Days Are Getting Colder

Contrary to popular belief the British badger does not hibernate.  Setts have been recorded at a constant 1 - 3 degrees centigrade when the outside temperature has fallen as low as 12 - 17 degrees centigrade. They seem to know when the weather is to turn colder as I have observed many times over the years that just before a cold snap the badgers will double up on bedding and in the very coldest of the weather they can spend three or four days inside the sett without venturing out.

With all the government's reports of badgers being the main culprit of the spread of Bovine TB amongst cattle, a fact which is totally unscientifically proven and in my humble opinion totally inaccurate, it is worth sparing a thought for the badger, as the autumn will soon move into winter.  The months from the end of November through to the end of February  bring the majority of badger fatalities, for the British badger asks for no help and in the whole of my life time I have never seen him receive any.

This country is not awash with badgers as the government would have us believe.  The true facts are; the badger has never been particularly thick on the ground, like so much of our other British wildlife, the odds are stacked so very steeply against him.  So please spare a thought when you are all tucked up in bed of a night time in your warm houses with a guaranteed breakfast, lunch and dinner, the badger's meals are never a given.   A life I feel sure is plenty hard enough without this cursed badger cull.

The hard man Lord Protector of our woodlands is never more vulnerable than in the winter months.

Badgers are at their most vulnerable in winter.  Please watch my short film of this badger gathering bedding for the sett.    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRk3de1WvM0

The Calm Before The Storm

Forecasters have been having somewhat of a field day over the last couple of days informing us all on just how bad this forthcoming storm is going to be, possibly, nearly as bad as the storm in 1987.  On their advice I spent most of yesterday (Saturday) securing things down and trying to make everything as safe as possible. But my main concern, probably the same as a lot of other people, were the trees, they are pretty much still in full leaf and as they are predicting 80MPH gusts the tree damage could be extremely catastrophic as trees in full leaf act as large sails causing them to uproot.

Last Wednesday evening I had a telephone call from Nimrod congratulating me on the success of the Foxton badger sett protection last week. He then went on to extend an invitation from the Foxton’s for Jackie and myself to attend a drinks evening up at the Manor the following Friday night which we duly accepted. 

Jackie and I had had concerns for the last couple of weeks about the Coopers spending quite a few of their evenings up at our badger sett in a tent.  This was fine in the summer months but the nights were now starting to get colder and on Thursday morning we had our first notable frost here in The Cotswolds.  Their nights with the badgers had got to come to an end but the problem is, how is this to be done?  The forecast of this storm was almost heaven sent as to be in a tent underneath large Beech trees could almost be regarded as suicidal so I had made up my mind that Friday morning I was going to clear the area and move the tent. 8am Friday morning I arrived at Beech Wyn.  I walked up through the large Beech and Ash trees, this spot was so tranquil, the branches on the trees were still, the birdsong was still in evidence but nowhere near as prolific as in April, May and June.  On arriving at the sett there was the Cooper’s tent.  Luckily the Coopers had already left for breakfast and so the coast was clear to start dismantling it in which I wasted no time in doing.  I carried the tent back to the Land Rover and there it was to remain until I had convinced them that it was not good or safe for them to be in a tent this time of year.  I grimaced at the thought of the storm I was going to receive from the Coopers once they knew their tent had been removed. 

During the day’s work on Friday I didn’t give much thought to the Coopers as I was busy thinking about the drinks party at the Foxton’s that Jackie and I was to attend that evening.  The day went past quickly and Jackie and I at 7:30pm were in the Land Rover driving along the country roads towards Foxton Manor.  This was so different from the last time, a week ago, the feeling of trepidation and slight nervousness on the night’s work that had to be done, whereas tonight the mood was really quite jolly, however, still slightly uneasy, for this was to be the first time that I would have spoken to the Foxton’s since they threw me off their Estate for helping a fox ten years earlier.  “This was going to be interesting,” I thought to myself as we drove along. 

We were soon on the turning circle outside Foxton Manor.  Nimrod was stood in attendance and soon was opening the passenger door to let Jackie step out of the Land Rover.

“Good Evening Nimrod,”

“Good evening Jackie, long time no see,”

“Good evening Nimrod,” I shouted as I got out the driver’s door, “How’s it going?”

“Fine thanks,” replied Nimrod, “The Foxton’s are waiting for us in their drawing room, come on, I’ll show you up.”

We both followed Nimrod up the large Cotswold stone steps to the imposing Oak front door of The Manor.  Once inside we were chivvied along to the drawing room.  On entering a large fire was roaring away in the grate and the Foxton’s stood alongside it waiting to greet us. 

“Good evening Allan and Jackie, how nice of you to come.” Lord Foxton stretched out his arm to shake hands with us both then gestured for us to take a seat on one of the large settees in front of the roaring fire. He handed us both a glass of champagne and as I grasped the glass from his hand he looked at me and said, “I cannot thank you enough, a brilliantly executed plan.” No sooner had he finished his sentence the drawing room door swung open and it was the two children, the boy and the girl accompanied by Alexandra their mother and behind them were the Coopers.  On seeing us, Alexandra’s face lit up with a beaming smile but as soon as I saw the Coopers faces I knew they had seen their tent had been removed. The conversation was full of what the small badger sett meant to the family especially Alexandra, and the Foxton’s truly believed that the draw that these creatures had invoked inside of Alexandra was the tonic that had got her walking again after her horrific riding accident.  As we talked of times past it was plain for me to see that nobody knew of my badger sett. Not one word had been uttered from either myself or the Coopers about how they had been keeping watch and the amount of work that had been put into place to hide and protect my badgers from the most destructive and all powering force, Defra.  And the plan that had been put into place and rehearsed, Mozart’s Magic Flute, in the eventuality of Defra getting too close. 

