The Night Parrot

Music by Jessica Wells | Libretto by Jeffrey Wells

I. Prologue

This is the story of a little bird.

A tale of mystery, hope and despair

About a bird who wasn’t there.

A little bird so meek, so mild,

Condemned to die in desert wilds!

Across the seas so far away

in Washington the USA

the famed Smithsonian had its say.

This bird is like none of our age

but now it seems has left life's stage.

Glory to the one who tracks her trail

but hunters all seem doomed to fail

for this the strangest mystery

is now the bird life's Holy Grail.

II. Will-o-the-Wisp

A Will-o-the-Wisp, a Pimpernel,

She can’t be found in heaven, Earth or Hell.

And so the verdict came, cruel and distinct.

Another species gone.

The enigma bird was now extinct.

III. Channel Country

In Channel country, burned orange soil

On endless plains reflects relentless, brutal sun

Spiky clumps of spinifex, needle sharp!

What could they hide?

They gird the jump up mesas,

Flat-topped remains of an ancient range.

The Diamantina River life

Where braided channels drain the flood.

Like surging silver serpents

The water’s pulse, the land’s life-blood.

Diamond strands to feed Lake Eyre.

Oh joy of rain that falls down there.

But most years they wait in vain.

Tracks of twenty-thousand years remain,

Used by tribes to trade their wares,

Pituri medicine and shells,

Earth’s blood ochre for their paint.

Mysterious, the Min-min lights,

Ghosts of dinosaurs in the night.

Ghosts of birds who don’t take flight.

IV. The Story of a Little Bird

This is the story of a little bird

Who was known around the world

For a life that seemed absurd.

For surely nature had decreed

That parrots would inhabit trees?

And one place they should not be found

Was living here on stony ground,

Burrowed down beyond daylight

With no pure joy of sunny flight.

And light brings out the thrill of parrots

The masterpiece of nature’s palette.

And why live a life of constant fear

Until it finally disappeared,

The victim of the predators

Who rule the night in this harsh land.

And so the hunt takes life and nest

The age old story, the endless bloody survival test.

The sun goes down like a molten rock.

The little bird now sets her clock.

Dusk takes its time to settle in

Before the nocturne can begin.

The battleground has now been cleared

For some to fear, some to be feared.

V. Predators

The dingo, night scavenger, descendant of the wolf

Lean and hungry, lightning fast.

Hunts and kills the kangaroo,

If not that, a bird to chew!

Jaws like steel traps!

The feral cat with laser eyes

Has the element of surprise,

Ruthless killer in the night!

Makes a thousand kills a year,

Reptiles, mammals, birds in fear,

A hundred species in its sights.

The King Brown Snake won’t spare the eggs.

The feral fox, it bears no shame.

The fledglings might not bear the heat

Of wildfire in full flame!

Grazing cattle stomp the land,

Feral camels, pigs and goats

Can crush a bird’s nest

Destroying hope.

The desert heat is slow in passing.

Savage, ancient, everlasting.

But now the bird must tend her needs,

A little water, herbs and seeds.

If frightened, it will take flight!

Fly like a dart through darkest night!

VI. The Story of a Precious Bird

This is the story of a precious bird

Who was once more found

Not to be preserved,

But mercilessly hunted down.

So many expeditions tried,

Men, camels and horses died.

But she really never went away,

She was just too smart to find

On ruthless land where few survive.

And was she hiding close nearby

When Burke and Wills lay down to die?

Back in the 19th century

The slaughter had begun,

Add to the feral foreign killers

The get-rich hunters with their guns.

VII. Victoriana

Shoot a bird for Mother England,

Skin a bird for France!

Stuff a bird for old Calcutta,

Don’t let go this chance!
There’s a bird in South Australia,

Nocturnal parrot, very strange,

A little flock so hard to find

In the rugged Gawler Range.

Perfect behind museum glass

In sections for exotic breeds.

No need to fret about its future,

The Colonies fulfil your needs!

First named by Gould in ‘61

From one shot in ‘45,

The Western Ground Parrakeet

Now had value, dead or alive.

Two live birds were shipped to London,

Exotics worth their weight in gold,

Miraculously survived the voyage

But quickly died in the English cold.

An Englishman named Andrews

Had cornered the Night Parrot market.

Answer his advertisement,

A parrot will be his next target!

They make great gifts and mantelpiece displays,

So mail your coupon soon.

We’re so proud of the Earl of Derby,

Has one in his drawing room!

Ladies sip their Chinese tea

And talk about inclement weather,

Making fun of the little bird

From the land of the Never Never.

‘It looks like a big fat budgerigar

But it cannot speak a word.

What kind of parrots do convicts breed

On the bottom of the world?’

By the end of the 1870s

Andrews’ dark work was done.

The little flock had disappeared

And it would take a century

To find another one

VIII. The Story of Pezoporus occidentalis

This is the story of a little bird

Who for a century had not been seen.

Two dead birds had been found in Queensland,

As we jump to the year 2015.

With recorded calls a bird is lured

Its existence finally proven.

With photographs and video

All doubt had been removed.

Pezoporus occidentalis

Missing - presumed extinct

Its status now "endangered"

Population indistinct.

Ecologist Steve Murphy

Went listening for their song

Australia's softest choir

Wwere out there all along.

Their tiny little voices

Kept the hope strong.

IX. Sundown in the Spinifex (Re-enactment)

Sundown in the spinifex, Easter Saturday 2015, a time for resurrection.

Murphy and partner Rachael Barr have erected a mist net,

An ancient Japanese device for harmlessly catching birds,

And Murphy is busy broadcasting recorded calls.

“Steve! Steve get here. I think we’ve caught a bloody Night Parrot!”

“My god I think you’re right. Ok I’ll pin it while you snip the net and we can free it.

Very carefully, Rachael."

“Trust me Steve, we are not going to blow it now.”

Three hearts, man, woman and bird,

Pound as one.

Murphy has the bird in hand.

“Hold her firm,

Hold her soft,

Hold her like your newborn baby.”

“Don’t worry,

I’m holding her like the Holy Grail!

And look at her beautiful gold belly.

She’s a parrot all right.

The mysterious Night Parrot.

And so the bird is photographed in Murphy’s hand and a tiny tracking device is fitted.

The bird is released and scoots away.

But Rachael can easily track her from a helicopter and soon another bird is traced.

X. Epilogue

And so a new era began.

But every new era needs a plan.

But when we talk of predators,

The worst must not be Man.

This vulnerable bird must be protected

From twitchers, snappers, poachers,

Hide it away from all the tourists

Arriving in coaches.

So Murphy calls Bush Heritage,

Its purpose and vision famed.

A forever healthy country,

All threats to native species tamed.

XI. Reflection

And thus the parties came to the table

To begin negotiations

For the protected Pullen Pullen reserve

Owned by Bush Heritage

And guarded by the Waiamali people

On the vast Brighton Downs Station.

Scientists, graziers, and miners

Had come together to save her

With indigenous blessing:

A blueprint for all Australia.

How many stars in a galaxy?

How many fairies on the head of a pin?

How many clumps of spinifex

For parrots to be hiding in?

The Night Parrot prefers to hide.

Always difficult to trace.

That is the challenge

Her new guardians must face.

We must preserve her

In her native space.

The world’s most tantalizing little bird.