It’s interesting how certain memories from the past linger in one’s mind. Brian Aldred’s pigeon shed was far from a pretty sight. It was constructed from spare pieces of off-cuts of wood that he had collected over the weeks and months from Lindfords, the wood merchants in Cannock. The shed leaned more like a tired old man against a pub wall. It resembled a patchwork quilt made from scavenged timber—bits of old doors, some warped planks, and even a slice of corrugated iron from who knows where. You could easily guess what was inside, as the whole structure exuded the rich, earthy, and slightly dusty smell of pigeon. It wasn’t just a shed, it was Brian’s sanctuary.
