Constable on the Prowl (The Constable Nick Series Book 2) Page 8

  My frequent excursions to this place revealed that she crossed the road around midnight, give or take twenty minutes either way. I knew that her route back to the sett would be the same each time, having been on a hunting expedition. Badgers enjoy their food, but are not particular what they eat — insects, beetles, worms, mice, wasps and bees are all fair game, and the thick coat of this animal makes it impervious to the anger of wasps or bees when under attack. Fruit are enjoyed too, and it’s not unknown for a wandering badger to scent its way into an orchard to feast upon fallen apples.

  Knowing of the animal’s fondness for fruit, I did wonder if I could tempt Belinda from her sett with a few choice raisins or sultanas. Badgers love these fruit and I had heard tales of country folk making friends with them by using this bait. The badger is a one-man beast, however, and such a friendship can be somewhat tenuous.

  Feeling there was little to lose and a lot to gain I began one of my night-duty patrols with a pocketful of raisins and later made my way to the edge of the sett before the usual time of Belinda’s evening stroll. I placed a handful of raisins near the entrance and adjourned to a nearby hiding place. It would be very foolish to shine my torch upon the mouth of the sett, so I relied on my night sight and was eventually rewarded by the grunting approach of the stout lady. She was grumbling and puffing as, heavy with cubs, she climbed the slope towards her sett. As she approached the entrance, she smelt the goodies and was clearly suspicious. I’m sure she’d never before been presented with foreign fruit but after a couple of exploratory sniffs she devoured them happily and vanished inside.

  For a time this became a regular night excursion for me, both on and off duty. Each time I would drop a handful of raisins near the entrance and watch her enjoy them. Sometimes I would speak aloud from my hiding place, talking to her as I had the day I helped her over the fence. The sound of my voice did not appear to alarm her and I began to wonder if she would respond to the raisins if I was closer to them. Maybe she already knew their presence was the work of humans. Maybe she knew I was there.

  By now she was very heavy and I guessed birth was imminent. Spring was just around the corner as February moved along with its usual dose of rain and chill. Badger cubs are usually born in February and I knew that a happy event was expected very soon in this sett. I decided to test her tameness.

  One night while on patrol I placed a handful of raisins outside the sett and squatted nearby within what I reckoned was well within the range of her scent. The night was dark, albeit not pitch black, and I could see the sett entrance quite clearly. The raisins were in a small heap in their usual place but nothing happened. Time dragged. My feet grew cold and I wondered if Sergeant Blaketon would be looking for me; maybe he’d find the parked car and wonder why it was deserted in such a remote place! I could always tell him I was seeking poachers…

  Then she emerged. The distinctive grunting noise alerted me and suddenly her long snout appeared from the darkness below ground. She was quite visible due to the bright black-and-white pattern on her face. Without stopping she lumbered into the open air, sniffed at the raisins and began to eat. I spoke in a soft voice; she started, looked up briefly, but continued to eat. Undeterred, she gobbled up the tasty morsels with her piggy eyes fixed on me: I did not know whether she could see me, so I remained motionless, all the time talking soothingly to her. In my presence she consumed every morsel.

  When she finished I dug into my pocket and produced more, tossing them before her. I thought she would take fright and run, but she didn’t. She looked at me, then nibbled the extra helping. I threw more, closer to me this time and she came forward.

  I had heard a lot about the ferocity of an angry badger and knew that one bite from those strong jaws could fracture my wrist or severely injure me, but I also knew of their trust in man. The badger is possibly unique among wild animals because it has no natural enemies in this country, its only foe being man. Man has tortured and destroyed badgers for centuries, sometimes under the name of sport and sometimes out of sheer ignorance of their value to the countryside. For example, badger-baiting was once a common sport. In this bit of fun a badger was tied to a post and had his jaw fractured; dogs were then turned upon him to tear him to pieces and in spite of his handicaps the mutilated animal would give the bloodthirsty spectators value for their dirty money.