As Alexandra wound the evening up telling us how brilliant the Coopers had been with their knowledge of badgers and the incredible way that they had started her walking again, an invitation was passed to Jackie and myself that if we should ever feel the urge or need to watch badgers then this small sett on the Foxton estate was at our disposal.  Lord and Lady Foxton then added that they would like to speak with me sometime in the near future on making the sett safe.

“Can we give you a lift back?” I asked the Coopers.  Mr and Mrs Cooper jumped at the idea.  We said our farewells to the Foxtons and off we went.  No sooner were we in the Land Rover the ear bashing commenced.  The Coopers called me everything that they could lay their tongues to without swearing and in turn I thanked them for their professionalism in keeping our sett secret.  By the time we had arrived at their cottage we were once again all singing from the same hymn sheet. 

“Lively Coopers to our badger sett are absolutely paramount,” I explained to them.  “And you can still see the badgers whenever you want but no more tents this side of April and stay inside your cottage until the advancing storm has blown itself out, stay safe.”

Jackie and I headed for home.  What a pleasant evening.

The horrendous storms of 1987 marked our landscape to such a degree that even now 25 years on the scars can still be seen.

Badgers Need Hugs

Nature never ceases to amaze me.  My Badger sett is looked over by Barn owls by night and  during the day when all is quiet a young Stag comes round the sett to keep watch.

 Most people would think this is sheer coincidence however, I like to think this is nature doing its level best to look after its own.

A descriptive word for a group of Badgers is a cete, the descriptive word that I use for my group of Badgers is more armchair.

The irony of this is only a couple of posts ago I let you all into a piece of Cotswold slang to keep watch is to keep stag.

Please watch my short film on the link below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRB6xRA_t70&feature=youtube_gdata

Young Stag who spends a lot of his day around the Badger sett.

Badger Baiters: Welcome to Armageddon

Wednesday night duly came and, at seven ‘o’ clock on the dot, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to just what I expected: a wellington-clad Nimrod, laden with a bag of (hopefully) all the things I had asked him to bring me.
“Evening Nimrod! Come in, how’s it going?”
“Not too bad,” was the reply, “I can’t stay long.”
He then started to go through the bag, pulling out two ropes of crow scarers, followed by a further two ropes.
“The detonation times are exactly what you’ve asked for, Allan. The first bang will come thirty minutes from ignition, to be followed by successive bangs every minute, depending on how far you place them apart. You can even set it up to go off every few seconds,” he explained.
He then pulled out two magazines of .22 rifle ammunition, twelve rounds in each, followed by the unveiling of a large silencer. “Just a minute,” Nimrod said, “I’ll just go and get the gun.”
Whilst he went out to the Landrover, I examined the silencer, an impressive one at that. Nimrod soon returned with the gun. “Look after this, it’s my favourite .22,” he warned. I passed him the silencer which he screwed to the barrel of the gun. “They’ll never hear this, whatever happens,” he mused. His face then turned solemn “You know how Lord Foxton feels about this, Allan, it cannot be known by anyone else that he is aware of this operation, so from this moment on, you’re on your own.” I nodded in agreement as I was fully aware of the consequences for the estate if this were to get out, due to Foxton’s brother-in-law being a big noise in the Tory Party.
“I want you to do one more thing for me, Nimrod. Over the wall, where the sett is, I want you to put up a sign saying “Danger. Adders.””
“This is getting ridiculous, what d’you want a sign saying that there for?” Nimrod sounded quite irate.
“It’s important for the plan, so all that I ask is that you make sure that it’s done. And…” Nimrod raised an eyebrow as I prepared to ask him of one thing further, “15 yards from the fox hole, pour a line of creosote in a semi-circle, breaking all traces of scent.”
He paused and smiled. “Of course I will, Allan.”
As he was leaving, I asked of the connection between the Coopers and the Foxtons. He then filled me in with a part of history that I was unaware of. Lord Foxton’s brother was the Commander in charge, the night that poor Michael was sent up the communications tower on the Northern Southern Ireland border. The tie between the Foxtons and the Coopers was the death of Michael, all those years ago. Nimrod paused at the door and looked nervous and uneasy.
“The weather forecast for the 18^th is appalling, Allan.”
“I know,” I replied, “if I were the badger baiters, I would definitely go on the 18^th.” My experience of poaching all those years ago had taught me that, the filthier the weather on the night, the less likely you are to get caught. The people we were dealing with were the countryside bullies, who had no true idea of the mystique of poaching and I felt sure that they would not venture out on a filthy wet night with their cameras and the moon being obscured with cloud would not make their films as appealing to their sick audiences as it would be on a clear full moon.
“So it will be the 19^th, Nimrod, when you keep that area completely clear of the Foxtons, the Coopers and yourself. The 19^th.”
“But what if you’re wrong? If that badger sett is destroyed, it will create misery beyond belief.” “Trust me, Nimrod, it will be on the 19^th. I will leave the gun, when I have finished with it, in the Fox hole and you do all the necessary cleaning up on the 20^th.” Nimrod agreed to this and we bade each other farewell.

