You Dirty Rat

As James Cagney never actually said….

I’ve had rats in my garden. Two of them. One much larger than the other. City ordinances here dictate that I report them to the local council who then send a rat-catcher out to rid us of them. Usually by placing poison around the area and hoping that the rat eats that instead of the spilled bird seed that I feed a flock of about 60 birds with every day. That didn’t happen, but I thought I needed to respond to the infestation in some way, so I shot the big one with an air rifle. I know I hit him high in the back and from above, so I’m pretty sure I killed him, even if he did manage to make it back to the hole he came out of.
I’ve found the hole. It is situated next to the main drain from the house. The rat-catcher came back and I showed him the tunnel. We poked a smoke generator down it and, right enough, it seems the drain has collapsed. Time to involve the insurance company then and get it fixed.
I haven’t seen the smaller rat since I shot the big one, so perhaps I have managed to scare her away.
I did get some film on a trail camera but I haven’t seen her out and about in daylight hours.
The rats we have here are known as brown rats. Rattus Norvegicus, to be exact. The largest of the rat species, at least here in Europe. I’ve done a bit of research since having been visited by them.
“Dirty rat” is a resounding misnomer. They actually groom themselves more often than cats. They probably have a bad reputation because of the outbreak of plague way back in the late middle ages. It wasn’t the rats that caused it. It was actually the fleas they carried. The rats were immune but we humans weren’t. The flea bite was the infection point. Rats make good pets. They are intelligent, trainable and are employed in some unexpected areas. They can sniff out explosives, land mines and tuberculosis. They are also quite affectionate in captivity. I’m sure we’ve all heard of “lab rats”.
I’ve made a decision about my treatment of them. I’ve changed my mind about simply killing them off. I realise they can cause problems for farmers and grain stores, but I have neither a farm nor a store. Once we get the drains fixed, they won’t be back. Their exit, or entry way into my garden, will be gone. They will doubtless continue to forage, as do all wild creatures, but with the advancements in medicine since the great plagues, I realise we have little to fear from them. I’m going to let live. Stripping the world of these creatures will not enhance our existence. In fact, it may do us immeasurable damage.
The poison in the garden has been removed.

He Ain’t Heavy…

Remember that? The Hollies. He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother…
I’ve taken on some volunteer work. We have an organisation here that looks after our war veterans. We also have a huge organisation that supports athletes and all form of sports. Someone, at some point, thought it might be a good idea to bind part of the former to part of the latter and so it was that “Soldatersporten” (soldier sports) was born. I am now a part of that.
Long story done short; a couple of these veterans want to take part in the Invictus games in Holland later this year. They are archers. The organisation wanted someone to be the group co-ordinator. They were having problems finding someone so they contacted all the local archery clubs and then they found me. Well, they found our club chairman and he put the idea to me. I said OK and we let them know I was available. A veteran myself, a qualified trainer and I had the time to be there at the archery range.
I was accepted for the job in a moment…

A couple of them served in Bosnia. A dirty little war and it has left its mark. My lads are suffering with PTSD and, thankfully, no physical injuries. Others, I believe, served in the Afghan. We don’t talk about that much. I let them come and go as they please and we accept each other as we are. So far, its all been good and I do actually enjoy being around these men. They have a black sense of humour that I have sometimes missed. They train hard, two of them are doing extremely well and I can’t really help them any more. They are ready for competition already. Now it is just a matter of training and achieving the consistent accuracy. I cheer and encourage. And that is enough, apparently. Any problems that arise are placed in my lap and I have to get it sorted. This is mainly equipment and facilities and coordination that I am talking about. I’m not a therapist.
I have achieved some form of acceptance. One of them said, “We’re glad they found you. We were afraid they would find some civvie who doesn’t have a clue what we’ve been through.”
Commendation indeed, even if it was hard won in a totally different war torn environment.
We’re all damaged…. we just don’t show it or discuss it except, maybe, to or with each other.

That’s brotherhood for you..

Made in Germany

And that is about all I have to go on…
I rescued this little no.3 bench plane from my late father in law’s shed. It has no markings on it other than “No.3” and “Made in Germany”, which was forced upon that land after the last great war in Europe. Everything made there had to be so marked. It was meant as a form of punishment for German industry but they took it upon themselves to produce quality goods, so the whole punishment thing backfired and their goods became desirable again. They turned it into a sign of quality. So, I reckon this was made somewhere shortly after 1945.
This is actually a good little plane. There isn’t much to go wrong. It was probably cheap to produce, which would have been important at that time in history. The body is cast iron, the blade holds an edge. There is no frog to speak of, the blade simply rests inside the body and the cap is merely a piece of pressed thin stainless steel with a screw to hold it in place. The blade is moved by two yellow metal barrel nuts, which fit into cut-outs on the blade, on threaded rods. I have no idea what wood the handles are made of but they are comfortable to hold. Probably beech, but I don’t know that for sure. Adjusting the blade with this arrangement gives not only depth of cut but automatically includes lateral adjustment. I know some purists out there don’t like this much, but I do. It is practical simplicity.

It was not in good condition when I retrieved it from the depths of a relatively damp shed. Light rust and the usual corrosion that comes with years of not being used. I stripped it down, polished the sole and sides, sharpened and cleaned the blade. Everything one does when initiating a new tool was done here. I intended to give it to my grandson but he wanted a Stanley, so he got one. Actually, the Stanley is very similar to this one. Same set up.
This means that I get to keep this little piece of history. I have used the plane, before I invested in my Clifton No.3. The two do not compare. The Clifton is superb. That having been said, this little old plane does work and, when set up properly, it works very well. It is also very light compared to the Clifton, so this is a plane that one could easily take along to any job and still get the work done. For now, it rests on the shelf in the iShed. I do grab it occasionally to do some light work that does not require a pristine finish and I’m happy to leave it there, within reach and within view and to remind me of a man that I much respected.