Lord Strawberry, a nobleman, collected birds. He had the finest aviary in Europe, so large that eagles did not find it uncomfortable, so well laid out that both hummingbirds and snow buntings had a climate that suited them perfectly. However, for many years the finest set of apartments remained empty, with just a label saying: "PHOENIX. Habitat: Arabia."

Many authorities on bird life assured Lord Strawberry that the phoenix is a mythical bird, or that the breed was long extinct. Lord Strawberry was unconvinced; his family had always believed in phoenixes. Occasionally, he received from his agents (along with their expense statements) birds which they claimed were the phoenix but turned out to be orioles, macaws, turkey buzzards dyed orange, or stuffed cross-breeds ingeniously assembled from various plumages.

Finally, Lord Strawberry went to Arabia himself. After some months, he found a phoenix, won its confidence, caught it, and brought it home in perfect condition. It was a remarkably fine phoenix with a charming character—affable to the other birds in the aviary and much attached to Lord Strawberry. Upon its arrival in England, it made a significant stir among ornithologists, journalists, poets, and milliners and was constantly visited. However, it was not puffed up by this attention, and when it was no longer in the news and the visits fell off, it showed no pique or rancor. It ate well and seemed perfectly contented.

It costs a great deal of money to maintain an aviary. When Lord Strawberry died, he died penniless. The aviary came on the market. In normal times, the rarer birds, certainly the phoenix, would have been bid on by the trustees of Europe’s great zoological societies or by private persons in the U.S.A. However, Lord Strawberry died just after a world war when both money and birdseed were hard to come by (indeed, the cost of birdseed was one of the things that had ruined Lord Strawberry).

The London Times urged in an editorial that the phoenix be bought for the London Zoo, saying that a nation of bird-lovers had a moral right to own such a rarity; a fund, called the Strawberry Phoenix Fund, was opened. Students, naturalists, and schoolchildren contributed according to their means; however, their means were small, and there were no large donations. Thus, Lord Strawberry’s executors (who had death duties to consider) accepted the higher offer of Mr. Tancred Poldero, owner and proprietor of Poldero’s Wizard Wonderworld.

Initially, Mr. Poldero considered his phoenix a bargain. It was a civil and obliging bird and adapted readily to its new surroundings. It did not cost much to feed, it did not mind children, and though it had no tricks, Mr. Poldero supposed it would soon learn some. The publicity of the Strawberry Phoenix Fund was now quite helpful. Almost every contributor now saved up another half-crown to see the phoenix. Others, who had not contributed to the fund, even paid double to look at it on the five-shilling days. But then business slackened. The phoenix was as handsome as ever and amiable; but, as Mr. Poldero said, it hadn’t got edge. Even at popular prices, the phoenix was not really popular. It was too quiet, too classical.

So, people went instead to watch the antics of the baboons or to admire the crocodile who had eaten the woman. One day, Mr. Poldero said to his manager, Mr. Ramkin, "How long since any fool paid to look at the phoenix?"

"Matter of three weeks," replied Mr. Ramkin.

"Eating his head off," said Mr. Poldero. "Let alone the insurance. Seven shillings a week it costs me to insure the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"The public don’t like him. He’s too quiet for them, that’s the trouble. Won’t mate nor nothing. And I’ve tried him with no end of pretty pollies, ospreys, and Cochin-Chinas, and the Lord knows what. But he won’t look at them."

"Wonder if we could swap him for a livelier one," said Mr. Poldero.

"Impossible. There’s only one of him at a time."

"Go on!"

"I mean it. Haven’t you ever read what it says on the label?" They went to the phoenix’s cage. It flapped its wings politely, but they paid no attention.

-Kim

Question

19-04-2025
Advanced Placement (AP)

High School

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Lord Strawberry, a nobleman, collected birds. He had the finest aviary in Europe, so large that eagles did not find it uncomfortable, so well laid out that both hummingbirds and snow buntings had a climate that suited them perfectly. However, for many years the finest set of apartments remained empty, with just a label saying: "PHOENIX. Habitat: Arabia."

Many authorities on bird life assured Lord Strawberry that the phoenix is a mythical bird, or that the breed was long extinct. Lord Strawberry was unconvinced; his family had always believed in phoenixes. Occasionally, he received from his agents (along with their expense statements) birds which they claimed were the phoenix but turned out to be orioles, macaws, turkey buzzards dyed orange, or stuffed cross-breeds ingeniously assembled from various plumages.

Finally, Lord Strawberry went to Arabia himself. After some months, he found a phoenix, won its confidence, caught it, and brought it home in perfect condition. It was a remarkably fine phoenix with a charming character—affable to the other birds in the aviary and much attached to Lord Strawberry. Upon its arrival in England, it made a significant stir among ornithologists, journalists, poets, and milliners and was constantly visited. However, it was not puffed up by this attention, and when it was no longer in the news and the visits fell off, it showed no pique or rancor. It ate well and seemed perfectly contented.

It costs a great deal of money to maintain an aviary. When Lord Strawberry died, he died penniless. The aviary came on the market. In normal times, the rarer birds, certainly the phoenix, would have been bid on by the trustees of Europe’s great zoological societies or by private persons in the U.S.A. However, Lord Strawberry died just after a world war when both money and birdseed were hard to come by (indeed, the cost of birdseed was one of the things that had ruined Lord Strawberry).

The London Times urged in an editorial that the phoenix be bought for the London Zoo, saying that a nation of bird-lovers had a moral right to own such a rarity; a fund, called the Strawberry Phoenix Fund, was opened. Students, naturalists, and schoolchildren contributed according to their means; however, their means were small, and there were no large donations. Thus, Lord Strawberry’s executors (who had death duties to consider) accepted the higher offer of Mr. Tancred Poldero, owner and proprietor of Poldero’s Wizard Wonderworld.

Initially, Mr. Poldero considered his phoenix a bargain. It was a civil and obliging bird and adapted readily to its new surroundings. It did not cost much to feed, it did not mind children, and though it had no tricks, Mr. Poldero supposed it would soon learn some. The publicity of the Strawberry Phoenix Fund was now quite helpful. Almost every contributor now saved up another half-crown to see the phoenix. Others, who had not contributed to the fund, even paid double to look at it on the five-shilling days. But then business slackened. The phoenix was as handsome as ever and amiable; but, as Mr. Poldero said, it hadn’t got edge. Even at popular prices, the phoenix was not really popular. It was too quiet, too classical.

So, people went instead to watch the antics of the baboons or to admire the crocodile who had eaten the woman. One day, Mr. Poldero said to his manager, Mr. Ramkin, "How long since any fool paid to look at the phoenix?"

"Matter of three weeks," replied Mr. Ramkin.

"Eating his head off," said Mr. Poldero. "Let alone the insurance. Seven shillings a week it costs me to insure the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"The public don’t like him. He’s too quiet for them, that’s the trouble. Won’t mate nor nothing. And I’ve tried him with no end of pretty pollies, ospreys, and Cochin-Chinas, and the Lord knows what. But he won’t look at them."

"Wonder if we could swap him for a livelier one," said Mr. Poldero.

"Impossible. There’s only one of him at a time."

"Go on!"

"I mean it. Haven’t you ever read what it says on the label?" They went to the phoenix’s cage. It flapped its wings politely, but they paid no attention.

-Kim

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