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Recently I met a very interesting gentleman by the name of Keith Scowcroft, or "Scowie" as he likes to be known.


Not only is he from Lancashire, (where all the best people come from) he has done his fair share of molecatching over the years too. 


Scowie is not only an accomplished molecatcher; he is Lancashire's Champion Poet having written many poems, lyrics and monologues over the years.


All Keith's work is protected by copyright, but he has given me written permission to reproduce his Molecatcher Poem on my website. Thanks Keith. 



Copyright 2-10-2000 Keith Scowcroft


I’ve some trousers of moleskin, a weskit also,

And a gret moleskin jacket me calling to show,

I’m about early morning, and again late at night,

When folks doors are bolted, and shutters closed tight,

Then nobody sees me, me secrets to know,

Here’s a Health to all jolly lads that out moleing go,

I’ve a pound in me pocket, and drink of the best,

And you’ll all know a moler by the way that he’s dressed,

There’s a full range of callings, from a sweep to a thatcher,

But the best lad of all is, the jolly molecatcher,


There’s a mole in the barley, a mole in the hay,

A mole in the mossland, but none in the lay,

There’s a mole in me satchel, and one in yon trap,

And a good many more on me pelt-drying rack,

I’ll not overdo him, but leave some alive,

Success to the mole lads, and long may he thrive

Success to the merry lads, and a tanner a skin,

About in all weathers such arts we apply,

For the mole does his damage, whatever the sky,


Out in the field lads, I spy the land first,

And seek out his drink run, for he’s a great thirst,

Then it’s out with me traps that I’ve kept hid in soil,

It’s a skill and an art lads, not dreary old toil,

With muck soiled hands, I break in to his run,

And cover traps careful to keep out the sun,

For he hides from the light boys, and keeps from me smell,

But I take him in dozens, for I know him well,

And he pays a good living, I’ll freely declare,

If you know what your doing, and treat him with care,


So its early and late, to me traps I’ll attend,

And where they’ve been sprung then their settings I’ll mend,

But when I’ve a moles lads, it’s into me sack,

For he’s worth a new shilling, as I make me way back,

Then it’s skin him and nail him, and salt-cure his hide,

Let the magpies flight over what’s left there outside,

I’ll lay a thorn hedge, and I’ll build you a wall,

But taking the old mole, suits me best of all,

Here’s a Health to the moler, may his skill be renowned,

And a Health to the mole lads, wherever he's found 


Copyright 2-10-2000 Keith Scowcroft