Atter abaat a 15 minute walk, we cum ter a little wood , that encompassed a bronze-age ‘henge’. In t’ centre o’ that, wer a raised circular mound an’ t’ remains o’ an owd stone circle. It wer 'ere that t’ badgers ‘ad dug aat a few sets. It med fer a stonkin’ undisturbed habitat f’ aal t’ local forna an’ wildlife.
Wen ah say undisturbed. Wot ah actually meant like, wer that it wer undisturbed by most people. But ‘most people’ dint include t’ odd romantic couple lookin’ fer a romantic place t’ mek aat - ooer t’ local hunt wot regularly run havoc thru Big Ron’s land wi aat askin’.
“Appen there’s no badgers in these ‘ere sets nah!” says Big
Ron. “They’ve buggered off yonder under them big oak trees on far side o’ t’ henge.
T’ hunt brigade moved ‘em on by default by gallopin’ thru ‘ere chasin’ foxes wi
hounds an’ horns, callin’ aat an’ mekin’ such a ruckus. But ah reckon t’ badgers
got t’ last laugh, coz nowadays, wen t’ hunt is on t’ scent o’ a fox, it ‘ll
often dart in ter t’ tunnels med by yon badgers, an’ cum aat in a different part o’ t’ wood. It confuses t’
hounds ter buggery an’ sum even get stuck an’ need ter be dug aat!”
“Well ah nivver!” ah says, gaining a new understanding as ter why foxes are called sly.
“Onnyroad, ah’ve ‘ad a complaint fra T’ Master O’ T’ Hunt” says Big Ron, emphasising the word ‘hunt’ wi mooer than a little distain! “Wants me ter fill in t’ sets!? ’e cum up ter me a couple o’ weeks back, on ‘is big white ‘oss, it snortin’ like buggery an’ stomping t’ graand like it wer ‘avin a paddy o’ it’s own; an’ ‘e leaned daan slowly, an’ wi quivering lips like ‘e wer gonna cry, says ter us in a reet plumy voice, ‘e says, “I'll have you know you keep ruining my day old chap! Ruining my day!”
“Tosser!” ah says!
“Rich tosser” corrected Big Ron. “But ‘e ‘is a member o’ t’ Parish Caancil an’ is ‘e’s got connections wi t’ famer’s union – so ‘e cud easily mek me life difficult if ‘e wants. So ah thowatt perhaps ah’d tek a butchers at’ t’ sets agayen f’ me sen.”
Ah wer just a baat ter say summat gay abaat men oo like osses, wen a reet posh lookin’ oss box pulls up in t’ lane on t’other side o’ t’ henge – an aat steps a pretty young thing an’ a much older gentlemen. T’ latter being clearly wealthy fra ‘is clothes an’ demeanour. Fra our lofty position on t’ henge, me & Big Ron could see t’ couple easily - but judging fra aal theyer furtive glances raand, they ‘adn’t spotted us.
“Well bugger me!” says Big Ron nudging me in t’ ribs. “Appen that’s T’ Master O’ T’ Hunt issen! Ohhh, an’ ‘is secretary!"
As we watched, T’ Master O’ T’ Hunt brings aat a big woollen blanket - an’ she happily waves a packet o’ contraceptives at ‘im. Then quick as a flash ‘es ‘eplin’ ‘er ova t’ fence aal gentlemanly like, an’ she’s giggling like a pubescent school girl. Then they vanish in ter t’ bushes at t’ foot o’ t’ great oak!
“Appen ‘e’s giving her a riding lesson!” ah says.
“’e did do a little pole vault over t’ fence!” agreed Big Ron. “Good job it weren’t electric!”
“That wud be shocking” ah says nodding.
“Best us stay ‘ere f’ a little while” says Big Ron, “coz ah reckon yon badgers ’ll be cumin aat pretty soon. Tis abaat that time o’ evenin’ tha kno’s.”
So we did - an ah wondered wot ‘e wer gettin at. But ah didn’t ‘ave ter wait long ter find aat.
It started wi a gentle moaning, then a heavy panting, then suddenly a hell of a noise that sanded like someone wer bein’ strangled ooer wer drownin’ in ‘is own blood.
Ah’m guessin’ tha’s probably nivver ‘eard t’ saand o’ a group o’ pissed off badgers at night time afore, well me neither, but ah assure thee it saands reet cruel. They can be mean buggers too. Willin’ t’ fight tooth an’ nail ter defend theyer home.
Well t’ bushes started thrashin’ abaat widely an’ suddenly wi’ aat warning, T’ Master O’ T' Hunt dives aat like ‘is arse was on fire, pants still raand ‘is ankles. ‘e does a commando roll, then ‘e’s daan t’ field an’ ova yon’ fence like a scolded cat. Next cums t’ lassie, naked fra t’ waist daan, blanket an’ knickers in one hand, shoes skirt an’ handbag in t’ other – runnin’ fer ‘er dear life.
Ah felt reet sorry for her! T’ Master O’ T' Hunt didn’t stop ter help ‘er ova t’ fence that time. No, ‘e wer 50 yards ahead o’er. In fact ‘e wer back in t’ oss wagon wi t’ engine running by t’ time she got theyer.
Big Ron an’ me laughed until our sides hurt! An then we laughed aal ova agayen!
