far distant land where accommodating tourists will feed them happily for most of the day. Besides they can always fly off to St Mark's Square in Venice or Paris, maybe the dancing fountains of Barcelona. What about some idyllic quarter of South America or Asia? They're bound to have some feeding ground for those famished birds. They could do a lot worse.

Yesterday on a Easter Sunday family flying visit we made our way down to Trafalgar Square. It suddenly occurred to me that Trafalgar Square, by some quirky change of character, is slowly turning into the new Covent Garden of the West End. In fact it could be said that it does look more or less like an extension of Covent Garden. The atmosphere reminds you of Covent Garden, it looks like Covent Garden and maybe it is Covent Garden in disguise.

What we were confronted with was a street theatre that Covent Garden does so extremely well. There are no arcades or piazzas but there were columns or arched walkways and Trafalgar Square is a walking, talking, rocking and rolling open air theatre. Wherever you looked there were those silver or gold figures who very rarely move and seem to be standing on one leg. There were those lovely characters whose only purpose it seemed was to make the kids scream with laughter and tickle the adult funny bones.

For me though all of the action seemed to be concentrated on the ground. A couple of gentlemen had created what can only be described as an advertisement playground where members of the public were given free rein to write anything that took their fancy. Packets of coloured chalk were displayed and before you could blink, green, orange and red chalk marks were scrawled garishly on the ground. It was a fascinating insight into the way we conduct our lives on an Easter Sunday afternoon in 2018.

There were also the religious spokesmen and women because this was after all Easter and we all know what happened and why it happened. There were men with vociferous pronouncements who were pouring their hearts about the Last Supper, Jesus and how the Messiah would arrive one day. Funnily enough there were no signs of chocolate eggs or kids treasure hunts nor was a single rabbit to be spotted. Still everybody seemed to be in the best of all moods.

As usual Nelson's Column was packed to capacity, tight huddles of people sitting comfortably next to Nelson and then deep in conversation about who knew what. Maybe they could hardly believe that this once thriving bird haven had become, quite by chance, some very arty and bohemian place where the people of the world could openly write messages on the ground. It was time to  just take the air without feeling that they were also sharing their space with a remarkable multitude of birds. No more seeds for those pigeons though and how good that must have felt or maybe they were still nostalgic and longed to see them back again.

I've always loved the West End, the buzz, the vibe, the vibrancy, the sense that quite unexpectedly something will happen when least expected. My late dad had given me a more or less ample guided tour of the West End and it was a good enough explanation to a transfixed kid. I'd no idea though that one day though that Trafalgar Square would slowly morph into nearby Covent Garden. There are no more birds anymore, simply a pedestrian playground where strollers and passers by take out their Selfie sticks and take classic photos of each other. Now Trafalgar Square was the new home for art and pavement literature. Who could have seen that coming?

We retired to the National Gallery for a pot of tea which provided the perfect conclusion to a day of avid people watching in the West End. It's the Easter weekend, a time of springtime transition, bonnets, Judy Garland, the Easter Parade, chocolate eggs, sharing and caring and humane consideration for our fellow human being.

We had now found ourselves in Drury Lane, West End theatreland and the home of the blockbusting, spellbinding 42nd Street, a musical that remains a box office sensation. And by some wonderful twist of fate we were back in Covent Garden or was it Trafalgar Square? It was hard to make a proper distinction between the two because there were striking similarities. We all blinked in some amazement and jumped onto a red London bus for home. Day over. An Easter Sunday in London's West End had once again lived up to all expectations. London, what a capital and what a city!