Jonathan Brock

I don't know how many of you have heard the collective scream of a Woman's Institute - chills the blood it does. It was Jonathan's fault - bless him - mind you I got blamed as well. Jonathan Brock was a juvenile badger, who had come to live with us. Mind you that was the fault of old Matthews. He had some badgers to shift and had asked me to go with him.
"On no account bring anything back " said my Father who had a deep understanding of my weaknesses. So when we dug out a litter of badger cubs from underneath the Old Roman Road and Old Matthews winked at me and shoved a cub in my coat pocket. I was far too weak to do anything except wink back and that was how Jonathan Brock came to live with us. He was a charming little animal. His great delight was to climb someone and drape himself round their neck, where he would lie chittering and chattering to hmself, whilst he chewed the edge of an ear in a gentle absent minded sort of way - all part of life's rich pattern. The other thing that he enjoyed chewing was a nice pair of bare ankles. He used to have great games with Ginny the terrier, although his temper would fray a bit when he was outdistanced and the chittering would raise to a high level of fury. One day I was walking with the menagerie in the orchard. Ginny had been showing off her swimming in the pond. Suddenly the furious chitterin was cut short by a splash. Jonathan was in the pond and 'splash!' so was Ginny -could he swim? we never found out because Ginny suddebly appeared over the bank carrying a sodden and furious young badger by the scruff of his neck. So, can badgers swim? I still have absolutely no idea. All I can tell you is that sudden and total immersion, plays pop with their temper.
It was about this time that Mum became a Queen Bee in the Women's Institute. I do not remember that this did much for her temper. Sometimes meetings would be held at our house and Dad and I with the dogs would be banished to the kitchen for the afternoon. This was also the time that Jonathan Brock made himself a comfortable sett under the drawing room sofa, where he chose
to pass a 'Secure Hour'or two. So there one afternoon - our peaceful domestic scene was set - the ladies in the Drawing Room with Jam & Jerusalem, Father and I and the dogs eating excellent cake in the kitchen and all was right with the world, But and of course there must be a 'but' amongst this tranquil scene. If you are talking about Jonathan; he was fast asleep under the sofa making gentle ursine snores. It was possibly the gentle swell of conversation that roused him - we shall never know. But roused, he looked around him and saw, under the pelmet at the edge of the sofa - Ankles. No - as these were the ankles of Mrs Blowey and Mrs Truscott - not mere Ankles, these were Ankles - High Case Ankles. Let us suppose that Badgers can lick their lips, these were surely the sort of ankles that a chap should lick his lips over - well fleshed, plump ankles, the sort of ankles that you have to approach in a dream like state, prior to giving them just the slightest and most gentle nibble.
The first scream stirred Dad and I from our chairs and the cake tin.
"My God" said Dad " they're raping the WI - quick!" My initial questions of " Who? and "Why?" were maybe hardly pertinent, but my next of " where's Jonathan??" was right on the nail. Dad and I doubled down the passage to the Drawing Room, or rather, I did; Dad had had a leg shot up at Singapore. But what a sight presented itself at the Scene of Scream. Every WI member was up on a piece of furniture with her skirt wrapped round her legs. They formed a circle, in the circle of which stood Mum. Mum with an oustretched arm from the end of which dangled a furious young badger, who was objecting with fury. The dogs who had come with us, joined in the fun, leaping about and barking loudly. Mother, white with fury, handed me a chattering badger: "Take this!" she said - so I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and Dad and I beat a 'strategic retreat to shorten our lines of commuication'. It seemed that the WI meeting dissolved soon after. They were not best suited and by the same token neither was Mother. I did the only sensible move of the day. I stuck Ginny and Jonathan in the back of the van and we all went for a long therapeutic drive.