Countess of Essex — Polly—My Amazon



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eaten. I try to give her as much change as possible. Peas in the

pod (much appreciated), raw carrots, bananas, and very sweet oranges

are all popular, but apples she does not care for. However, she likes

all fruit in turn except strawberries and raspberries—she will not

touch these. When in a festive mood Polly sings softly to herself,

spreading out her beautiful striped tail, while her eyes light up as if

she had a flash-lamp inside her head.


Polly has two cages, one downstairs and one up (for night). When

I say “ Come to bed, Polly ”, she is ready to go at once and gets on

my hand or shoulder, singing one of her little songs. They are “ songs

without words ” but very sweet for all that. When I begin to cover

her cage for the night she starts screaming exactly like a very small

baby and continues until the cover is right on. By the way, no cover

lasts long with Polly, she soon picks holes in it. If I speak to her

in the night a glittering eye appears at one of the many holes, and if

I put my finger in the cage she rubs her dear little head against it.


I don’t think I have mentioned Polly’s musical tastes : she adores

the wireless, not “ news ” or “ talks ” but bands and songs. She

generally joins in these last, no words of course, but she has really

an excellent ear and, anyway, enjoys her own performances immensely.


When flying loose in the garden, if frightened or wanting me,

Polly utters a peculiarly weird cry which I can only attempt to describe

as “ Baaick, baaick—Baaick, baaick ”. It is surprising how far she

can be heard, but her vocabulary is rather limited !


Sometimes on a winter evening she will climb on my knee or

shoulder and go to sleep literally. However, I always notice, if I do

the same, I wake to hear a tearing sound and realize I shall have to

pay for yet another library book !


She occasionally feels it her duty to preen my hair, all the time

giving sharp little “ Ohs ! ” and “ Ahs ! ”, I suppose to save me the

trouble, when she pulls it !


I must mention one of Polly’s most amusing adventures. One day

she flew over the garden wall into the village, where the sound of her

voice is well known. Funnily enough, she went straight to the “ Rose

and Crown ” (public-house), where she seated herself on the doorstep.

No one dared touch her so I was sent for. When I arrived I found