The night of the 18^th. A torrential storm tore through the night. Whilst I was sure I was right, I couldn’t get rid of the tight knot of nerves in my stomach. All I could do was wait and hope for good news from Nimrod in the morning.

The morning of the 19^th. The sound of the phone cut through the tension in the house like a knife. I hurriedly picked it up to the voice of Nimrod:  “You were right, it’s still intact, they didn’t show.” The relief I felt was palpable. My mind then turned to the evening’s events.

5 ‘o’ clock on the 19^th. I packed my sleeping bag and Jackie packed my provisions, which went into the Landrover along with the gun and the crow scarers. Soon we were bobbling along the country roads, to arrive at the drop-off point on the Foxton estate. Jackie wished me good luck and I kissed her farewell, asking her to meet me at the same point at 5 ‘o’clock the next morning. I then had a 20 minute walk to the fox hole. I used the few hours I had between then and darkness to survey the situation and try to work out every kind of eventuality. I put the gun and sleeping bag into the fox hole, with the strong smell of creosote in my nostrils, and walked down to the wall; I looked over, and there was the sett. The sign “Danger. Adders” had been erected, just in front of it. And, on top of the sett, there was a small flag: the Union Jack. I knew the Coopers had been there; this was their code, telling me that the badgers expect. I then walked down the wall to find the odd low-lying branch to which I would attach the crow scarers at 20 metre intervals, right across the front of the sett. I returned to the fox hole and climbed on top of the ridge, and walked back towards the area of the track that had been ploughed a couple of weeks earlier. I then had to work out where they would park up as this would determine the detonation times of the crow scarers. I then espied a small clump of hawthorn trees backed towards the road from the ploughed area, which gave shelter from the road and was not too boggy either. Bingo. I timed the distance it took me to walk from the hawthorn trees, over the wet ploughed ground, to the badger sett. 15 minutes. The calculations were going round and round in my mind – the timing was everything. The other question of how many dogs I would be faced with kept creeping to the forefront of my mind, disturbing my other thoughts. I shook my head and looked to the darkening sky: I had to focus.

The time soon got round to 19:38. The October Hunter’s Moon was full. It seemed light enough to have a game of football: the area was almost floodlit. As I waited, I walked down to the sett and looked over the wall: two of the badgers were out, wrestling and getting up to mischief already. I shook myself again as the haunting image of the bloodbath and carnage that I had witnessed too many a time before flashed across my mind. I grimaced. ‘This is going to be a rough night, my old friends,’ I thought. And then: a beam of light from the road.

I ran back to the fox hole: the time was 21:30. The lights pooled off the road, onto the track, travelling very slowly, followed by another set of lights. I climbed up onto the ridge and ran back to the stone wall and lit the crow scarers. More thoughts crowded my mind: have I set them too early? Now they were lit there was nothing I could do. I ran back to the fox hole, picked up the gun, climbed up over the ridge and walked back towards the ploughed up area. By this time, the two vans had parked up. Three men hopped out of the first van with five dogs, all straining at their leashes already. The second van: another three men, one with a large camcorder, the other with two shovels and another struggling with two chains: two dogs on each. They already seemed to be out of control, trained to kill, baying for blood, like animals possessed.

9 dogs.

I didn’t envisage this number. ‘I’m going to have to stop some of these before they get near the sett.’ I thought, ‘there are just too many.” The cameraman took over the two shovels, allowing the other to have two of the dogs. I surveyed all 6 men, the camouflage jacket brigade, who looked oddly out of place in their surroundings. One man in a green cap looked to be particularly struggling with the demons on the end of his leashes; another – with just the one dog – was strutting around in a black balaclava. I shook my head. I’d seen this sort of person far too many times in my life and my blood started to boil as I remember my previous encounters with their handiwork. They then started to make their way clumsily towards the badger sett.

I went back towards the fox hole and stopped on the ridge, opposite the ploughed up bog area. I lay in the dead grass and waited. As they got into the wet ground, clambering over the small tree stumps, cursing and moaning, I could see no clear shots. Their uncoordinated approach soon left one man rather behind as he appeared to be getting deeper and deeper into the bog. His two dogs, in their desperation to get ahead, jumped up onto one of the trunks, at lead’s length from the man. For a split second, one of the dogs was in the sights of the gun. That was all I needed. A squeeze of the trigger, I watched one roll off the log. A second squeeze on the trigger, the second dog followed it. Finally unstuck, the man looked up to see them on the floor and began to shout to his comrades: “The dogs! What the hell’s wrong with the dogs?” The main group turned around, all gesticulating wildly for him to be quiet and not give them away. He stumbled around pulling on the leads, utterly bemused, before shrugging and leaving the bodies behind. ‘There are your true colours,’ I thought, ‘no regard for life whatsoever.’ The tune in my head from when I first saw the vans was Boney M’s “Daddy Cool” as I thought back to the great daddy cool that was ripped apart by the same type of people 30 years ago. For me, I felt no compassion for the two dogs I had just shot, nor did I feel guilty. I had most probably just saved them from a slow, painful and far more gruesome death which so many of these killers are met with as they carry out their job for the baiters.

