The tale of the Landkey rat.

         Yesterday afternoon Anne Cawood had a funny old tale to tell down at the Marshal's Thursday lunch club concerning the Landkey rat. I can't hope to emulate the way she told it as once she gets going she has her own special way with words. Anyway, her tale tickled us all. A few days last week she was out at Landkey to pick up one of her innumerable grandchildren from the school as her daughter Briony was on jury service and couldn't make it to fetch the little mites.

The heart of Landkey Town

So there she was, waiting in the road opposite the school yacking away with one of the mum's when over her shoulder she spied a bleddy gurt rat,  enourmous it was, scampering it's way along a wall. I asked her if she was sure it wasn't a koypu that had swum up from Bishop's Tawton but she assured me it was a rat. A rat that was quite literally the size of a cat. Old Annie drew the attention of some of the mums gathered at the school gates to the bold rodent but they all seemed rather non-plussed. "Oh yeah there he goes the little bugger" said one and a few of them seemed quite happy to catch a sight of the furry vermin and seemed to be addressing the little critter in similar terms of endearment.  On the way back over the way to Gorwell she mentioned the rat sighting to the kids telling them how amazed she was by the size of it. Mind you, knowing Annie it had probably increased to the size of a brown bear by the time they got to Westacott.  However, they like the mums also seemed rather bemused by their daft granny's ramblings, only adding nonchalantly that they often see it scuttling across the playground of an afternoon, making for the bins behind the kitchens and they all liked to stop what they are doing and take a look at him.  They even had a competition to find a name for him. Turns out he is called Rory after the little singing kid off of Britain's Got Talent

A brown rat

The following afternoon Annie was out there again. This time she parked up in Mazzard Way and was walking towards the school gates when, lo and behold,  the rat appeared again. This time scurrying across the road right in front of her as bold as brass. Amazingly, he then seemed to take a quick shower and had a brazen gambol under a lawn sprayer. This time Annie couldn't let it pass, so she went up to an old mate of ours, Terry Ford, who happened to be passing, to find out what was going on. Terry is a mine of information on all things Landkey so he was able to put her straight. It turns out that this here rat has become something of a celebrity in the village and he's been sighted all over from Lankey old town down to the Castle and further afield. Anyway the rat has obviously found Landkey to his liking and is seemingly impervious to the comings and goings of the villagers, through traffic and the hubub of such a vibrant community. Thankfully, at present, there seems to be no sign of a pied piper character to lead the rodent over to Venn Quarry and subsequently the good folk of Landkey have become quite proprietary towards him. As Terry Ford went on to say he was so charmed by the sheer audacity of the brazen rodent that he didn't have a heart to pull the trigger after he'd been asked, much to many peoples consternation, by the Parish Council to fetch up with his air rifle in order to dispatch it humanely.
It's good to see that in this day and age that something like this can galvanize a community and it has been able to draw together around it's very own regal rat.  Mind you I did point out that such things aren't that unusual out Landkey way as befits a village with such an illustrious history, founded as it was by Sir Francis Drake as a refuge from the Spanish Armada and named for the Celtic saint St Kea, Llan Kea until the Saxon invader turned up and Anglesized it. Bleddy Saxons.
In the eighties the Councils plans to demolish the place and start all over again on the other side of the valley were thwarted by a concerted local campaign and also the mazzard, North Devon's very own soft fruit was reintroduced after the heroic efforts of local residents especially those of my old comrade, Dickie Joy

Mazzards make a lovely pie

Of course the rat wouldn't fare so well in the neighbouring village of Swimbridge home of the Parson Jack Russell terrier which the eponymous parson specifically bred to be terrifyingly efficient ratters. Fortunately due to internecine village rivalry no one in Landkey is allowed to own a Jack Russell.
Likewise no one in Swimbridge eats mazzards.
Annie called round yesterday afternoon and reported that local opinion has now come to the conclusion that the rat is of a domesticated variety that must have made a bid for freedom. They may have a point as many domesticated rats are infact imported from South America and these can grow to be very large. Thinking about it it could also be a fancy rat. It is also thought that it didn't originally come from Landkey due to there having been no "missing" signs posted on lampposts nor messages read out at morning worship. I told her they ought to put a note in the Journal  Of course it could just be disorientated and will start making it's way back home like in that film. Maybe it's best to just let the little bugger be and let him make his own way.
Anyway following on from Anne's tale I have half a mind to pop over there one morning next week, have a spot of lunch in The Castle and then walk up and over to Venn on a rat safari to see if I can't catch a sight of this fine specimen of the species rattus norvegicus. That 'll give me something nice to look forward to..