Down the rabbit hole

First published in edition 209 of The Northumbrian, Dec 2025/Jan 2026

In the latest instalment of his column chronicling country life in Northumberland, Charlie Bennett celebrates all matters porcine

There in a wood a Piggy-wig stood with a ring at the end of his nose, his nose . . . And so we are introduced to Edward Lear’s porcine character from the land where the Bong-Tree grows. Through this Piggy-wig’s entrepreneurial spirit, the Owl and the Pussycat complete their nuptials, acquiring the ring at the end of his nose, his nose. I’d say they might have needed a good jeweller to make it fit a cat’s finger, but that’s just splitting bristles.

This fine pig is one of many we have all grown up with. They include Miss Piggy, trendsetter of her time, who put misogynist men in their place with a well-aimed karate chop and not an oink, but a resolute “hiii ya . . . ”; the three little pigs, two being a sandwich short of a wolf’s picnic; and Pigling Bland, who fortunately escaped from the plate to a sort of pig nirvana where they weren’t on the menu.

Which neatly brings me to the point of this story – why do so many of us eat pigs? Now, if you had been on the charcuterie course I attended recently, you would be rolling your eyes by now, the simple answer being that every bit of a pig is delicious. (If you are vegetarian, I’ll take your leave here, though you might tarry, as I’m about to make a case for the noble pig that may throw us bacon buffs into a bit of turmoil. Up to you, but trigger/pigger warning made).

During my life, I have had the pleasure of meeting some tremendous pigs. I’m not sure why, but some of the best piggy characters I have encountered were part of the parental scenery during my younger days courting delightful girls. Fortunately, I didn’t have a Lord Emsworth to cross (though I’m sure I would have delighted in the company of the Empress of Blandings). No, for some reason I was attracted to girls with matriarchal mothers who had an eye for the trottered and curly-tailed.

Mother One: I arrived at an imposing medieval manor house on a cold, dark November evening. My new girlfriend invited me to wait in the sitting room by the fire while she went to see if her mum was around. As I rounded the door into the room, I was met with a strange sight. For there by the fire a Piggy-wig sat. Her eyes were closed in the manner of one dreaming of the 4-across clue in The Times cryptic crossword (more of this pig brain power later), while close by various dogs slept contentedly and all appeared well in the world.

A little taken aback, I headed towards the voices I could hear down the corridor. I appeared in a kitchen to be met by my girlfriend’s mother, the rear of her tweed skirt lifted and her posterior warming gently by the open door of an Aga.

Pleasantries were exchanged. Eventually, I suggested that a pig might have escaped from the farm and was currently dozing by the fire. The girlfriend’s mother laughed and called “Nora! Nora!” and I was nearly bowled over as the fireside pig galloped into the kitchen and took up a seated position beside her owner by the Aga.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I was a lucky man. You see, Nora disliked men even more than Miss Piggy. She would ambush the girlfriend’s father when he came home from work and was in the habit of chasing the postman through the village and clamping onto his backside, desisting only when the GF’s mother ordered her to “put him down, Nora, there’s a good pig.”

Sadly, all this eventually proved too much for the father and Nora disappeared one day, he said “to a home for retired pigs” as he eagerly dipped a sausage into his fried egg. Not that it did him any good; for crossing pigs is not good karma, as we shall soon discover.

My wife of 30-plus years also has a tremendous mother who back in the day was a devotee of the pig. There are endless stories of piggy adventures, but as ever I am limited by column inches, so I will share just the one. One evening, we were all in black-tie having drinks as we waited to go out to dinner. To our surprise, a bedraggled person appeared at the front door and informed us that two sows had escaped from their wood and were heading for Hexham. We all headed to the paddock where they had last been seen to coral them back into their enclosure. They were having none of it, however, dodging us like springboks, our finery quickly spoiled by grass stains and worse.

Over the gate the farmer was
bow-legged with laughter. He calmly walked into the field, shaking a bucket with pig nuts in it. The pigs put their brakes on, whipped round and dutifully followed him into the woods.

This story proves that pigs aren’t stupid. I’d say they are not only very clever, but empathetic, caring creatures. Here, I must turn to the boffinery. You see, in DNA terms, pigs are almost as close to us as chimpanzees. That makes them suitable for pig-human organ transplants. Not only that, but their intelligence has caused quite a few arched eyebrows in academic circles. Pigs are bright creatures, a mature adult possessed of the cognitive abilities of a three-year-old human. They can do complex problem-solving and even play video games. In addition, they are empathetic creatures. For example, the mothers sing their piglets to sleep. They are loyal, remaining lifelong friends with family members and pigs they see eye-to-eye with, much like us. They also show distress should one of their kind be subjected to pain or discomfort.

You can see why George Orwell made them the farmers in Animal Farm. I’d say he was rather cruel in making them into commipigs, however. For they are not so much malign as playful and social. For example, they have a broad and useful vocabulary which they use while foraging or rootling (to use a more charming word), rather like my old friends the rooks, pointing out where there is good tucker or just commenting on the weather. This inter-reliance is interesting as, unlike dogs, a pig in a poke, so to speak, or one with a problem, will turn to other pigs for help rather than to a human.

So why do we eat them? Sadly, I think it comes down to culture. Animals around the world are either venerated or eaten. Let me give you some examples. We merrily tuck into vast quantities of nutritious beef. However, in India they wouldn’t dream of such a thing because there the cow is a sacred beast. Similarly, we revere horses, so if you mention eating one here in the UK, people look at you as though you’re stark raving mad. What about my childhood prize-winning guinea pig, Mickey? In South America he would need to have been fleet of paw if he were not to end up on the barbie; whereas for me he was as valuable as a friend, as special as anyone I shared a sand pit with.

So what’s to be done? I can only hope that the Owl and the Pussycat will lend our noble friend their pea-green boat, and that the Piggy-wig can sail for a year and a day to rootle free in the land “Where the Bong-Tree grows, where the Bong-Tree grows.”   
Charlie Bennett is co-owner of Middleton North near Wallington, where he works to support existing wildlife and attract new species alongside sustainable stock farming designed to add to the diversity of wildlife in the area. For information, visit: www.middleton-north.co.uk
• Charlie’s new book, Climbing Stiles, A Wander Through the Countryside & Beyond, is available alongside his first, Down the Rabbit Hole: Adventures of an Unlikely Naturalist, both in hardback priced £14.99 at bookshops and online at:
www.charliebennettauthor.co.uk