Letter of the week
The art of asking nicely
IN the early 1970s, my husband managed a field that was sown to turf to sell for lawns. As it was almost ready to be cut, mole hills started to appear (‘Holey moley!’, March 22). I recalled an old wives’ tale I had heard as a child from my Irish grandmother—sit on the edge of the field at dusk and talk to the moles nicely and quietly, asking them to move to another field.
My husband laughed at this idea and was very sceptical, but, before he got the traps out, he said I could have a go. Thus, I spent one evening talking to the moles. I am pleased to say
