5th November 2007 - In which we go on a mission to rescue wildlife from a bonfire heap
On Saturday we went on a mission to rescue the wildlife from the bonfire heap at the pub down the road.
"As soon as the question occurred to me, I was compelled to do something. The course was set, there could be no going back."
I’d been worrying about it for weeks – every time we passed by, I’d see that it had grown and think about the wildlife that would doubtless have made nests inside. As the weeks went by, and still more wood was added, it started to look like a paradise for any small animal searching for winter shelter.
Was it going to be turned properly before being lit, though? That question repeated itself often. It would be a grave omission to ignore it; in fact, as soon as the question occurred to me, I was compelled to do something. The course was set, there could be no turning back. If I, or someone else, didn't act, many small creatures would be trapped and would die in the fire. I thought of the family groups coming to enjoy the fire and the fireworks, whilst right next to them, as they chatted and laughed, an unknown number of small animals would be meeting a fiery death.
I decided to call the town clerk to ask him if he could advise me. I told him that the heap needed to be checked for animals and he offered to contact the landlord for me. When he got back to me, only ten minutes later, he said that the landlord had told him the heap was always given a ‘good battering’ before being lit and they always saw some small mammals run out. My heart sank at that – yes, some will run out, a few, but most will not. Instead, they will try to hide, burrow deeper and be trapped. He gave me the landlord’s number and, after a few minutes of dithering, I steeled myself and rang it.
In hindsight, it would have been far better to go straight to the landlord myself; asking the town clerk to do it had the result that the landlord was suspicious and on the defensive right from the start. It must have seemed that I’d gone behind his back to complain about him. Also, I don’t know how the clerk approached the subject when he spoke to the landlord, which put me at an obvious disadvantage. Next time I should just go with my convictions and do the job on my own.
The landlord said yes, he was fully aware that hedgehogs might be hibernating in the bonfire heap and that it was turned to air the wood, so they’d be found. He added that he felt giving the heap a good prodding before lighting it was sufficient to make them leave. Then he wanted to know why was I picking on him. What about other bonfire heaps? I tried to tell him I really wasn’t picking on him, it was just that his pub was very close and it seemed a good place to start. I just wanted to help.
Then I had to tell him that prodding the heap would not make the hedgehogs leave, because their instinct in the face of danger is not to run, but to curl up into a ball and stay very still. He asked me what I wanted him to do about it. I told him that the heap needed to be rebuilt on the Saturday. There was a frosty silence at the end of the line.
It was all going wrong. He was feeling put-upon, probably thinking I was an interfering busy-body, and I hurried to say that I was quite happy to come and rebuild the heap myself. He said he wouldn’t stop me, if that’s what I wanted to do. Good, that was my plan anyway, because I wanted to find out what was actually in there, as well as relocate it, but the route to that point was tense and uncomfortable. I was cringing inside, longing for a re-wind button, so that I could start again and do it properly, not end up in this vile confrontation, but it was too late. For goodness sake, why hadn’t we just gone in for a drink and had a chat? It would have been the diplomatic thing to do, but these things are always so obvious afterwards.
I wasn’t ashamed, exactly, but I was certainly embarrassed. Telling a complete stranger what you think they should be doing is a very unpleasant experience, especially if the person thinks they are being criticised and that putting things right will cut into time they might not have to spare and, anyway, if they had the time, they’d probably rather do something else. It was horrible, and I did feel very much like an interfering busy-body, but could see no other option apart from insisting that it must be done.
So we turned up on Saturday at 10am. The landlord was outside standing on the balcony - I called up to say hello and to tell him who we were. Was he still angry? He seemed relaxed, though rather cool. It would do.
We got our gloves on and set to, dragging the wood from the edges and the top and putting it into piles at the side of the bonfire area. I had my camera at the ready and had brought along a plastic tub for moving any creatures we found.
As we started work, it became obvious that the heap had not been turned. It was a tangled mass, with long grass growing into it all around the base.
The heap before we started
We had been sure that we would find hedgehogs, but there weren’t any, maybe because of the warm autumn we’ve had. Hedgehogs start looking for hibernating places when the temperatures drop to around 16°c and a bonfire heap is an ideal spot, with so many cosy nooks to tuck into. This autumn has been unusually mild, so I suppose they were all off somewhere else.
As we dismantled the heap, we found small round spaces that seemed to have been used for nesting and many narrow tunnels, suggesting field mice could be using the site. A few larger holes might well have been used by hedgehogs on cold days.
A warm place to spend the winter
Right at the bottom of the heap was a huge mass of rubble and what looked like fibre-glass insulation and we started to search through it, working as carefully as we could. Here, at the lowest level, tucked into gaps amongst the fibre-glass, we found frogs and toads.
At he bottom of the heap
In all, there were about eight adult frogs (I lost count), three juveniles and two adult toads, all of them looking fit and healthy. Both species are in decline so this was a wonderful opportunity to ensure their safety, for that day, at least. Finding and relocating these adult frogs gave both of us much pleasure. It takes three years for a frog to reach sexual maturity and not many make it that far – out of 2000 eggs, roughly five will survive to adulthood, so giving these adults a chance should ensure that there are more of them to breed again next spring.
Toad in a hole
On the far side of the pub garden, some 70m away, is a large compost and rubble heap and this is where we took the creatures we found, putting them into the plastic tub, carrying it across the lawn and then gently turfing them out. Hopefully, they all managed to find suitable spots to shelter in without looking far. The majority appeared most displeased to be ousted from their comfortable homes, and who can blame them, but better to be evicted than stay and burn.
The compost heap
As we collected the frogs and toads, scrambling to catch them before they could hide again, we were conscious of being watched. Every so often, we’d look up and see the landlord standing on the balcony, staring in our direction, or his wife peering out of a window. Neither of them approached, but they monitored all that we did. I can’t blame him for not wanting to talk after our confrontational phone call, but it still felt strange.
One of the frogs we found
Putting the woodpile back together was straightforward and, from start to finish, the whole job only took two hours. We were dirty and sweaty, but went home feeling massively relieved that we’d relocated the frogs and toads.
Rebuilding the heap
We went back that evening and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. The fire roared and the fireworks banged and sparkled to the ‘Oohs’ and ‘Ahhs’ of what seemed like half the village. We met up with neighbours, drank beer, talked and laughed and went home feeling well pleased.
All in all, it was a most satisfactory day, with an almost dreamlike quality to it. We did, in the end, talk to the landlord and told him what we’d found. I said that if we were about next November, we’d come along to do the job again. He said he had realised that it will need doing every year from now on. We parted company with smiles.
We both learned something useful from what happened. The landlord knows the heap needs to be rebuilt before it's lit and I know that I should have approached the situation with more tact. I also know that as each Bonfire Night approaches, I will feel compelled to find a bonfire in need of rebuilding. A rod for my own back? No, I don’t think it is.
© Copyright Miranda Hodgson 2007