As the group stood, F’ing and cursing, waiting for the straggler to catch up, I crept back over the ridge and was soon back in the fox hole. I looked at my watch: it had already been 15 minutes. The crow scarers would be going off in another 15; the men needed to hurry up for my plan to work. The brigade were now in sight once more. The dogs had caught the scent of the badgers and were straining at their leashes to such an extent that the men were almost horizontal in their effort not to get pulled off their feet.

They were down to 100yds. Too far.

The dogs were still pulling and were starting to make tongue: they could smell blood. Two of the dogs reached my mental 60yd mark. Their handler, Green Cap, stopped for a second to see how far the others were behind him. That was all I needed. One dog was in the sight of the gun. A squeeze of the trigger, the third dog fell. Green Cap, evidently as dense as he looked, was unaware of the sudden loss of tension in his left hand leash and was still shouting back at his colleagues to hurry up. Another squeeze on the trigger and the forth dog keeled over. He finally turned back round to his dogs and started to pull them and shout at them to get up, in some kind of bizarre notion that they had decided to take a nap. He shook the leashes frantically and was visibly shaking with rage. By this time, the cameraman had caught up and gawped at the scene, before joining Green Cap in a cursing frenzy. Meanwhile, the man who had been at the back of the group was having such trouble controlling his dogs that he was totally oblivious to the situation. His dogs were already up by the wall, clambering up, trying to get over. ‘Once over the wall, I’ve lost them,’ I thought; so I quickly turned the gun. Another squeeze and the fifth fell backwards, leaving the other dog straining on top of the wall. Perfect. A squeeze again and the sixth rolled over the wall, woodside. More cursing ensued.

 I looked at my watch: 5 minutes. If the remaining three dogs had not been so close to the sett, I might have mused at the scene of chaos unfolding as the men kicked the bodies, pointed fingers at each other and argued about whether or not to go home. But there were still three live dogs: the fight was not over yet. The remaining three dogs were pulling like animals possessed towards the sett. “No! We stay! I haven’t come all the way out here to return with nothing!” I heard one shout. I espied Black Balaclava stood slightly away from the rest of the brigade. The scent seemed too much for one of his dogs who also began to jump up the wall. A squeeze on the trigger, the seventh lay still. The group of men at this time were at total disarray. The cameraman took over as ringleader and strode over to the wall, quickly followed by Black Balaclava who didn’t give a second thought to his lost hound. I then heard the cry I had been waiting for: “Snakes!” The two jumped back and looked at each other. “That’s what’s done the dogs!” shouted another. I shook my head again: yet another display of how little these men know about wildlife. Again, my experience of Camouflage Jacket Brigades before had proved useful; I knew they would fall for the sign. The two dogs remaining seemed undaunted and looked to the wall, but I had to get a clear distance between them and the men before I could squeeze again.

Then, an almighty crack.

A crow scarer had kicked in. Everyone was startled for a split second. A clear shot. One followed by another. Eight and nine lay on the ground, amid the ensuing explosions. The men ran in all directions.

‘Welcome to Armageddon,’ I thought.

The Full Hunter's Moon - 21:30 19th October 2013

You Made Your Bed, I'll Lay On It.

My badger sett where the badgers seem to thoroughly enjoy life in their wild surroundings.  They feel so secure and happy which in turn really satisfies me, especially when you hear of the atrocities and carnage happening to many of our British badger setts.
If you would like to see a pair of seriously relaxed badgers then click onto the link below and watch my short film.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lT9ogtZy7Iw

Always makes me smile

Badgers Make Ready For the Dogs from Hell

“Badgers moving the goal posts” was the response from our government this week trying to wriggle out of their catastrophic mismanagement of the whole shameful badger cull business.  I have always been astutely aware of the badgers incredible intelligence and its amazing no nonsense approach to detail, but when the minister in charge of something as important and controversial as the badger cull comes out and says, “the badgers have moved the goal posts” you have to seriously ask your self whether these people are up to the job, and I have come to the conclusion that they most certainly are not, and now the “in” word for taking care of the badgers is “gas”, this is most alarming as I was under the impression that gassing any wild animal was illegal.  A particular sad and harrowing case of a protected animal being brought down to the most common denominator; cost.  Paterson’s take on the whole proceedings is to kill as many as you can of the seventy per cent that were ear marked for slaughter at the start of this shambolic campaign and no one knows just how many in numbers seventy per cent is.  With a clown in charge like Paterson you could easily wipe out most of the badgers in the cull zones. Unscientific, not thought through and not at all in the public’s interest. Appeasing a few at the cost of British wildlife.

 The talk with Nimrod last weekend had been bothering me, something didn’t seem quite as it should be.  Not seeing an old friend for ten years and then when he did finally catch up with me I couldn’t help but feel I was speaking to a very nervous, concerned gamekeeper. 