  Today the threat comes from hunters armed with fearsome badger tongs, long steel tools which are thrust into the setts to drag the seized victim to the surface, where it is shot. Badger pelts have been used to make fur coats, their fur also making useful shaving-brushes and their heads have been fashioned into sporrans. In addition, many are killed simply for the fun of it and some are slaughtered because it is feared they spread bovine tuberculosis among cattle.

  In spite of everything a badger will still befriend a man. But Belinda was safe from all this, at least for the time being. But was I safe from her? Did pregnancy make the sows dangerous? I talked softly, throwing more raisins to the ground and she took them all. She came closer, not as cautiously as I had anticipated. My heart was thumping as I tempted her to my hand. She moved slowly but clearly loving the raisins; she was very wary of me as I froze in my squatting position. I was literally inches from the pregnant sow.

  Then I found I had run out of raisins. I scraped a dozen or so left in the corners of my pocket and placed them hopefully in the palm of my hand. I held them out for her, hoping the scent of my nervousness would not alarm her. It didn’t.

  Those narrow little eyes, close to the front of her snout, peered at me as she calmly nibbled the goodies from my hand. Then, quite abruptly, she turned and ambled off to seek more natural foods. I watched her go and lost her in the gloom although I could hear her noisy progress through the undergrowth. Finally everything was silent.

  It was an amazing experience and I will never forget those precious seconds when she came so close to me, apparently without fear. I returned many more times to the sett during the following days but didn’t see her. I knew the reason. She would be giving birth to her youngsters and looking after them. I wasn’t sure whether the cubs remained in the sett for long periods or whether the parents took them out to learn the vital craft of survival. I had never seen the boar, although I must admit the difference in the sexes is not easy for humans to determine. The only real guide is that the adult boar’s head is flatter and wider than that of his lady companion.

  During the spring I paid several return visits during the midnight hours but didn’t see Belinda. There was no sign of her on the road either and I began to wonder whether she had fallen foul of some badger hunter or been knocked down by a passing car. I searched the locality for signs of a carcass, but found none.

  Then one balmy night in early summer I decided to walk up to her sett. It was very mild and light, a typical summer’s night in June and I was not even wearing a tunic. I was dressed in shirtsleeves and police trousers, but I had my torch and, optimistically, my pocket was full of raisins. The sett still bore signs of being occupied and I felt sure she was there. I placed a handful of raisins outside the entrance and settled down for one of those long vigils. This time it was reasonably pleasant, as the night was so mild.

  All about me were the night sounds of summer. Insects were busy among the trees, an owl hooted somewhere beyond my vision and there were countless unidentifiable sounds within the woodland. Little animals scurried about their business, perhaps investigating me, and I heard the twitter of birds disturbed by other creatures as they roosted above and around me. Among all this I sat still upon a convenient rock, watching the black mouth of the sett. Anticipation made the time pass quickly, and I must have missed at least one of my hourly points. I forgot the passage of time as I sat and listened to the night, and then the morning sun began to brighten the sky around me. It was time to leave. It was just after three o’clock.

  Then there was movement. I froze.

  Deep in the blackness of the miniature cavern I detected movement.
I couldn’t be sure what it was, but something definitely moved. I daren’t budge, not now. My leg had developed pins and needles, but I dare not shift it. I was delighted when Belinda’s familiar mask appeared, moving from side to side as she sniffed the air, her sensitive snout unerringly guiding her to my pile of raisins. She found them and grunted in what I took to be a note of satisfaction, and then I saw her family. Four miniatures of herself lurked in the background and as she grunted at the food, they all emerged to join the feast. They would be very handsome brocks, I knew, when they grew up.

  I watched in silence and remained utterly motionless, lest I disturb this fascinating family breakfast. When they had consumed the small meal they all looked about and sniffed the air. I’m sure they scented me, but remained close to their mother, who seemed to reassure them that this alien smell was friendly. I talked softly, and the cubs all darted off, but returned seconds later when I continued to speak in a low voice. I held out a handful of raisins, which Belinda took from my still hand, but the cubs did not venture so close to me. They remained behind her, clustered in a cautious knot and then as their mother continued to enjoy her early morning snack they began to play and tumble with one another, apparently oblivious of my presence.

