I WATCHED Countryfile on Sunday (BBC1) in which John Craven presented an investigation into wildlife crime.
Horrific scenes of badger baiting, hare coursing, and deer hunting were shown. The perpetrators of these crimes against animals were not satisfied with these forms of hunting but actually trained their dogs to fight one another in order to satisfy their sadistic pleasure.
The programme reminded me of a poem I wrote in ‘69 that gives a glimpse of the terror hunted animals must experience before they are torn to pieces.
The ‘sport’ that was actively enjoyed in 1969 has not been adequately dealt with by the law but is according to the programme on the increase by ‘men’ who travel across several counties whenever a meet is arranged.
A pat on the back should go to the producers of the usually innocuous programme of Countryfile for including these crimes against wildlife and especially to John Craven who fearlessly tackled these ‘men’ and sent them on their way.
JOHN ANDREWS
Shaftesbury Avenue
Swindon
FOR HIM THAT FLEES
The March wind blows
The virgin grass in waves
In the hollow, the warm earth
Comforts him that crouches still.
The distant sound of baying hounds
Sends fresh blood
Coursing thro’ his veins
On trembling legs he flees.
Which way? Anyway, but hurry!
Time is short for him that flees
Time is now for him that flees.
Hot breath fans his ear
Pink mouths open, white flecks appear
Snapping jaws miss his scut
Then the first sickening crunch is heard
And felt - no more.
No more pain
Only peace follows
For him that flees.
JOHN F ANDREWS
June 1969
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