“Ah’m gonna really enjoy tellin' that hunting lot they can get stuffed, an’ ter keep off me land in future!” says Big Ron trying ter catch ‘is breath. “An’ if T’ Master O’ T’ Hunt gets aal haughty like, ah’ll remind ‘im o’ t’"incident at Badgers Chuff Wood" tonight. Ah’m shuer ‘is wife will be enthralled!”
“Ah’ll drink ter that!” ah says.
Well it wer reet late by t’ time ah finally got ‘ome. Ah remember feeling jiggered but ‘appy after a wonderful day o’ worrkin’ aat in t’ fresh air - and driftin’ off ter sleep thinkin’ o’ that young lassie an’ knowin’ ah’d be stiff in t’ morning.
“Well ah nivver!” ah says, gaining a new understanding as ter why foxes are called sly.
“Onnyroad, ah’ve ‘ad a complaint fra T’ Master O’ T’ Hunt” says Big Ron, emphasising the word ‘hunt’ wi mooer than a little distain! “Wants me ter fill in t’ sets!? ’e cum up ter me a couple o’ weeks back, on ‘is big white ‘oss, it snortin’ like buggery an’ stomping t’ graand like it wer ‘avin a paddy o’ it’s own; an’ ‘e leaned daan slowly, an’ wi quivering lips like ‘e wer gonna cry, says ter us in a reet plumy voice, ‘e says, “I'll have you know you keep ruining my day old chap! Ruining my day!”
“Tosser!” ah says!
“Rich tosser” corrected Big Ron. “But ‘e ‘is a member o’ t’ Parish Caancil an’ is ‘e’s got connections wi t’ famer’s union – so ‘e cud easily mek me life difficult if ‘e wants. So ah thowatt perhaps ah’d tek a butchers at’ t’ sets agayen f’ me sen.”
Ah wer just a baat ter say summat gay abaat men oo like osses, wen a reet posh lookin’ oss box pulls up in t’ lane on t’other side o’ t’ henge – an aat steps a pretty young thing an’ a much older gentlemen. T’ latter being clearly wealthy fra ‘is clothes an’ demeanour. Fra our lofty position on t’ henge, me & Big Ron could see t’ couple easily - but judging fra aal theyer furtive glances raand, they ‘adn’t spotted us.
“Well bugger me!” says Big Ron nudging me in t’ ribs. “Appen that’s T’ Master O’ T’ Hunt issen! Ohhh, an’ ‘is secretary!"
As we watched, T’ Master O’ T’ Hunt brings aat a big woollen blanket - an’ she happily waves a packet o’ contraceptives at ‘im. Then quick as a flash ‘es ‘eplin’ ‘er ova t’ fence aal gentlemanly like, an’ she’s giggling like a pubescent school girl. Then they vanish in ter t’ bushes at t’ foot o’ t’ great oak!
“Appen ‘e’s giving her a riding lesson!” ah says.
“’e did do a little pole vault over t’ fence!” agreed Big Ron. “Good job it weren’t electric!”
“That wud be shocking” ah says nodding.
“Best us stay ‘ere f’ a little while” says Big Ron, “coz ah reckon yon badgers ’ll be cumin aat pretty soon. Tis abaat that time o’ evenin’ tha kno’s.”
So we did - an ah wondered wot ‘e wer gettin at. But ah didn’t ‘ave ter wait long ter find aat.
It started wi a gentle moaning, then a heavy panting, then suddenly a hell of a noise that sanded like someone wer bein’ strangled ooer wer drownin’ in ‘is own blood.
Ah’m guessin’ tha’s probably nivver ‘eard t’ saand o’ a group o’ pissed off badgers at night time afore, well me neither, but ah assure thee it saands reet cruel. They can be mean buggers too. Willin’ t’ fight tooth an’ nail ter defend theyer home.
Well t’ bushes started thrashin’ abaat widely an’ suddenly wi’ aat warning, T’ Master O’ T' Hunt dives aat like ‘is arse was on fire, pants still raand ‘is ankles. ‘e does a commando roll, then ‘e’s daan t’ field an’ ova yon’ fence like a scolded cat. Next cums t’ lassie, naked fra t’ waist daan, blanket an’ knickers in one hand, shoes skirt an’ handbag in t’ other – runnin’ fer ‘er dear life.
Ah felt reet sorry for her! T’ Master O’ T' Hunt didn’t stop ter help ‘er ova t’ fence that time. No, ‘e wer 50 yards ahead o’er. In fact ‘e wer back in t’ oss wagon wi t’ engine running by t’ time she got theyer.
Big Ron an’ me laughed until our sides hurt! An then we laughed aal ova agayen!
“Ah’m gonna really enjoy tellin' that hunting lot they can get stuffed, an’ ter keep off me land in future!” says Big Ron trying ter catch ‘is breath. “An’ if T’ Master O’ T’ Hunt gets aal haughty like, ah’ll remind ‘im o’ t’"incident at Badgers Chuff Wood" tonight. Ah’m shuer ‘is wife will be enthralled!”
“Ah’ll drink ter that!” ah says.
Well it wer reet late by t’ time ah finally got ‘ome. Ah remember feeling jiggered but ‘appy after a wonderful day o’ worrkin’ aat in t’ fresh air - and driftin’ off ter sleep thinkin’ o’ that young lassie an’ knowin’ ah’d be stiff in t’ morning.
