The little gentleman in black velvet

Above: Mr Mole in situ

Above: Mole catcher Ian Dando

Mole is the self-effacing adventurer from Wind in The Willows. He is, as Uncle Walt would doubtless attest were he still alive, a Disney charmer. He is an anthropomorphic hero in his spectacles and coloured waistcoat who, with Ratty, Badger and irrepressible Mr Toad, saw off the wicked weasels.

The small mammal is also a popular soft toy, gives his name to the fictional anti-hero Adrian Mole and is a champion to the Jacobites. It was a molehill that tripped the horse of William III and threw the unfortunate and unpopular English monarch to his death in 1702. To this day the Scots will toast the health of ‘the little gentleman in black velvet’.

On the other hand the Birmingham comedian Jasper Carrott took a twelve bore shotgun (with a torch stuck to the barrel) and tried, and failed, to blow the nocturnal beast to kingdom come after one had wrecked his garden. For the loveable mole is mostly loathed.

His burrows and in particular the mounds he throws up are the scourge of the nation’s gardeners, groundsmen, stud farm managers and the tenders of our graveyards. His unseen tunnelling is the ruination of our green and pleasant land.

Unfortunately this pocket destroyer is very difficult to exterminate. A cursory surf of the internet reveals the lengths to which men have been reduced to rid themselves of the furry worm-eating critter. Gassing, smoking, flooding, sonic posts, vibrating devices, broken glass, holly, moth balls, Jeyes Fluid, diesel, poisoned worms and American Fruit gums are all posted as tried and aborted remedies. None of them work.

There is only one sure fire way of getting rid of a mole and this to hire a mole catcher. And in the Cotswolds that means Ian Dando.

Ian, who flags himself ‘The Mole Man’, was an accountant until a decade ago when he decided to ‘re-value’ what he did. Nowadays he is the area’s most famous and only officially registered mole catcher. His Mitsubishi 4x4 has ‘mole catcher’ boldly written on its panels and his new calling is to rid our limestone hills of the creature.

“I always wanted to work outside,” said Ian, an avuncular figure in britches with a ruddy complexion and ready laugh who lives close to Wotton-under-Edge with his wife and daughter. “My grandfather was a mole catcher and I learned the skills from him as a little boy.

“Moles are a huge problem in the Cotswolds. The mole has no natural disease that might periodically wipe it out and no natural predators. And since last autumn we have seen an unusually high number of them – nobody knows why. After the floods people thought the moles would drown but they are fantastic swimmers. Perhaps they all burrowed to higher ground.”

The mole catcher is an ancient figure cloaked in mystery, a man respected in his local parish where he was given free board and lodgings in return for what were believed to be his other worldly skills. (Moles are themselves wrapped up in superstition. A pair of mole’s front feet worn round the neck, for example, is supposed to prevent rheumatism. A mole tunnel ringing a property is claimed to predict a death in the household.)

The national census of 1801, for example, makes it clear that there were mole catchers throughout the UK at that time and that their work ranged from large farms and estates to the request to remove moles from parish land such as churchyards and the gardens of the rich. It was a profitable business as the mole catcher was not only paid for each mole he trapped – as Ian still is – but also for their pelts that were then used extensively for clothing.
 
“Moles are incredible creatures who are very sensitive to any change in the environment,’ said Ian displaying ‘a labour’ – the official collective noun for moles – of the dead pests in the back of his pick-up truck. “If you could lift up the turf near a mole run it would look like Spaghetti Junction magnified ten times. Moles always have an escape route.”

And those who are capable of blocking that escape route and therefore doing away with the creatures are treated with the same celestial awe as horse whisperers and water diviners – mainly because nobody quite knows how they do it.

“I trap moles in a traditional way as opposed to gassing them or using a sonic device,’ said Ian who is a member of the exclusive British Traditional Mole Catchers’ Association (motto: ‘we don’t make a mountain out of a molehill’) that has fewer than 50 members.

“I prod the ground with a pole and when I find a mole run I dig up the turf and expose it. If it is a fresh run I set a trap in the tunnel and replace the turf. Then I wait for a couple of days. Once you understand the way a mole thinks, trapping him becomes clearer and easier.”

He makes it sound simple but it in fast is a fine art. Ian catches over 1,500 moles a year but says that even if he worked every hour for 24 hours a day he would only make a tiny dent in a local population.

“It is hugely rewarding job,” he says. “I am pitting myself against a wild animal. It is exciting – although not much of a spectator sport – and you visit beautiful places and you meet super people.”

However this year, the centenary of the publication of Wind in the Willows, he might wish to be a bit more circumspect about telling those of a child-like disposition too many details about his life since running away from accountancy. And he might also consider changing the name on his pick up truck to something less provocative – ‘Weasel Community Service Consultant’ perhaps?

Ian Dando can be contacted on tel: 07841 751 174 Email: dandoi@aol.com