BASIL'S NAMESAKE

Those familiar with the excellent tv comedy series "Fawlty Towers" will remember Basil Fawlty,  the waiter Manuel and Manuel's pet rat, Basil. In the series Basil the rat was, unlike his namesake, seldom visible in the flesh. A secretive creature, his sole purpose was to live a clandestine life and to be left alone to get on with what he knew best, which was the finding and eating of as much food as possible. To this end he explored the unlikeliest places, most of them in the hotel kitchen in which many of the tumultuous episodes of Fawlty Towers were set.

This summer, on a visit to my eldest daughter at her lovely house in the deep countryside of Provence, I learnt about another secretive creature much cuter than Basil the rat, or the owner of Fawlty Towers. In France this little creature is known as a "loir" and after considerable internet searching was identified as a European Furry Tailed Dormouse. One balmy evening as our group of friends enjoyed a late meal in the airy summer dining room on the garden side of the house, my eye was caught by a sudden movement on the periphery of my vision. Twelve feet above the ground a telephone wire spanned the distance from house eaves to a pole close to a magnificent plane tree. Along this thin wire ran a small furry creature, soon followed by another, and another and another.

"Look at that," I cried, "what on earth is it?" and as one man, every head turned to look. We sat entranced, watching the aerial ballet as "Basil" [as of course he came to be named] and his family came and went from their daytime sleeping quarters in the roof to the broad highway down the trunk in their search of a tasty supper.

Being nocturnal, we never had the pleasure of catching sight of these entrancing small creatures in daylight, and only managed the briefest of glimpses as they crossed from eaves to the dense leaf cover and then presumably, scampered off into the darkness and the main event of their evening, to find and devour as quickly as possible a filling and nutritious meal. 

Many and varied were the devices used in the attempts to stop Basil and family from returning to their sleeping quarters, but no matter what stratagems were adopted, these audacious small creatures circumvented them all. First, after taking wise council from knowledgeable locals, a stout metal disk was strung on the centre of the wire in the sure and certain knowledge that the prospect of a risky climb around, over or under it would prove more than even these most agile little acrobats could manage. Elated with our success in having so easily solved an intractable problem, we settled down the next evening to enjoy our meal, secure in the knowledge that we had them foxed. Laughing and joking the wine bottles circulated, several courses of tasty food succeeded one another and cheese and coffee was served.

Replete and satisfied I looked up, and to my surprise noticed the imperturbable Basil, hind feet securely gripping the wire, manfully and determinedly pushing the disk with snout and paws until it reached the tree trunk. Then, scampering back to the house, he once again led the parade of wife and family along the wire.

Score. One to Basil, Nothing to Us.

Second, the wire was heavily greased with chicken fat, but apart from a thick trail of ants from wall to wire, this had no effect on Basil and the gang. More local council was sought. "Battery-driven alarms set at a pitch too high for the human ear", came the next learned suggestion. After much searching in local hardware shops, several of these were purchased, set and primed.
Basil and the gang took no notice and in fact, one night even had the audacity to compound their sins by inviting what sounded like a tribe of feral cats to join the party. We discovered later these were martens, another furred creature with the unfortunate habit of stashing their victims in convenient niches in walls and attics. It seems they like their meat "lazy aged" before they dine. This gang appeared to be enjoying a riotous fist-fight if the wails and squeals were anything to go by. A convenient broom handle banged on the ceiling set them packing.

By this time the scorecard read. Basil and friends: Three [or was it Three and a half?]
Nothing to Us.

By the time I left for home, the problem had still not been resolved and letters tell me with autumn arriving and activity around the house declining, Basil and his by now very much e-x-t-e-n-d-e-d family have taken to living in the warm and cosy gap between the wooden window shutters and the glass.

And what could be more weatherproof as protection from the coming winter?

Barbara Durlacher

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