|
|
||
|
|
||
|
The woodland ride, silent
and green,
The waxen honeysuckle spray
Above our heads,
sweet and unseen
and drenched with
scent, where lightly sway.
The birds that scatter at
our tread.
A rough voice through the
quiet breaks,
The song of birds is
hushed. Instead,
the clink of chains
and chatter wakes
The echoes. Heavy
footsteps pass
Along the rutted way. The
trees
Throw patterns on the
spongy grass
And rustle in the morning
breeze.
Pulling and straining at
their chains,
The terriers impatient
press
Ahead, careless of what
each gains
In comfort by less
eagerness!
The badger sett is reached
at last
And near the gaping
openings
The tools are dumped, the
dogs made fast
To iron pins. The party
flings
Itself upon the ground,
while one
Small squirming terrier is
freed_
Only too keen to start the
fun
And prove herself the
proper breed.
Into the dark and gloomy
hole
Her little quarters
disappear
With caution, and towards
her goal
She wends her way: nor does
she hear.
A sound from any quarter. And
Above, her master
lying prone,
His jacket stained with
rusty sand_
Has ears but for his dog
alone.
And in the tunnel
underground,
The terrier has worked her
way
Until a sudden bend shows
round,
Red eyes that stare as if
to say
"Come on, I'm
ready!" Crouching low
The terrier moves forward,
still
Uncertain, as her tactics
show_
Whether to plunge and fight
her fill
Or use discretion with a
foe
Who claims respect by tooth
and claw.
Vindictively the small eyes
glow,
A lusty twenty-five pound
boar!
For just a moment so they
stand,
Facing each other on the
dark
With silent hatred, which
is fanned
To fury by a sudden bark.
High pitched and shrill, it reaches to
The surface where a dozen
men
Spring into life.
"She's on! I knew
We'd fine 'em here.
"A pause; and then
A muffled sound of thuds
below.
"They're fairly
playin' 'ell down there!"
The strapping digger's
speech is slow
But, later, when his arms
are bare
|
And soil is flying
left and right,
He's quick enough!
The sound of spade
On stone rings out.
The yellow light
Of summer lies over
the glade
Where strange this
rude invasion seems
Amongst surroundings
steeped in peace.
And silence. Now a
face that gleams
With sweat is
raised, while diggers cease
Their labours
leaning eagerly
Over the trench. A
jagged hole
Shows to one side.
"Let's get it free,
Lads. 'Ark 'e's
digging' like a mole
Don there!"
And straight into the trench
The owner of the
dog to ground
Jumps quietly,
while the badger's stench
Drifts up and
taints the air around.
"We're right on to them..." says a voice
Six feet below.
"He'll have to bolt,
The dog's behind him
Hobson's choice!"
The terriers, in full revolt
At missing such a perfect
chance
To face the enemy, set up
A devasting song and dance.
"E's playin' 'Arry wi'
that pup!"
A farmer grins as yelps are
heard
Nearer the entrance, then
"Look out!
He's coming...
Where's the bag?" The word
Goes round, and soon there
comes a shout
From ev'ry mouth. Two beady
eyes,
Set in a mask of black and
white,
Have shown and gone, to the
surprise
Of everyone. A
well placed bite
Delivered by the dog
behind,
Which irritates but gives
no pain
Has caused the boar to
change his mind
And face his enemy
again.
So, inch by inch, with
humming grunt,
The boar backs to the
entrance. Sand
Reddens his cat; he keeps
his front
Towards the dog and makes
his stand.
A stumpy tail appears at
last,
And someone makes a grab_a
swift
Neat movement_and the beast
is fast.
So far so good! And now to
lift
Him to the top_ no easy
thing
To do_indeed, a slip may
mean
An arm for weeks inside a
sling,
For badgers' teeth are
swift and keen...
Safe in the bag at last!
The lunch
Is spread upon the warm,
dry grass
While hungrily the diggers
munch
Their bread and cheese. The
minutes pass
Contentedly enough until
The final drop of ale is
drunk
And past the shoulder of
the hill,
The glory of the sun has
sunk.
Submitted
by: |
|