  Belinda finished her meal and I was gladdened to see her join them in a hectic five minutes of boisterous play. Then quite suddenly they all stopped and she ambled off down the slope, with her playful brood romping behind.

  I never saw them again.

  Many weeks later I learned that Belinda was probably the sow cub found by a local farm lad. That cub had been orphaned by dogs during a raid on a local sett and the lad, who lived in nearby Ploatby, had taken the cub home. There he had reared it with affection but had left the district soon afterwards. The cub had been returned to the wild. Reports which reached me suggested that the badger, now fully grown, was sometimes seen in the locality and fed with titbits by gamekeepers and farmers. If this was the same sow it would explain her lack of fear of me.

  Later that year I found a badger’s body near the roadside. I was sure it was one of Belinda’s cubs because it was near their crossing-place. The badger had a fractured skull and was badly injured about the body, a casualty of a modern motorcar accident.

  Although I went to the sett from time to time I never saw Belinda or her family and I often wonder what happened to them. Badgers’ families occupy their homes for centuries, and I did wonder if she had met some horrific fate at the hands of an unscrupulous human animal. I will never know.

  In those days badgers were not protected by law, but in January 1974, the Badgers Act of 1973 became effective and protected this creature of whom Winston Churchill said, ‘You are the most ancient of Britons’.

  The badger has lived for centuries in North Yorkshire and this rural county welcomes his presence amongst us. It is very significant that the nation’s first prosecution under that new law was undertaken within North Yorkshire, an indication of our local respect for Brock.

  But I wonder if the law would have protected Belinda from her fate?

  Chapter 5

  He did not know that a keeper is only a poacher turned outside in, and a poacher is a keeper turned inside out.

  CHARLES KINGSLEY — ‘The Water Babies’

  *

  For extremely personal reasons Claude Jeremiah Greengrass took a late stroll in Brock Rigg Wood. This is an afforested area on the hills above Aidensfield and, like much of the district, it is owned by the Forestry Commission. Members of the public are permitted to walk along its tree-lined roads for the purpose of birdwatching or nature study, and the procedure is to obtain the requisite pass from the local office. This document must be produced upon demand to anyone authorised to ask for sight of it.

  So far as I know, Claude Jeremiah did not possess such a document and indeed, that was not the kind of formality that would unduly worry him. He rarely bothered with licences of any kind. His woodland stroll in the small hours of a September morning was destined to involve me because I was engaged upon one of my periods of night-duty.

  The trouble started when Claude Jeremiah found a set of antlers lying on the ground of the forest. It was a magnificent full set, abandoned due to the normal processes of nature, by a male red deer. For this cunning little fellow the antlers presented an opportunity to make a shilling or two by selling them to a local antique shop. Mounted on a polished mahogany base they would look beautiful above the door of someone’s house, so Claude Jeremiah promptly decided to take them home. He would clean them and fix them to a suitable plaque, and sell them.

  On the face of things it was a perfectly reasonable decision. The snag was that Claude Jeremiah Greengrass did not know the provisions of Section 2 of the Deer Act, 1963. This probably had little bearing on events because, if he had known, it would not have made the slightest difference to his actions. He would still have taken those antlers from the wood; he was that sort of villain. Acting in accordance with his instincts, therefore, he began to walk in triumph from the pine forest, proudly bearing aloft a particularly fine set of red deer antlers.

  But even the best-laid plans go wrong: Claude Jeremiah had not bargained for the presence of Mr Archibald Flint. Mr Flint was a gamekeeper employed for the sole purpose of discouraging poachers and vandals. He was a dedicated keeper with some years’ expertise and there were few men in the area who knew more about wild life and the host of laws which protect nature from poachers and their ilk. Flint was a genuine expert, both in practice and in theory.

