The strychnine was not needed in the end, nor were the traps. Sid, bless him, an old friend from Wilby mole days whose massive tombstone teeth and bleached hair set him apart from other men, came as planned this afternoon. He carefully studied the meanderings of Mr Mole, and scratched his head. "None o' them hooles goos anyplace," he said puzzled. "Can't see what he's up to." He set one trap but was not happy. "If tha's alright wi' you I'll sit here for a cuppla hours wi' me gun, and I reckon I'll get the little bastard." And he posted himself like a granite sentinel in front of the summerhouse, sitting unmoving despite the coldest southwesterly that has swept across the garden for months, eyes fixed on the grass and earth ahead of him. I brought him a cup of tea to warm him up, and occasionally glanced through a window to see if he was still there. Then I heard a shot, and looked out to see him kneeling on the ground with one hand buried in the lawn before pulling something out triumphantly.
The mole was not dead, or even scratched. It's body was completely intact, and it was as lively as a barrel load of monkeys. "They either gets blown to smithereens or they're like this 'un," said Sid. "It'll be the shock that stunned him. If I hadn't got him out right away he'd o' been off again, miserable little bastard." And Sid did the right thing by the mole, which didn't include taking him down the lane and setting him free. I looked away.
These Suffolk old boys, many of them not old at all, seem to take a shine to me. Sid told me he hardly ever sits with his gun to catch a pesky mole, but left the rest of the sentence unfinished. A few years ago I thought he was going to ask me out when he wondered if I ever dated. I think they like me because I like them, and they can see I'm genuinely interested in them. The way of life they knew as boys is all but gone now, but through their stories I can recall things as vividly as if I witnessed them myself. They are authentic and wise, and thanks to the trades they ply are likely to be regular visitors to Medlar Cottage.
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| Clematis against the oil tank screen |
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| Clematis against the garage |
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| Freemontedendrons grow large and are covered in yellow flowers |
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| Another view of the freemontedendron |
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