 As I approached my badger sett on Thursday evening the Coopers were sat outside their tent, badgers going in and out of the badger cage freely and happily.  “Good evening Allan, how’s it going?” asked Mrs Cooper.

“Very well,” I replied.

“The badger cage is like a game to them now,” said Mrs Cooper, “they all go in and wait for the handful of peanuts.  We’ve got it now so they can be in there waiting for four minutes before they come back out, they see you pick up a handful of peanuts and then they are straight back in.”

“Brilliant! Quite unbelievable, you have trained them to script,” I replied sitting down beside Mr and Mrs Cooper. As we all sat and watched the badgers, Mrs Cooper brought the conversation around to Nimrod.

“What had he called to see you for?” she asked.

“A badger problem,” I replied. 

“What sort of problem?” asked Mrs Cooper.

“A badger baiting one.”

As Mrs Cooper asked the questions I couldn’t help but think back to how offish she had been and quite sheepish in the company of Nimrod last Saturday morning and I was definitely under the impression as we spoke that she was aware of the problem on the Foxton Estate.  “How could she be? Foxton is twelve miles away?” and I tried to get the thought from my mind.  I changed the conversation from Nimrod back to the joke headlines in the newspapers “Badgers changing the goalposts” making monkeys out of our government, but Mrs Cooper was all for bringing the conversation back to Nimrod and Lord and Lady Foxton. 

“Are you going to help Nimrod?”  I told her that that was my intention.  A beaming smile lit up her face. 

“What is your plan of action?”

“I’ve got a few ideas, evacuation is out of the question, there’s no time. Operation Mozart’s Magic Flute has been a long time in the planning and I feel it’s the only way we can make the badgers safe against Defra, you cannot fight a government, but this is a badger baiting problem, a different ball game with a different set of rules.”

“What do you mean no time?” asked Mrs Cooper

“Nimrod said he had frightened them off a few weeks earlier, he had rang the police but by the time they arrived the baiters were long gone and in my experience they always come back, especially to a sett like that one, it is totally unprotected.”  Mrs Cooper’s face immediately went straight,

“Why, have you been there?”

“Yes, Nimrod took me there last Saturday afternoon.”  Changing the subject completely I said, “You’re going to soon have to vacate this tent, it is getting too damp and cold and it will be getting into your bones.”

“We’re alright at the moment, we are warm enough,” Replied Mr Cooper. I could see that this was going to be quite difficult.

“Well good night to you both, sleep well,” and I got up to leave, on doing so, Mrs Cooper put out her hand, “Do your best, do your very best at Foxton’s” she said.  Her attitude towards the Foxton’s and Nimrod I thought had changed, but maybe it was me, had I interpreted the situation incorrectly, I thought she was cool towards Nimrod last Saturday morning as he had been the one who had escorted me off The Foxton Estate. “Never mind, all water under the bridge now,” I thought. 

When I got back to the house I sorted out Nimrod’s phone number and rang it.  After a few rings a voice on the other end of the phone said, “Do you know what time of the night it is?”

“Sorry to bother you so late Nimrod, I was just ringing up to make sure you were still bringing the gun, the silencer, the ammunition and the four ropes of modified crow scarers on the 16^th and have you dug that fox hole? And what night would be convenient to get together for a drink?”  He answered telling me that the fox hole had been dug and he would get the gun, and all the extras to me on the 16^th and the crow scarers had been modified to my precise detonation times and he could see me any time for a drink other than Saturday night.  By this time Jackie had come down from upstairs.

“What are you doing on the phone this time of night?” she asked.

“Just getting a few things clear with Nimrod. We’ll talk more about that drink Nimrod, see you on the 16^th, see ya.”  As I put the phone down I immediately thought of the one night Nimrod couldn’t make it for a drink, Saturday, and that was the night I had to be on the Foxton Estate.  Something did not add up. 

Saturday morning duly came round and I explained to Jackie that I wanted her to drop me with a sleeping bag and a few provisions up on the Foxton Estate that evening and pick me up at 6am on Sunday morning.  Jackie was not best pleased as she would have quite liked to have been out there with me but after ten minutes of cajoling she was in agreement and helped me find the sleeping bag and sorted me out with enough provisions to do a small platoon a fortnight.  I picked through her array of goodies, enough that I thought would sustain me through the evening and everything was now set.  Half past seven the sleeping bag, binoculars, thermos flask and my food provisions were packed into the Land Rover and we were soon bobbling along towards the Foxton Estate.  After about twenty minutes I got Jackie to stop by the side of a Beech wood.  We kissed and said goodbye quickly as her lights would have been standing out like a sore thumb.  I was out of the Land Rover with my bundle of provisions and into the wood where I stood and watched for a few seconds Jackie’s lights weave along the country lane on her way home.  I picked up my bundle and started to make my way to the stone wall that I had half built ten years earlier.  After about twenty minutes I arrived at the wall.  I looked up to the left, up the bank and started to look for the foxhole that Nimrod had dug.  After a bit of grass kicking and searching, I found it, forty five yards up the bank to the left of the wall, there it was, eighteen inches deep and eighteen inches wide and 6 feet 6 inches long, an old sheep hurdle covered in grass and leaves lay on the top of it, that’s why it was difficult to find.  Nimrod had made a great job and this started to alarm me even more.  After an hour of surveying the area of walking back down the track and looking at the part of the track that I agreed with Nimrod that was to be ploughed to stop any vehicle access, to my astonishment had been completed along with the laying of small tree trunks all the way across it.  “There is no way that I would get my Land Rover across that” I thought and it was almost as if the middle of it had been heavily watered as the water seemed deeper than when I had seen it last.  I picked up a stone and threw it into the middle of the water, “Mm,” I mused, “This is being taken very seriously, let’s go and have a look at them badgers.”  As I wandered back towards the wall, the preciousness of the badgers started to come through loud and clear.  The expense of the ploughing up of the track, the elaborate digging out of the foxhole and the visit from Nimrod after ten years, these badgers meant an awful lot to the Foxtons’ which disturbed me as the Foxton’s I remembered weren’t particularly good natured to any wild animal.  I looked over the wall and there was the badger sett shown to me by Nimrod. Three or four good sized entrances, “This is quite pathetic,” I thought, “No cover to speak of, baiting dogs, the very creatures from hell would find this easy.”  Just then a badger poked his head out from one of the holes. As I looked at the badger I could see he was looking out of the sett half expectantly and then I knew this old boy had been used to nightly visits.

