Wednesday 31 July 2013

There's more to the mole than meets the eye

A few weeks back an unusual discovery was made at an undisclosed location in North Devon an albino mole! Dave Archer, a fella I don't really know but I've heard of him, he's from out over Winkleigh way made his discovery while carrying out his work as a mole catcher on some grassy sward in Barum. I was taken with this story because as a youngster I embarked on my very own mole catching enterprise and have always maintained a keen interest in the creatures  although I must admit I don't ever recall seeing an albino one.
Dave Archer shows off his albino mole
 It all started  out at Granfer's farm out West Down when I was just starting secondary school Mr Spurry the local rat and mole catcher out that way was hanging up his traps and had decided to take his dogs and ferrets over to Morthoe and take up the parish rabitting license evidently believing that that netting, ferreting and lamping would prove to be a more lucrative activity than poking about for moles. However, inspired by the Old Boy's tales of his own mole catching endeavours and the small fortune he claimed to have made I had a word with Granfer  and told him that in my free time I would only be too happy to extricate the little creatures from his silage grass fields for the princely sum of a half a crown a mole. Molehills are not a great addition to the silage mix as they makes it too earthy and gives the cows belly ache.
Initially, I attempted to poke them out using long bendy hazel poles as to be honest Spurry's traps looked a little too lethal and also it took me a while to fathom out how to use them eventually as the stick poking exercise was little more than a mole prodding exercise in harassment and literally a stab in the dark I  applied myself to getting the hang of the traps basically a sort of tubular framed mouse trap which was inserted into the ground along one of their runs and covered in earth and then flagged up with a bit of twine on a stick. I won't go into how we retrieved the unfortunate little buggers as I reckon it may upset contemporary sensibilities but I have to say that after a time I soon developed quite a nose for catching them.
A mendicant mole catcher of old
Of course back then I wasn't the only lad pursuing such a lucrative sideline and at school after the weekends we would always be exchanging mole trappers tales. The ones that got away, the biggest. fattest velvetiest or deepest. That sort of thing I remember one of the older lads in particular Claude Passmore his name was who lived out Landkey way gained a great deal of our respect and gained bragging rights by his trapping feats. He also gave me an idea as to how I could garner a little profit from our activities as he told us all how he kept back his most prized skins and was making himself a mole skin waistcoat. I found this amazing and by chance I came across a notice in Farmer's Weekly advertising moleskin breeches, infact there was more than one loads of them. So, maybe Claude was onto something here. So I thought I'd follow his lead and make myself a pair of them however, I soon discovered my stitching wasn't up to it after laboriously making a half a leg and not being too impressed by the results. I decided to ask mother if she could run me up a pair on her Singer peddle sewing machine contraption. When I plonked me bag full of prime skins on the kitchen table I soon found out to the cost of my hearing that mother wasn't having any of it  and she heaved the heaving bag out of the back door and halfway down the lane. Unbowed by this setback I had another brainwave I decided to take the by now rather smelly and ripening pelts into the furriers in Boutport Street as I was sure they'd know what to do with them and were bound to have some processes for cleaning them up and I was also certain that  they'd be glad of the business as I had noted in passing that they never seemed to do much trade. As I seem to recall their window display consisted of a single rather musty looking fur hat on a stick. So I turned up down there and they were obviously so stunned by the potential increase in their revenues that they eagerly stuffed a five pound in my pocket and marched me out the door.  I was under the impression that they were keen for me to go and trap some more and keep the pelts coming. With the benefit of hindsight and in the light of further events I guess this wasn't necessarily the case! I think I'd started to try my luck a little when I decided to diversify my range, I had become aware of the craze for Davy Crocket style hats, and managed to procure a dead mink, several squirrels, an unfortunate fox and what I thought was a beaver but turned out to be a a large brown water rat. I think this may have been the last straw and my relationship with that particular business seemed to sour as I'd turn up and they always seemed to be closed. Although I was left with the distinct impression that they were in there. Evidently, they had found a new supplier but were too kind to heart my feelings in the end I got the message. Funny thing was I never saw any sign of the end result of our arrangement I thought at least a pair of gloves or a chic moleskin purse might make it onto the shelf but till the time the shop shut a few years later all they seemed to sell was the musty looking old hat on the stick.
I am glad to say that like most of my ventures the mole skin thing was only a passing phase and the novelty of traipsing through dung filled fields and carting about bags of putrefying pelts wore off and although the money was good, it failed to impress the maids no matter how you spun it. These days I have a great affection for the creatures so much so that I am advocate of leaving the little blighters alone. If I had a lawn I think I'd fail to see the point it in maintaining it at such a pristine level at the cost of murdering a few moles. The thing is the mole isn't actually where the mound is he is long gone and if you consider these piles unsightly you only have to remove them with a spade. There is actually evidence to suggest that moles are good for the lawn. I have put this to the Mole Abatement Society and they got back to me stressing how keen they were to promote the humane trapping of these enterprising little creatures and they sent me a fascinating booklet on the history of this ocularly challenged mammal.
One indispensable fact I learned was to do with their contribution to the course of English history and how they came to be venerated by the Jacobins after William of Orange fell from his horse and died after it stumbled upon a mole hill. These Catholic opponents of the Protestant Dutch king were so delighted by this turn of events and the unfortunate demise of the upholder of the faith that at their clandestine meetings they would raise a toast to "the little gentleman in black velvet waistcoat".
William III of Orange before his mole related mishap
These days, although not adverse to a spot of roadkill and I'll take a rabbit, pigeon or pheasant for the pot if offered and incidentally as I found out to me own cost moles are not very tasty, I've stopped shooting meself except at targets and only do a spot of seasonal fishing off of the rocks or setting me night-lines. These days and probably in some sort of repentance for my bloody past I am of the opinion that to be a countryman you don't have to feel the need to see any non productive creature in the countryside as being a pest. I can see the need for culling in some instances and people do tend to have  a rather persuasive argument for it but the idea of killing creatures for sport or even worse in my book to keep your bleddy lawn or golf course clean and tidy does not sit well with me.


Cheers to the little gentleman in the black velvet waistcoat

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