  Having heard the twig-crackling approach of Claude Jeremiah Greengrass around one o’clock that morning Mr Flint sought refuge among the shadows of his hilltop kingdom. He was able to silently follow Claude Jeremiah about the woods and watch every move he made.

  Because he was a stealthy man with many years of practice Mr Flint had followed the blissfully happy Claude Jeremiah for a considerable time before the latter had accidentally stumbled across the discarded antlers. It is interesting to speculate upon the thoughts ranging through Flint’s skull as Claude Jeremiah’s torch identified them as something special. And when Claude Jeremiah picked them from the ground Flint must have suffered chest pains. By 2.30 that morning Claude Jeremiah was leaving the woods with the antlers firmly in his possession. It was then that Archibald Flint pounced. He made threatening gestures with his twelve-bore shotgun and encouraged Claude Jeremiah to walk in front of it to a small gamekeeper’s hut on the edge of the forest.

  It was soon after this stage that I entered the story. Mr Flint telephoned our Divisional Office to announce his success and I was dispatched in the little Ford car to rendezvous with Flint and Greengrass in the isolated hut.

  An oil-lamp was burning because someone had stolen the electric bulb, and I found Mr Flint sitting at one side of the rough wooden table with Claude Jeremiah sitting at the other. His brown, leathery face was wrinkled in disgust as the sombre gamekeeper maintained his vigil with the gun pointing directly at him across the table. The antlers in dispute rested on the table.

  I entered breezily and said, “Well, Mr Flint, what is it this time?”

  Flint poured out the story of his careful surveillance of the prowling poacher and during this account Claude Jeremiah sat motionless and speechless. He had been to court enough times to know that any interruption was futile. It was far better to hear out the opposition because he’d then know the strengths and weaknesses of the other’s story. He would get his opportunity to deliver a speech in due course.

  I listened as the gamekeeper spoke in short, clipped phrases as if giving evidence in court, but I did not make any comment. I just gathered facts. I lifted the antlers, examined them and said, “Well, Claude Jeremiah?”

  “There’s nothing wrong in helping myself to a set of antlers, Mr Rhea, is there? They was lying on the ground. Like a lump of wood. I didn’t poach the deer they belonged to, did I? He knows I didn’t. It was just the antlers.”

  “He didn’t kill the deer, did he?” I a
sked Flint.

  “He did not,” said Flint emphatically. “He took antlers. Antlers are part of a deer. It’s in the Deer Act, Constable. It is an offence to take deer.”

  “I did not take deer, Mr Rhea,” cried Claude Jeremiah, and I must admit I felt sorry for him. If I’d found his handsome set during one of my patrols I might have been tempted to keep them.

  “Is it alleged that he took a deer?” I put to Flint.

  “Deer and part of deer are the same; Section 9. By taking part of a deer he’s committing an offence which is equal to taking a whole deer. Antlers are part of a deer, Constable.”

  “Show me.”

  The gamekeeper sighed and produced a small handbook from his interior pocket. He flipped it open at the relevant page. I peered at it in the flickering light and saw the vital words.

  “He’s right,” I said to Claude Jeremiah. “It means court for you.”

  “I’ll be a witness,” volunteered Flint.

  I knew of no power to arrest Claude Jeremiah for this offence, therefore I made a note of his personal particulars, which I knew by heart anyway. I cautioned him in the traditional way by telling him he was not obliged to say anything, but whatever he did say would be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence. I concluded by saying he would be reported for taking a deer at night, contrary to The Deer Act, 1963.

  “I just took the antlers, that’s all,” was his reply, which I noted.

  I let him go but retained the antlers for evidence. I told Mr Flint that he would be informed of the court date in due course and that Claude Jeremiah would receive a summons. The formalities over, I gave Claude Jeremiah a lift back into Aidensfield and dropped him near his home. During that short trip he expressed his hatred of gamekeepers in general and Archibald Flint in particular, but refused to tell me why he’d been prowling around Brock Rigg forest during the night. After our chat I resumed my patrol.