Watch on the Ruhr

The good citizens of the Ruhr had not known such an air invasion since Allied bombers darkened their skies. Last fortnight, winged squadrons 30,000 and 40,000 strong beat upward from Austria, circled once and headed for the coal mines. The radio flashed word of their departure. On the roofs of their homes Ruhrmen glanced nervously at their watches and stared toward the south. They waited in fear--not that flyers would arrive, but that they might be too long on the way. For this was the race for the National Prize, the great homing-pigeon derby that is the payoff for one of Germany's most popular sports.

Known all over Germany as "the little man's horse racing," pigeon racing is nowhere so popular as it is in the Ruhr. Miners breed and raise their birds with loving attention, bet heavily on the pigeons' speed and natural navigation skills, bridle at the very thought of selling their pets for food. Last month, when a rash crook kidnaped half a dozen prizewinners and sent one of his own homers with a ransom note, the whole valley rose in wrath. Pigeon partisans tagged the go-between pigeon with streamers, trailed it by plane back to its loft, and turned the rustler over to the courts.

In the Ruhr, where pigeon racing has an almost mystical attraction, many of last week's racers were third-generation pigeon breeders. But while bloodlines are important, no pigeon will log a fast flight unless it has some strong urge to get there. Breeders have a special trick to bring their birds back quickly. Playing on the pigeons' monogamous habits, they separate competitors from their mates for a week before the race, give them one long soulful look at their spouses before shipping them off to the starting line.

Released in groups by officials of the breeders' association, each pigeon is fitted out with a numbered leg band. When the pigeon arrives at its loft, its owner slips the band into a metal capsule, which is then placed in an accurate time clock, automatically recording the moment of arrival. The capsules are returned to race officials, who calculate elapsed time and determine the winners. The judges are much more leisurely than the pigeons (which have been known to flap home as fast as 60 m.p.h.). Of the 70,000 contestants last week, all but those hopelessly lost have long since checked into their lofts. But winners will not be known until the end of September--when race officials expect to finish checking time capsules.

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