


The Mighty Pigeons of France

A carrier pigeon in its dovecote in Mont Valerien, near Paris Charlotte Gonzalez for The Wall Street Journal


"That's a big mistake," says Mr. Decool, who visits the birds at their home near a pigeon-post museum dedicated to the history of the winged servants.


"Where modernity stops, pigeons can still go through," Mr. Decool says.

In July, the 60-year-old sent French Defense Minister Jean-Yves Le Drian a letter asking him to clarify France's carrier-pigeon strategy. Two weeks later, the response arrived in the mail.

The minister said that French forces were equipped with self-sufficient communications systems that could resist power failure, cyber or electromagnetic attacks. Should France face a real need for carrier pigeons, the minister said, it could rely on "the precious support" of the country's pigeon fanciers—a flock of folks he estimates to number about 20,000.

Last year, Mr. Decool became concerned that France could be outdone in carrier-pigeon expertise by China, which maintains a platoon of 50,000 birds with 1,100 trainers for communication in border and coastal areas, according to the Chinese Ministry of National Defense.

But a plan to hatch ideas with the Chinese landed on deaf ears. Then-French Defense Minister Gérard Longuet said the country couldn't stoop to such tactics. In response, he said there was a risk Chinese pigeons would "carry French messages back to China!"

A stuffed pigeon in the carrier-pigeon museum.

French top brass didn't always shoo away the birds.

In 1870, when the Prussian army put Paris under siege, the prefect of the Nord region had 1,500 pigeons shipped to the capital to keep up the communication with the northern towns of Roubaix and Tourcoing.

Parisians, in turn, sent hot-air balloons loaded with their own pigeons to other cities, so that the besieged capital could receive a steady flow of news from the rest of the country.

When World War I broke out, the French army could count on 15,000 fully trained carrier pigeons, securing a direct communication line between Paris, Lyon and the eastern outposts.

One bird rose to be one of the war's most revered heroes. Surrounded by German enemies in Verdun, a French commander managed to telegraph by pigeon that his garrison was facing a poison-gas attack.

"This is my last pigeon," the message said.

The bird, Le Vaillant, skipped German bullets and flew through toxic clouds, back to its dovecote, helping save 100 lives. At the end of the war, he was decorated with the Cross of War, a distinction reserved for French war heroes.

"He's my inspiration," said Mr. Decool, casting a respectful look on Le Vaillant's stuffed body, which is on display at the pigeon-post museum.

During peace times, carrier pigeons have also proved useful for civilian missions.

Until fairly recently, the hospital of Granville, a small port town in Normandy, used pigeons to ship blood samples to a test lab in Avranches, some 15 miles away.

Special harnesses allowed the birds to carry test tubes attached to their bodies. Once released in Granville, it took a pigeon 25 minutes to deliver the important cargo.

"It's about the same time it takes by car, except that instead of gasoline you just need a handful of grains," said Yves Le Henaff, head of the Avranches-based blood-testing service. The program ceased in 1992 upon the pigeon-keeper's death.

On a recent Wednesday, Mr. Decool was inspecting the military dovecote in Suresnes.

Folding and unfolding the wings of a white pigeon he held in his hand, Mr. Decool warned the fort's military staff that the birds' morphology was not good enough to engage in long flights. White pigeons, he explained, are popular at weddings and peace celebrations the world over, but their fair feathers are the sign of an inferior gene pool.

"You need some fresh blood here," Mr. Decool told the army men present.

With few supporters for his idea to re-create a full-fledged pigeon air force, the lawmaker is working on an alternative plan: to use pigeons as a backup brigade for homeland security.

The first customer, he muses, could be Electricité de France, which operates the country's 58 nuclear-power reactors.

With quick, short strokes of pencil, Mr. Decool sketches his contingency plan to prevent a breakdown in communication if a major, Fukushima-like nuclear accident occurred.

A mobile dovecote—called A—would sit inside the security perimeter around the reactor, while the main dovecote—called B—would be set up outside it, about 30 miles away. Because the pigeons fly one way only—toward home—a flock of about 50 birds would need to be shifted periodically to the reactor. In case of an incident, they'd head home with key news.

"Why not," said Patrick Lagadec, a professor at France's elite engineering school École Polytechnique, who specializes in nonconventional crisis management. "If there's a major blackout, the cellular network will be the first to fall. From there, one can't predict how the crisis would unfold."

A spokeswoman for EDF declined to comment.

Finishing his recent tour of the carrier-pigeon museum, Mr. Decool stopped in front of an exhibition of miniature airborne spying equipment that could be fitted on birds, long before the advent of surveillance drones.

"Pigeons are superior animals," he says. "You can see that in their eyes."

—Kersten Zhang contributed to this article.

Write to Gabriele Parussini at

Corrections & Amplifications
The illustration accompanying this article was incorrectly identified in an earlier version as being of Le Vaillant. The bird in the drawing is a different carrier pigeon.