Having paced out various hit points marking the odd shaped stone in the wall in my mind, I returned to the foxhole, crawled inside it and waited. This was the night that Nimrod couldn’t make it for a drink and I couldn’t help but think, in fact I felt sure this whole situation was something to do with it. 

As I lay there almost napping, the time now would have been about midnight, a beam of light was coming from the direction of the Foxton Manor. With my head out the front of the foxhole, straining my neck round to get a better vision to follow the lights, I could see there were two vehicles.  As the lights got nearer, I sunk down deeper into the foxhole.  Soon the vehicles were down in front of me, a short wheel based Land Rover, that was Nimrod’s and behind that a safari type seven seater Land Rover, this was the Foxtons’. They pulled twenty yards passed the badger sett.  Nimrod was soon out of his Land Rover stood to attention, the four doors opened on the safari Land Rover, two kids bounced out first, a girl and a boy of about eight and ten shortly followed by Lord and Lady Foxton and then to my amazement, Mrs Cooper.  I couldn’t believe it.  I lay there and watched as Mrs Cooper and Lady Foxton started to manoeuvre Alexandra in the back of the Land Rover.  Soon Alexandra had been prized out of the vehicle with Lord Foxton one side of her for support and Lady Foxton the other.  There they stood and then the two children started to shout, “You can do it mummy, you can do it.” And Mrs Cooper could then be heard saying, “Come on Alexandra, put one foot in front of the other.”  Alexandra was now holding her mother’s hand one side and slightly leaning on Lord Foxton the other, and I could see that she was putting one foot in front of the other and she was actually slowly walking.  Mrs Cooper was beaming with enthusiasm and encouragement.  After a couple of minutes they were all at the wall leaning on it.  The two children ran over to Nimrod who was still stood to attention at the back of his Land Rover.  There he gave them what looked to me to be some peanuts.  The two children charged back to the wall to join the Foxton’s and Mrs Cooper.  Then the two kids started to throw out the peanuts over the wall towards the badger sett.  I couldn’t see what was happening over the wall from where I was, but going by all the oohs and aahs and “aren’t they lovely granddad?” I knew the badgers were there.  The little group were oblivious to the North wind that had started to blow with some force and the drizzling rain that came with it.  I could hear the wind rushing through the trees. After what seemed about forty minutes they returned to the Land Rover.  The two kids encouraging Alexandra who was obviously their mother and the constant reassurance from Mrs Cooper they were all back in their Land Rover and soon away followed by Nimrod.

 These badgers were the convalescence of a paraplegic and on the evidence I had just witnessed, it was a tonic from nature which was obviously, almost magically getting results that the attraction and pull that these creatures can evoke had obviously created something for Alexandra and her children to hang onto.

As I lay there in my sleeping bag, the 18th, the full Hunters Moon was going to be the night the baiters were going to attack this sett.  I just knew it.  This was going to be difficult and after what I had just seen had made it even more difficult. These badgers were irreplaceable. Their charm, charisma and adoring nature was what was getting Alexandra out of her wheel chair.  And the thing that was niggling me more than anything was the connection between Mrs Cooper and the Foxtons’.

Badger keeping stag.

An old Cotswold poacher’s slang-saying for keeping watch.

Hooray The Badger Cull Is Over, Let's Have Some Fun.

There are very few things in life that gives more pleasure than a sett of badgers at play in total ease and comfort in their surroundings.  Not just is it so satisfying visually, but after an hour or so watching them you come to the decision that it is just down right good for the soul.
I am sure that if Defra and Mr Own Patterson had taken the time to study badger behaviour carefully their go ahead for the hair brained badger cull would never have gone ahead.
As I have said before, it is appeasing a few at the expense of the masses.  By shooting, or now they are even talking about gassing these adorable creatures, TB in cattle will still be just as prevalent after the cull as it was before unless cattle movements are more tightly monitored, but it seems to me the fall guy yet again is the old black and white.
Please watch my short film of badgers frolicking in the woods.
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWFUchTS0p0

The Badgers Fight Back on the Full Hunters Moon.

