Archive reports

Over recent weeks Intensive Farming, particularly of the poultry variety, has taken some rather bad press. This has been mainly through over sensitised television coverage from a number of celebrity chefs who should perhaps put as much effort into running a stiff brush through their hair and investing in a speech therapy course to correct the uncomprehendible, spit spraying lisps that they seem to have forgotten irritate us so. If only Jamie “Mother-Pukka” Oliver and Hugh “Firmly-Gripping-Balls” could appreciate the pleasure one can gain from hunting around a shed that had been used to intensively feed up pigs they might get off their high horses and think about imaginative ways to cook them instead.

And so it came to pass that the Spotted Cow again provided a meeting place for the Rugby Ratcatchers to prepare for battle on this sunny, yet fresh, Sunday morning. The convoy moved to a Barton le Willows farm and signs of what were install soon became apparent.

“Toffee” rather vocally marked that a potato box full of farming rubbish and baler twine was harbouring rodent fugitives. With an excitable shrill from an insurance minded stickman a wave of rats seemed to flood from their sanctuary. Few escaped, as the box was moved out into the open and the terriers were able to see what they were hunting. ”Scamp” bravely clambered into the wooden box for some close quarter battling and mopped up any residents that decided to sit tight . Unbeknown to the Ratters the Village Hall, which happened to be right next door to the scene of Carnage, was hosting a Christening. Whilst tucking into their buffet guests must have quizzed the barrage of excited screams and colourful language that echoed across the farmyard. The parents who had organised the christening must also have felt a little jealous as so many of the guests were choosing to devour their chicken vol-au-vent by the adjacent window rather than congregating around the baby on its special day.

The event then moved under the cover of a larger lean-to shed. Some empty half tonne fertilizer bags that were heaped under a trailer were moved to evict another flurry of rats. In the excitement and yawping of stickmen, a “Steve McQueen” rat escaped through a hole in the sleeper bound wall of the outbuilding to what it thought was safety. Sadly for it and its unsuspecting friends, the rat led the terriers to a dirty, pantile heaped passage way between some neighbouring buildings. Part of the wall had collapsed and this seemed to offer a hotel environment to the Barton Vermin. “Sydney” and “Coco” extracted rats from the block and soil heap like a sadistic dentist might wisdom teeth. The screaming and blood that followed further added to this comparison.

Once this site had been cleared of rodents, linking tracks led the terriers to start marking the plyboard partitions on the inside of the fattening yard. Shouting, banging and revving of the smoker bolted rat after rat, all but one meeting a sorry end. However this particularly brave rat succeeded to evade the enthusiastic stickmen by climbing up the wall and running along the steels that supported the roofing sheets. Flailing arms and wacking sticks would have been more at home in a Mexican’s garden with their suspended piñata. To the frustration of all below the worthy rat lived to see another day.

The final and most productive drive of the day was pointed out to us by Cleetus and Roscoe Chuckle. These brothers have spent some considerable time in the yard for one reason or another and helped move some wet Heston bales that lined the end of the shed with a telescopic forklift.  Jaws dropped in amazement that not only were the brothers able to master farm machinery but that so many rats could live in such concentrations. An outfield of terriers lined the bales with their owners restraining them in position. “Billy”, “Cathra” and “Jasper” clambered onto the bales picking off any rats that came too close to the surface. As the bales were peeled back off the walls waves of rats fled for their lives. At times the floor seemed alive with quarry, and only a pig wire bound, neighbouring garden offered refuge to the ratty squatters. With the terriers flagging and the chuckle brothers having to attend a tea party at Flamingo Land an end was drawn to events and a team photo taken.

The Malton and Norton Rugby Ratcatchers would like to take this opportunity to thank not only the host farmer for allowing us to work his farm but also Cleetus and Roscoe, two of Ryedale’s most enigmatic characters. We also hope that our activities did not detract from the christening, buffet or disco that double booked this small corner of Barton le Willows.

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