Badgers

"The world of badgers is in some ways analogous with the human world. Like us, their behaviour is greatly influenced by their need for homes and living space, and being social like we are, they too have their problems of learning how to live together ..... and with us"

Ernest Neal

Ah, the badger. A completely irrelevant and unimportant issue in today's Britain with its teen knifings and its completely volatile political landscape, and its overpaid bottom-teeth-grinning Keira Knightleys. But think again...

In the words of the great www.badgerland.co.uk...

The Badger (Latin name Meles meles) is one of the most popular animals in the UK. Widespread across England and Wales (with a few in Scotland), the badger is loved by most but seen by few. All too often the Badger and its environment are harmed by man (by accident or deliberately).

There's food for thought to fill your lost internet hours.

"Um why the bejesus are you filling up this godforsaken weblog with this drivel?" I hear you ask. Well for two reasons:

Firstly, there's a badger in my garden, right now. It's there, burying itself under a bush, which is right under my clothes line, and I actually shied away from the little fuzzball. How wimpy am I? Then on reflection, I had a good look, and the little critter was curled up in a ball with its head underneath it, pretending I wasn't there.

See now in that sense, I'm surrounded by badgers. People who turn away from reality, bury their heads, and hope nobody notices them, whenever things go wrong. I mean, there's a bit of badger in everyone, and I'm no exception. Right now, for instance, I'm badgering my way out of marking the piles of Year 10 coursework that's stacked on my desk. Why else would I be blogging about badgers.



My colleagues like to avoid any conversation which doesn't relate to work, ever since I called them on singling out people they don't like from their little "friendship" groups. They asked to make sure that nobody invited the Drama teacher for drinks with us even though she was right there in the same pub, so - being who I am - I went right over and invited her to join us. From that moment, it was decided I was to be avoided at all costs. I'm no longer part of that badger set. I cry a river every night in my cosy little bed, as you can imagine.

And if you're wondering, yes, teachers are always that immature. It's uncanny. They spend their time around petty, surly groups of teenagers, telling them to grow up, and this is what they do.

So I've been badgered out of the group. But still, there are times when curling up in your own ball and keeping the outside world out can actually be a creative way of dealing with a problem. Recently I've taken to wearing an AIDS badge on my lapel, in support of a Stuttgart-based initiative I was involved in, and a good few kids started asking what it was and why I was wearing it, which encouraged me to keep wearing it. Silly me for thinking that kids should be asking questions nowadays when it comes to AIDS. But in the den of brilliance of my staffroom, this was read as code for being gay. Of course, who else would wear an AIDS badge but a gay man? And this wasn't just the gaggle of gossiping English teachers, but an outwardly gay teacher who was alerted for exactly the same reasons. He thought: "single, vegetarian, interested in theatre and musicals, wearing an AIDS badge... there's no way a straight man would live like that" So when I was asked as to my sexual preferences by one of the more dim-witted teachers, the conversation went something like this:

(Let me just set the scene here)

Dramatis personae:

Me: me
C: Dimwit blonde middle-management English teacher
D: Outwardly gay Canadian drama teacher

D: (Opening his mail, without looking up) So what's with the AIDS button?
Me: I wear it all the time. I was involved in an organisation which brings AIDS patients into schools and has them dispel fears from the kids
D: Really? I see. I just started wondering about you. You know... you eat fish, you like theatre, now the AIDS badge...
C: See I knew there was something there
Me: Right...
C: See D. likes young men so you'd better watch out. Much younger men.
(D shuffles awkwardly, reading his mail intently)

C: (Trying to break the silence after the awkward 'joke') So are you...?
Me: Am I what?
C: Well... No, I was just joking.
Me: Well, you just never know, do you?

(C looks at me askew)

Me: Like Woody Allen says, it increases your chances for a date on Friday nights by 50%
C: So you're not letting on then.
Me: I just did.

(The conversation moves on to something even more inane and pointless, probably to do with the colour of somebody's skirt on the weekend, while C flicks her tall heels at somebody an twiddles her hair. I'm not even sure, I probably was mentally dead by then)

So that was my badger moment this week. It keeps them guessing, that lovely coven of well-intentioned teachers and the concerns which keep them from realising how boring their lives are and throwing themselves under the first Picadilly line train.

Then again, it's good for the psyche having people around who keep you on your toes. No wonder I'm in such badger-mode around my staffroom.

So let's finish with a literary moment, just in case this post hasn't been insane enough. John Clare who went totally loop-the-loop and ended up in an asylum, wrote this poem with a predictable title based on this post. I bid you goodnight and good burrowing.

Badger

When midnight comes a host of dogs and men
Go out and track the badger to his den,
And put a sack within the hole, and lie
Till the old grunting badger passes by.
He comes an hears - they let the strongest loose.
The old fox gears the noise and drops the goose.
The poacher shoots and hurries from the cry,
And the old hare half wounded buzzes by.
They get a forked stick to bear him down
And clap the dogs and take him to the town,
And bait him all the day with many dogs,
And laugh and shout and fright the scampering hogs.
He runs along and bites at all he meets:
They shout and hollo down the noisy streets.

He turns about to face the loud uproar
And drives the rebels to their very door.
The frequent stone is hurled where'er they go;
When badgers fight, then everyone's a foe.
The dogs are clapped and urged to join the fray'
The badger turns and drives them all away.
Though scarcely half as big, demure and small,
He fights with dogs for hours and beats them all.
The heavy mastiff, savage in the fray,
Lies down and licks his feet and turns away.
The bulldog knows his match and waxes cold,
The badger grins and never leaves his hold.
He drives the crowd and follows at their heels
And bites them through - the drunkard swears and reels

The frighted women take the boys away,
The blackguard laughs and hurries on the fray.
He tries to reach the woods, and awkward race,
But sticks and cudgels quickly stop the chase.
He turns again and drives the noisy crowd
And beats the many dogs in noises loud.
He drives away and beats them every one,
And then they loose them all and set them on.
He falls as dead and kicked by boys and men,
Then starts and grins and drives the crowd again;
Till kicked and torn and beaten out he lies
And leaves his hold and crackles, groans, and dies.

John Clare