without being seen. In meditative silence you look and listen as the sounds of
daily life gradually die and the voices of the evening float through the surrounding
landscape. When you have climbed to your perch the cuckoo is still uttering
his monotonous call, the woodpigeon cooing, or the turtle dove purring to his
mate. The farm boy sings in his raucous voice as he is driving the cows
home from pasture, and all nature is preparing itself for rest. Bang goes a
distant gun, and you see a wave of scurrying rabbits making for the cover. The
sound is perhaps followed by a sharp squeal of pain or the cry of the man to his
dog, and then all is silence for a while. The sun sinks below the horizon, and
the swallows and swifts alone pursue their prey as the first pipistrelle flitters past
your tree. Soon the swallows are gone to roost, and you listen and wonder
where the swifts are going to, as their screaming voices sound fainter and
fainter away up in the clouds. They have gone, too, and the first notes of the
nightingale and the long-eared owl tell you that night is coming on. An hour
has gone since you first climbed the tree; you have become stiff and cold, and
the midges annoy you; but happily the evening breeze sweeps them all away,
and soothed by the gentle rustle in the surrounding foliage you cease to think
of your discomfort. You can still see in the hazy landscape the long line of
feeding rabbits, for their fears are once more set at rest. When looking towards
the ‘ set’ you notice the clean white head with the two black lines that you have
come to see. . Another head looks out, and yet another, and then with a short
run the old Badgers are out and sitting down to listen. They are soon followed
by the youngsters, who start a game of romps as their elders gradually wander
away to forage amongst the nettles and the foxgloves. Perhaps the harvest moon
has risen to show you all you want to see, or you may have to be content with
a flimsy grey streak or two, almost indistinguishable from the spots of light
discernible in the twilight. You may be lucky and watch for an hour the gambols
of the little Badgers and learn things about their natural history the pleasures
of which are unknown to the ‘ desk ’ naturalist. At any rate you will have spent
a pleasant evening, never without interest, where the voice of Nature and her wild
creatures have played their part.
Where they receive protection it is not unusual for several Badgers to
inhabit the same group of holes. Indeed as many as eight to ten full-grown
animals have been known to live thus amicably together. The Badger is not by
nature savage, but rather amiable, shy, and evidently fond of company. A female,
however, will defend her young with great bravery. Like many Mammals the
adult male lives apart during the period when the female is rearing her young.
He either goes away of his own accord, to avoid the noise and bustle of family
cares, or is driven off by the female. With rodents it is a natural instinct on the
part of the mother to protect her children, for the males will often kill and eat
the young; and though we cannot accuse the harmless Badgers of such unnatural
practices, yet the fact remains that from the month of February until Ju ly he
generally occupies another chamber in the earth.
The general characteristics of the species are thus summarised by Sir A.
Pease: ‘ No animal prefers a more quiet life, loving a warm bed in a dry dark
corner of earth and rocks. He loves to sleep and meditate in peace for the greater
part of the twenty-four hours. He lies not far within his entrance hall during the
spring and summer, and on a hot day he will sometimes come to the mouth of
his hole. In the evening in June and Ju ly he will come outside, sit looking into
the wood, or shuffle round the bushes, stretch himself against the tree stems, or
have a clumsy romp with his wife and little ones; and when the daylight dies he
will hurry off, rushing through the covert for his nightly ramble. In the summer
he will travel as far as six miles from home, but he is in bed again an hour
before sunrise. . . . At other times of the year, when the days are short and the
nights longer, he comes out later in the evening, waits for a moment at the mouth
of his earth, takes a preliminary sniff round, and then rushes off at his top speed
into the cover.’
During his hours of movement the Badger is one of the most restless animals
in existence. He is constantly busy about something or other, scratching, working
in the earth, searching for parasites, romping or bullying his wife when she shows
a disposition to go to sleep, rubbing his back, or rolling about and jerking and
jumping from one thing to another. This makes him one of the most heartbreaking
models an artist can engage. After spending a day trying to ‘ draw’ a
Badger in the pictorial sense of the word, you will find him almost as refractory
as a fox terrier, and may feel inclined to kick him out of the studio without wages.
Even in sleep he is just as fidgety, seldom lying in one position for two minutes
together, and gives you the idea that he dines perpetually on lobster salad. He is,
too, of all creatures, the most inquisitive. He wants to know the why and the
wherefore of everything, and his persistence in pursuit of knowledge is remarkable.
Not even bricks and cement can prevent him from indulging his curiosity about
things that were much better left alone, and with his powerful claws he will work
away for hours at an obstacle that would discourage anyone but a genius or an