“Do you want a hand picking those apples?” I recognised the voice instantly. Turning around from my ladder, the face that greeted me was of an old friend leaning over the garden wall. “Nimrod how are you?”

“Could be better if the truth be told, are you alright?” he asked.

“Fine, or I will be when these apples are in.”  Cautiously I came down the ladder, once on terrafirma I walked briskly to the wall, there we shook hands. Nimrod appeared to look much older, almost stressed.  “What’s brought you around to my neck of the woods?” I asked.

“Well I was out this way and I thought to myself why not drop in on my old friend Allan?”

“Lovely, really lovely to see you. It must be ten years.”

“Must be,” replied Nimrod. 

“Can I get you a cider or anything?”

“Thanks but I am driving, a cup of tea would be nice though.” Nimrod tried to jump up over the wall but slipped back down. “Walk around to the gate.” I made my way down the garden to the gate and met him.  “Let’s go and get that tea.” As the kettle was boiling I could not help thinking just how impossible it would be to go off apple scrumping with Nimrod today. He couldn’t get over a three foot wall let alone climb up any trees, turn the clock back forty years and that was a very different kettle of fish as there we would be raiding the Vicarage, the Manor and any other garden which had an apple tree growing in it.  “So how are you keeping Allan? How’s Jackie and the kids? Sophie and Sam isn’t it?” 

“Yes, they’re all fine thanks.  Jackie’s gone shopping, Sophie’s at university and Sam is doing his Saturday job. How are your two?”

“Well Mary she’s settled down with a child of her own and Henry works on the Estate with me, he’s underkeeper and the missus, she still looks after the stables.”

“How many years have you been on Foxton’s now Nimrod?”

“Thirty five years, and you’re still self-employed?”

“Yes,” I replied.  Nimrod was the finest Game Keeper that I had ever had the privilege to meet.  A childhood friend which had ended somewhat abruptly ten years earlier when Nimrod had been asked by Lord and Lady Foxton to get me off the Estate. 

It was a Friday morning, the 10^th December, and I was busy putting up a large section of a Cotswold stone wall on the Foxton Estate.  I was just getting another line out the back of the Land Rover when I could hear hounds making tongue.  As I watched them charging along the top of a cover the odd red coat in amongst black, the frost still thick on the ground, the sight was impressive.  All the hounds were soon out of sight and I returned to my wall.  After about ten minutes or so, the sound of hounds making tongue could be heard again.  I got on top of the Land Rover for a better view and in the distance, about half a mile away, there was a field of sheep turnips.  The hounds were heading straight for this field and when hounds are making tongue you know the scent of the fox is very new.  As I watched the field of turnips I saw the fox break from the hedge side, he was running up the hedge hell for leather, the hounds were still in the turnips, the fox came through that field into the next and he was soon running up the side of the hedge in the field that my Land Rover was parked in.  As I watched, the fox kept closer and closer to the Land Rover, I could see that the hounds were now in the same field, for the fox the game was all but lost, but to my astonishment he kept running straight towards the Land Rover and jumped straight into the back of it.  I jumped from the top of the Land Rover and slammed the back tailgate of the Land Rover shut.  As I looked through the wire mesh back, the fox was led with his head wedged between the spare wheel and the glass cab divider, his breathing was twenty to the dozen he was absolutely wore out.  By this time the hounds were all around us, jumping up, and some of the hounds had even got onto the bonnet of the Land Rover as seven or eight huntsman arrived on the scene quickly joined by another two dozen.  It was at this moment that I realised as if I hadn’t already as the hounds were jumping up the Land Rover, jumping up at me, baying to get at the fox what a truly awful death this would be to be chased until you can run no more and then to be ripped to pieces all in the name of a day’s sport.  A fox’s cunning and prowess deserves such a lot more dignity than what I was witnessing here at this moment. “Open the back of the Land Rover sir.”

“I’d rather not, he has out witted you, he has won the day” I replied.

“I demand you to open the back of the Land Rover.”

“I would sooner not,” I replied.  Then Lord and Lady Foxton came to the fore.

“If you value your livelihood on this Estate, open the back of your Land Rover. That’s our fox you’re incarcerating in that machine and don’t be so blasted insolent.” I stood firm at the back of the Land Rover. “Better me incarcerating it than being ripped to bits by your hounds.”  By this time Nimrod had arrived on the scene.  Lord and Lady Foxton instructed him to escort “this piece of rubbish” off the Estate.  And that’s the last I had seen of Nimrod until today.

 As we drank our tea I turned to Nimrod and asked him what was his real reason in him coming today?  “

There’s been some changes on the Manor Beck Estate. Lord and Lady Foxton’s daughter Alexandra suffered a horrendous hunting accident three years ago and she is now a paraplegic, and I’ve got a small badger sett that she’s taken a real shine to.”

“I’m sorry to hear that about Alexandra, she was a lovely girl and she used to spend hours with me walling, but how does this concern me?”

“Badger baiters, they’re in the area, we’ve caught them once a couple of months ago the only punishment they get is a small fine, a slap on the wrist and then they are back.”

“They will always come back,” I replied. “You said it was a small sett, how many badgers are there?”

