Bats: A cautionary tale

Walk away and don't look back

PERHAPS it was the sweeping drive, the rhododendrons lining either side in full bloom, the visual impact of the looming 18th century coach house or the mature woodlands, streams and pastures - whatever it was, it was love at first sight.
 He-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is was accompanying me on my latest jaunt in search of the perfect country retreat. His concern was growing with each journey as he realised this wasn't one of my two-week fads, it was lasting much longer. My search had taken him up hill and down dale in Yorkshire, across Wales, through Cornwall and Devon and around Malvern country. And more importantly, we'd just found a buyer for our Soho flat.
 "Midlife crisis," chipped in the back seat driver Joyce, my octogenarium mum, as he advised me to put a lid on my squeals of delight and restrain my enthusiasm as the car came to a crunching halt on the gravel drive and the seller approached with trademark Scottish hospitality.
 After a couple of hours viewing we left with differing views. My usually silent half said there was too much work, too much upkeep and the house was falling down while all my mother could go on about was the enormous amount of blue bottles, where did the sewage pipe end and what would happen if the water well dried up?
 There was also the matter of distance - London was a six hour drive away and that's where my work was for three days of the week.
 After taking their counsel for all of 90 seconds, I got on the phone to a local builder and surveyor and put in an offer with the estate agent as soon as I got back to London. House sales are done differently in Scotland and usually someone's word is their bond so there's none of the accompanying nonsense associated with gazumping in the volatile London market.
 I knew the house was in a state of disrepair - as soon as you see the word "character" mentioned in the blurb you know there's a few wrinkles and ailments.
 The diagnosis from the builder was not good either when I met up with him on a subsequent visit. "Wood worm, dry rot, rising damp, an unexplained bulge at the back, more than 20 wasps nests in the attic," he exclaimed and then, in a conspiratorial tone he moved forwards and whispered in my ear and there's something else: "I can fix all that but you've got bats. My advice is turn around slowly and start to walk away and never look back."

Blood sucker: Christopher Lee

 My goodness! I thought Bram Stoker's novel on Dracula was the work of fiction - now I felt as though I'd just entered a real life Hammer House of Horror film and Christopher Lee would waft into view from no where cursing the faint aroma coming from the wild garlic growing in the woodlands.
I began to do some research on builders and bats and was gobsmacked. These flying pipsqueaks, barely the size of a small mouse, had more rights and protections than any child in Britain. In fact, had children got the same rights as bats and the protection of zealous bat conservation groups I doubt there would be many cases of child cruelty. Perhaps we should do away with social workers and retrain the members of the Bat Conservation Trust. I mentioned it to an acquaintance of mine, a well travelled international diplomat who suggested I have a weekend-long cigar-smoking party which might drive them out. A more sanguine response came from Professor Geoffrey Alderman after a studio show we'd just concluded discussing Israel's occupation of the West Bank. Geoffrey and I should, on paper, be sworn enemies who hiss and spit at each other before, during and after a live TV debate but once the discussion is over we usually sit back and enjoy convivial chit chat. Israel aside, we've a lot in common including a love of good, quality food. I expected him to come up with quite a radical, robust solution but his advice was: "Just sit back and wait and they'll probably clear off." Believe it or not as the first warm rays of spring sunshine arrived they did, with the exception of one in an outbuilding but by the time all the remedial work was done he'd cleared off too. The builder was delighted. He had regaled me with tales of multi million pound projects being halted all because of bats, huge fines and prison sentences threatened. The scenario was of nightmare proportions and I read the other day that even Prince Charles has been plagued by delays and costs surrounding his community projects on the Duchy of Cornwall Estate because of the ubiquitous bat.
 A quick check on the internet and you'll discovered all bat species and their roosts are protected and you could end up in prison if you..

 * Deliberately capture, injure or kill a bat

 * Intentionally or recklessly disturb a bat in its roost or deliberately disturb a group of bats

 * Damage or destroy a bat roosting place (even if bats are not occupying the roost at the time)

 * Possess or advertise/sell/exchange a bat (dead or alive) or any part of a bat 
 * Intentionally or recklessly obstruct access to a bat roost

 As Autumn arrived last year I remember hearing some noises coming from the attic and just brushed them aside as the patter of mice feet. Still in the middle of renovation work and with holes here and there in the ceiling, I tried to ignore the noise and focus on some TV.

 While watching CSI New York there was quite a dark sequence but I couldn't for the life of me understand why bats kept appearing in shot, so I assumed it must be part of the plot to add to the suspense and atmosphere. I even congratulated myself on such a good spot, may be my eyesight was not that dodgy after all, but as I continued watching I realised the bat on television wasn't in New York at all ... he was in my living room and kept flying in to my vision. All the above dos and donts came flooding back along with images of Klaus Kinski. Adding to my irrational fear, I half expected him to morph into my living room as Nosferatu and so just sat there in the dark, frozen with fear in front of the flickering box, until it buggered off back into a hole in the ceiling.

Spot the bat

Dead or alive?

 I've not been up in the attic since and I do have plans to turn that into a study bedroom but I imagine it could still be a race against time before he returns with his buddies. In the meantime cast a glance at the picture to the right which I took today. It is of a bat hanging around the side of a  door - no idea what sort of bat, but I was showing it off to a man from the Forestry Commission who was there to inspect some trees. If  you look at the picture on the left you can see what a tiny little thing he is (the bat) - no more than two to three inches, I'd say.

 My man from the Forestry reckons the bat is as dead as a door nail but I cautioned him against poking or prodding the creature saying it was an offence to disturb a bat. His look of disdain revealed that he was also well aware of all the rules and regs and didn't need some "daft town bat" from Soho sharing the countryside code with him. However, intrigued, he also took a photograph of the creature to show his bat friends. But I'm still convinced this Rip Van Winkle of the flying rodent world is enjoying a very deep hibernation-style sleep. What neither of us can figure out is why he decided to rock up and attach himself onto the outside of a door frame where he's fully exposed to the harsh elements and all sorts of predators - he could easily have slipped in to my kitchen or lounge and hung around undisturbed there instead. Short of calling in a rescue team from one of the many bat conservancy groups there are, he could have spent winter inside with me.
 By the way, if you recognise his species, or have a theory as to why he's chosen that spot to hang around please do feel free to share. We'd all like to know, I'm sure.

Next installment: THE SAGA OF THE AGA