The English countryside may be,
as it always has been, marvellously idyllic, but it’s lately become a dangerous
place. Or so I read in the newspapers. The reason is that we’re being overrun, or
rather outrun, by aggressive foreigners.
I’m not talking about the Poles and
Romanians, or other newcomers in human form, who spill out of planes at Heathrow
in their hundreds of thousands, to consign hard-working Britons to the dole,
join street gangs, and drop so many babies that the National Health Service is
close to imploding
No, the immigrants we must worry
about these days are those that come in bovine form. These bulls – it’s only the male of the
species we’re talking about here, but bulls, being bulls, will be doing lots of
begetting – are steadily pushing out our lovely home-reared breeds, making life
thoroughly difficult for our hard-pressed rural authorities, such as the Health
and Safety Executive, and the Ministry of Agriculture (nowadays called Defra,
but don’t asked me to remember what that stands for), and even that
unwaveringly staunch champion of British country interests, the National
It seems that our dozy home-bred
cud-chewers, like Herefords and Jerseys, the ones that peer uncomprehendingly
at you over the hedgerow and can hardly raise the energy to fart, are
apparently being replaced by aggressive European imports who can not only raise
the energy to fart but have enough left over to chase us across fields which
they now have the temerity to claim as their own.
Three ramblers have been killed
in the past four years, I’ve learned, and, given the extent of the invasion,
more fatalities are not merely possible but altogether probable. A number of herdsmen have been gored recently. They include the aptly named Lawrence
Haygarth, who recently suffered 17 broken ribs and severe organ damage after
confronting a bull that failed to heed his plea that he was just passing
through – presumably because it didn’t have a word of English. Mr. Haygarth ought to have said, “Lassen Sie mich vorbei, bitte,” or
perhaps, “Dejame pasar, por favor”. But
how was the poor chap to know what he was dealing with?
According to the chairman of the
Sussex Area Ramblers, Clive Grummett, aggressive breeds from Europe
are the cause of the rising number of attacks. Now, it’s well known that my
sympathies tend to the tolerant when it comes to human immigration, but I have
to ask a question about this bovine invasion:
What’s so wrong with our dear ruminative peace-loving Herefords and Jerseys,
familiar sights in the countryside for centuries, that we feel the need to
replace them with foreign breeds, such as German Holsteins (who said the
Germans are now a peaceable lot?), or worse still, apparently, Belgian Blues, a
particularly pugnacious bunch of head-butters (now there’s a change in national
character for you)?
“Farmers introduced them,”
explains Clive Grummett, “because they wanted to improve their stock. However, they discovered these breeds were
more aggressive after a number of cattle herders were attacked.”
John Archer, of the NFU, reminds ramblers
to take special care. “Walkers should be
mindful of their surroundings and especially vigilant on entering a field where
the whole field cannot be seen.”
It’s one thing to be pursued over
hill and dale by British Bulls, but by foreign bulls? Next thing you know, we’ll be importing bulls
from Spain, possibly
veterans from Pamplona,
or perhaps those with relatives killed in the bullring, which may well bear a
deeply-imbedded grudge against their human oppressors. I’d at least keep them away from villages
with a pub called the Old Bull.
Our red squirrels have already
been virtually wiped out by American interlopers, native bluebells by some
Spanish variety, garden bird feeders around London are being taken over by Indian parakeets. The list goes on.
“British Beef is Best,” according
to an advertising slogan at my local butcher’s.
Let’s keep it that way, I say.
I’m not kidding. Or, as Nigel Farage might say, that’s no