He came, he saw, he conquered the world of pigeon racing. Now, John Randall believes the sport will meet its demise with his generation.

Even if it takes them a year or two, John Randall’s pigeons always find their way back home from a race. But the 76-year-old still doesn’t have the faintest idea about the innate homing skill of the species - and neither do actual scientists.

“They can put men on the moon but they still can’t figure out how pigeons find their way back. It’s incredible,” Randall says. The homing instinct, however, is one of the least mysterious aspects of fancying, otherwise known as the art of breeding and racing pigeons.

Randall’s initiation into what was once considered Britain’s favourite pastime-turned-profession came during a dull evening in 1958. “My dad used to take me to the pub and sit me outside,” he recalls. “One day, I told him I was bored and he offered to get me some rabbits or pigeons because he knew people who bred them.”

As opposed to the “rats with wings” label given to the birds today, pigeons were previously regarded as pets on an equal footing with cats and dogs.

When 11-year-old Randall expressed his interest in raising pigeons, his father rang an acquaintance who gave him a pair of Van Reets - a terror breed claimed to be the fastest in the world.

“My dad made a two-foot box for the pair, and when I got more pigeons, he built me a bigger loft.” Two years later, Randall was gifted a flock of babies and his fascination progressed from there.

But it wasn’t until 1963 that the enthusiast started racing pigeons. “Once you get into racing, it becomes competitive. Then you start researching and breeding your own babies from the eggs,” Randall says. “You then watch them grow, nurture them to become racing pigeons, and push forward.”

In 1967, Randall won his first race and was hooked on the sport. Signing up for a bricklaying course, he even built himself a brick loft before settling his pigeons into a 28-foot-long timber shed in his Borehamwood backyard.

A typical race involves flyers bringing their chosen pigeons to a ‘marking station’ where rubber rings with unique numbers are attached to the birds’ legs. The pigeons are then placed into baskets and loaded onto a truck, taking them to a common ‘liberation point’ overnight. This could be anywhere between 100 to 1,000 kilometres away, depending on the type of race they’re entered into.

The birds are released the next morning to fly back home.

“Some pigeons would race home for the love of the loft while others are keen to breed and rear youngsters,” Randall explains. But at the end of the day, he claims that it’s impossible to exercise complete control over the species.

“Once they’re up in the air, they’re their own person. They can do what they want, and during the longer races, they can even go down for a drink. So, you never know what they get up to.”

Over the years, Randall has won hundreds of races - including the Berwick Nationals organised by the British International Championship Club (BICC). Yet the enthusiast still remembers the excitement and nervousness from his first win.

“While waiting for my birds to return, I got my book out and looked at how they did in the race before,” he reminisces. “And then, whoosh, I saw one land.”

Despite housing 30 hens and cocks in his loft, Randall believes no one in his family would follow his footsteps into fancying. “If I ever see my son walking up the garden, I get my wallet and ask how much money he wants to borrow,” Randall laughs.

“But oddly enough, one of my granddaughters held a couple of baby pigeons when I was injecting them the other day,” he adds.

Even though the number of fanciers has taken a hit over the years, Randall admits the sport has helped him forge lasting friendships.

“It feels good to discuss pigeons and this is the biggest reward of fancying,” he says, heading back into his shed with a board that reads ‘Grandad’s Pigeon Loft’. “It’s a nice hobby and it keeps you at the pub.”