Bat Appreciation Day: D.H Lawrence's 1923 poem has the best description of bats we've ever read
It is a very important day in Britain. No, it’s not St George’s Day or a Bank Holiday, it is far better than that.
Today (April 17) is Bat Appreciation Day.
Yep, a day that’s wholly dedicated to celebrating the creature of the night.
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Hide AdFrom their leathery wings to their ginormous ears, bats are (in my humble opinion) one of the most underrated animals to walk (and fly) this earth.
Of course, I am coming at this from a biased perspective as an October baby, who exited the womb to the symphonic sounds of Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell.
But even so, you’ve got to admit they are pretty cool.
Bats are a protected animal here in Britain due to their depreciating numbers. It’s a crime to disrupt their roosts and killing one of these sacred mammals could land you six months in prison.
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Hide AdThe impact bats have on the world is so profound they have been immortalised (great pun) in literature, most notably in Dracula.
But one of our favourite literary depictions comes from a man much closer to home, by Nottingham native D.H. Lawrence in his poem: Bat.
In the work, Lawrence describes them as “Little lumps that fly in air”.
Bat by D.H Lawrence
At evening, sitting on this terrace, When the sun from the west, beyond Pisa, beyond the mountains of Carrara Departs, and the world is taken by surprise ... When the tired flower of Florence is in gloom beneath the glowing Brown hills surrounding ... When under the arches of the Ponte Vecchio A green light enters against stream, flush from the west, Against the current of obscure Arno ... Look up, and you see things flying Between the day and the night; Swallows with spools of dark thread sewing the shadows together. A circle swoop, and a quick parabola under the bridge arches Where light pushes through; A sudden turning upon itself of a thing in the air. A dip to the water. And you think: "The swallows are flying so late!" Swallows? Dark air-life looping Yet missing the pure loop ... A twitch, a twitter, an elastic shudder in flight And serrated wings against the sky, Like a glove, a black glove thrown up at the light, And falling back. Never swallows! Bats! The swallows are gone. At a wavering instant the swallows gave way to bats By the Ponte Vecchio ... Changing guard. Bats, and an uneasy creeping in one's scalp As the bats swoop overhead! Flying madly. Pipistrello! Black piper on an infinitesimal pipe. Little lumps that fly in air and have voices indefinite, wildly vindictive; Wings like bits of umbrella. Bats! Creatures that hang themselves up like an old rag, to sleep; And disgustingly upside down. Hanging upside down like rows of disgusting old rags And grinning in their sleep. Bats!