Dear Chums,

Yet another cautionery tale !

I received but a short time ago the following missive from my new and dear acquaintance, Mr Syd Rumpo:-

"I have moles, as does my garden. In order to try to evict the latter, (I have no wish to harm them) I have purchased a solar powered sonic vibrator, which, the supplier assures, will drive the moles out of my estate. In fact, since pressing the 'purchase order' button on their website, I have not seen a bluddy mole, so their claim seems to be substantiated."

My Chums, I was shocked ... STUNNED even !!!!

I replied as follows:-

"What ho, Rumpo !

Apologies for putting you off a little earlier. I must confess that your post raised some disquiet in the Ducal bowels, bringing back as it did memories of a most unpleasant experience suffered by the 20th Duke, my dear late Grandfather.

Sometime back in the late Twenties GF, it seems, had a not dissimilar idea from that which you mention. Of course, in those days, technology was not quite so advanced, so GF improvised thus; he conceived of a plan whereby he would, late in the evening, consume a large quantity of "Boston Baked Beans" (an American dish, I believe) and then repair to the lawns, armed with a length of cardboard tubing. When he judged the time was right, he would drop his breeks and, with the aforesaid tube positioned in the Ducal blowhole, leap from molehill to molehill, conveying thereby into the very home of the horrid beasts, great blasts of noise, such as might be heard (and indeed felt) some considerable distance away ¹. The effect of this approach, apparently, had to be seen to be believed, for as GF let loose on one molehill, the inhabitants of adjacent burrows would oft be blown some distance into the air, like furry grey champagne corks.

After a week or so of this novel treatment, the moles appeared to quiet down considerably, and GF felt he was entitled to raise a glass or two in celebration. Alas, one particular night, he consumed rather more Malmsey than was advisable, with the result that while perched above a likely-looking molehill, tubing in place, he fell soundly asleep.

It might be best not to delve too deeply into the subsequent events. Suffice it to say that the fiendish moles had not taken their punishment lying down, and had hatched a most abhorrent plan to put an end to their nightly discomfiture. As GF snoozed above, the cunning beasts sent up through the tube a small and particularly valiant member of their species, who shot like a thunderbolt straight up into poor old GF's nether regions.

It was a matter of some days before the kamikaze mole was extracted, and quite a while longer before the local gutter press let the story drop. Shamefully, there also was a little reluctance on the behalf of the local populace to accept GF's account of how the dreadful incident had occurred.

So may I say, Rumpo old bean, it might be best to steer a wide berth around new-fangled mole-deterrents. The old ways are the best - BLOW THEIR BALLY NOSES OFF !!!

Yours in Squirming Remembrance,

P."

Dear Hootoo'ers - need I say more ???