“Three, on three and half thousand acres they are the only badgers that we have got and I have promised Alexandra that I will keep them safe but I fear I won’t be able to because they know where the sett is.  I caught the baiters just as they were getting out of their vehicles the last full moon, The Harvest Moon, I rang the police but by the time the police had arrived the badger baiters had scarpered.  Will you help?”

“How can I, I was banished off their Estate?”

“All those years ago when your father went bankrupt and you more or less kept your whole family, all eight of you in poached game at a time when the Estates’ around you all had three and four gamekeepers you were never caught, you were notorious then.”

“That was out of necessity and I wasn’t caught simply because the stakes were so grave that once caught the whole family would have been evicted, however, that was a long time ago, I haven’t poached in years. I live twelve miles away from the Manor Beck Estate and with the amount I’ve got on, helping you Nimrod could prove to be pretty undoable.”  Just then a knock on the door and the kitchen door came bursting open, it was The Coopers.  They had heard the story of the fox and me being banished from the Manor Beck Estate and Nimrod these days wasn’t their favourite person although I had pointed out time out of number that it was not his fault, he had to obey Lord and Lady Foxton’s orders otherwise he would have been out of a job and his home as he lived in a tied cottage.”

A muted greeting between the Coopers and Nimrod, this proved a tad awkward, then Nimrod broke the uneasy silence.  “Do you still mess around filming badgers Allan?”

“No!” was the emphatic reply from The Coopers, “We haven’t seen any badgers for years, not since the badger baiters did Old Daddy Cool and his family thirty years ago.”  The Coopers professionalism in their espionage tactics never cease to amaze me.  I asked The Coopers if they wanted a cup of tea, they replied that they had just called in to see if Jackie was around to help them perfect their face time mode on their new phone.  Nimrod and I laughed.  I explained that Jackie was out shopping and would be back later. “Nice to see you, lots to do,” and the Coopers were then gone.  As they shut the door behind them Nimrod remarked on how well they both looked.  “What age must they be?”

“A good one,” I replied.  “The badger baiters will hit your badger sett on the 18^th October on the Hunters Moon.”  The Coopers had stirred something inside me when they had mentioned Old Daddy Cool, “We must be proactive rather than reactive, this time the badgers will take the fight to them.”

“How do you mean?” asked Nimrod.

“I will tell you on our way, let’s go and see your badger sett.”  We went out to our vehicles, Nimrod got into his Land Rover and I climbed into mine. As we got in I was hoping to see Jackie but no time to lose, we needed to get over to Manor Beck.  I followed Nimrod along the winding country roads and after about thirty minutes we turned down a small lane onto a small track, I recognized this track as it wound down through a cover out to a hedge and as we drove down to the bottom of the hedge, there was the Cotswold stone wall that I had been building and it was still there half-finished from ten years earlier when I was so unceremoniously discharged from the Estate.

Nimrod was out of his Land Rover peering over the wall and in amongst the small beech trees and ash there was the sett, this would offer no resistance at all this was easy.  “Is this the only way in?” I asked.

“Yes it is, the other entrance even the Land Rover would struggle to get through.”

“That wet ground a quarter of a mile back that we’ve just come through, put a plough over it, we have got until the 18^th.”

“Why do you keep on about the 18^th?” asked Nimrod.

“Think about it, these sadistic scum love to film their dogs ripping badgers to bits, it’s what they come for, but this time they’ll wish they hadn’t.”  I surveyed the area, up the bank from the wall I paced it at forty five meters, I wanted a fox hole digging at the point where I pushed in a stick, big enough for me to lay down in and observe.

“Why the ploughing?” asked a puzzled Nimrod.

“We’ve got to get them out of their vehicles and from that wet ground to here that’s all the time I will need. Have you got a good silencer?”

“A very good one,” replied Nimrod.

“A .22 rifle and twenty rounds should be enough, four ropes of crow scarers, the sort that are hung in hedges, I want you to adjust the detonation times so that they are going off on the rope every minute rather than every thirty with a fuse time to the first bang of thirty minutes.”

“This is getting complicated and you have mentioned a gun.”

“You know I don’t shoot any more, get the gun to me by the 16^th, that will give me time to get my eye in again, get the rope scarers ready also for the 16^th, here’s my mobile number and I’ll take yours, and tell Alexandra not to worry, and let Lord and Lady Foxton know that from the 16^th until the 18^th they’re liable to see me on their Estate.”

“They are the ones who sent me to see you Allan.”

“Get that track ploughed right out in that wet patch and make it impassable, the plan I have in mind absolutely depends on it, if they manage to get past that area my plan will not work, they must be on foot with their dogs from that point onwards.  Get the foxhole dug and then we wait for the Hunters Moon.”

This the back of the Land Rover that the fox all those years ago jumped into to evade the hounds.

I Am At Peace With The World, Please Let The World Be At Peace With Me.

Another short film from my badger sett.  In the film you will see a single badger who is quite a character arriving back from a night's foraging and decides he wants to relax for a couple of hours underneath the stars. If ever there is an animal within our countryside who deserves the peace and tranquility come about by his own efforts, it is the Lord Protector of our woodlands, The Badger. 

To watch the badger in question click this url. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZAk5qTnPfQ&feature=player_detailpage