Imposition of Badgers

At this time of year, every year, somebody has much this idea. And we resist it as much as we can, but eventually, this year, we finally gave in.

The trouble is, people like badgers. Quick-moving, attractive, stripy little beggars that they are. They're the real characters of the English countryside - with the exception of the hedgehogs, whom the badgers regard as a tasty snack, of course.

Though clearly to use real badgers in the liturgy would be wrong. And probably illegal. So we ended up using a whole flock of life-sized badger soft toys. Not stuffed badgers. We don't know who stuffs badgers, but we wouldn't want to be accused of assisting in that trade. And, to be honest, I'm not really sure I'd actually want to meet anyone who stuffs badgers. I mean, if they wanted to shake hands with you - as my niece Alicia would put it, "meh". Or possibly even "euw".

So we got the toy badgers. And Young Keith inserted the 12V motors and the wheels - sorry, "bogies" as Burton reminded me - into their fronts. Neat job with the needlework - he's a real treasure, is Keith. And then we laid the track in the appropriate configuration around the Moot House. And then, realising dusk would be coming on during the Occasion, we fitted lights onto them. That's the great thing about artificial badgers. Even if it wasn't cruel and wrong (I stress for legal reasons) you'd never be able to fit lights to them without a real fight.

And then we filed in, sang "Brock of Ages" with just a few tea lights lit, and the Badger Parade began. 36 Badgers, in a beautiful arrangement, swept round the Moot House in awesome silence - the lights fitted into their eye sockets glowing beautifully in the gloom and lighting up, as their eyes swept the room.

Was it a spiritual experience we felt? I'm not sure. It was just something about the glow from those dead eyes - plus the silence and the gliding of the way they moved. It was - eerie, that's the word. So the Beaker Folk split into two camps. Half dashed out of the Moot House and ran screaming for the Great House to hide. The others - braver souls, I guess you could say - rushed the electric badgers and attacked them with pointy sticks and (in the case of one particular Beaker Person) a cricket bat.

In retrospect I'm not sure who's less proud of themselves. The cowards, or those of us who knocked the stuffing out of a load of cuddly toys. But believe me, you had to be there. Those badgers were uncanny.