The Willows and Beyond Read online

  “But, my friends,” continued Toad ecstatically, “their truncheons shall not hurt us, for liberty knows no pain, and their handcuffs shall not stop us, for freedom knows no restraint!”

  “Liberty!”

  “Freedom!”

  “Deliverance!” The cries came thick and fast now, answered by an ugly roar from the other side.

  Toad threw caution to the winds and continued more boldly still: “The guns of the coward, I say, shall not frighten us! For the great tree of freedom cannot be felled, nor can death itself take from us our dream of the land of liberty —“

  “Hurrah for Mr Toad!”

  This last cry, though somewhat less raucous than the others, was still loud enough to be heard by most, and rather surprisingly it came from the Mole. He had been so carried away by his friend’s eloquence that he too had lost all sense of public order and propriety.

  This sudden display of support from one whom all knew to be a law-abiding citizen was too much for the Senior Commissioner. Having signally failed to arrest Toad when he should have done, and then compounded the error by letting that dangerous and criminal animal incite his followers, the Commissioner decided that an example might as well be made of the Mole — and Nephew, Badger, Grandson and Master Toad too.

  Now Toad might very well be a coward and fool unto himself from time to time, but he could not abide injustice, especially not threats to ones he held as dear as his River Bank friends. They could arrest him if they must, but his friends they must leave untouched.

  He turned to point past the angry ranks of the High Judge’s men up towards Lathbury Chase, whose purple heather was gloriously ablaze with autumn sunshine, a beacon of liberty and hope if ever there was one.

  “See there!” he cried. “They wish to rob my brave friend Mr Mole of that sight of freedom forever, as if it were not enough that they have exiled him from his lifelong home at Mole End! They seek as well to cast their shackles upon Mole’s brave young Nephew and Badger’s Grandson, that they might grow old in the confines of a dungeon in the Town Castle!”

  “Shame on the constables!”

  “Destroy the gamekeepers!”

  “Throw the lot of ‘em into the River!”

  Toad raised a hand to quieten the mob, as assured in his command of the situation as any Roman orator. Indeed, if ever there was a moment in Toad’s long and eventful life when he actually resembled the imperial and triumphant Toad depicted by his cousin Madame Florentine d’Albert-Chapelle in the statue she had made for him some years before, which still stood in the grounds of Toad Hall, this was it.

  A baying rabble. A raised hand and imperious stare at friend and foe alike. A decline towards silence and an expectant hush. And Toad, speaking once more.

  “What is more, they intend to flog my young ward Master Toad, light of my life, hope of my dotage, and lock him up in a solitary confinement that his sensitive soul and fine feelings will not long endure — and as for Mr Badger, whom you all know to be a wise and honest gentleman, I understand they already have the rack and hot irons ready for him that he might make a false confession!”

  It was enough, and if Toad said more his words were never heard. He had said enough to inspire the men of Lathbury to action and they now began to break the police ranks and throw as many as they could into the River below, while their wives and children hurled after the defeated constables anything they could lay their hands on, pots and pans, brooms and brushes, shoes, butter churns and cobblestones and a good many empty beer bottles, supplied by the new landlady of the Hat and Boot, who had been trying to clear out her cellars for some months past.

  With the constables pushed aside and scattered, and the briefly arrested Mole and the others swiftly freed, the mob reached the top of the bridge. There Toad had time only to gasp, “Now, steady on, you fellows, I really think perhaps we ought — to — think — again —“ before he found himself hoisted from his vantage point, and placed upon the broad and sturdy shoulders of the Lathbury men.

  From this new, unstable and moving vantage point Toad discovered he had fallen prisoner to his own eloquence. Cry out as he might, struggle though he tried, Toad could not break free from the eager hands that held him, nor escape the brutal and savage charge down the other side of the bridge towards the High Judge’s waiting men, of which he was the reluctant figurehead, leader and vanguard.

  “No — really — I mean — perhaps we could — help!”

  It was all in vain that Toad looked round desperately for aid from his friends, for they too had now been hoisted high upon massing human steeds far beyond the control of any one of them.

  It was a challenge, a danger, to which they each responded differently. The Mole, who was renowned along the River Bank for the way in which once moved to ire he could fight alongside the best of them, was no disappointment now. He had his trusty cudgel in his hands and as he was borne swiftly down towards the High Judge’s men he swung it about his head and let out his battle cry: “A mole! A mole!”

  Nephew, normally as little given to anger and assault as his uncle, was now inspired to grasp one of the milk churns and set upon the enemy with gusto, ably supported by Grandson.

  Master Toad, who had come dressed and armed like a cavalier, had fortunately had his rapier struck out of his grasp early in the fight. He was reduced now to flailing about with his fists, which since his arms were short and he had been hoisted high was more impressive than effective.

  The Badger, too frail to do more than allow himself to be carried about as if he were the regiment’s colours, was nevertheless too high off the ground to get seriously hurt, and began to quite enjoy himself.

  Whilst Toad, the very first to reach the front line of the High Judge’s men, and therefore the first to receive their insults and blows, had decided that as with speechifying so with battling, and he began belabouring all about him with a garden hoe supplied by his supporters.

  Of the historic battle that now ensued no two accounts agree, nor can ever agree, since everything became utterly confused. There was no doubt, however, that Toad was finally felled by a blow to the head by a gamekeeper soon after the ranks of the High Judge’s men were broken and the charge began up the fell towards the top of Lathbury Chase.

  He lay semi-conscious and forgotten among the heather and peat-hags for most of the action, only vaguely aware of the angry cries about him.

  He did not see how the police re-grouped upon the bridge and set off in pursuit of their aggressors, nor how the High Judge himself, having most sensibly deployed only half his force at the bridge, had stationed the rest of his men at the top of the fell, where they lay waiting out of sight.

  So it was that, filled with the first flush of success, the now leaderless Lathbury men broke ranks and ran up towards their objective without a thought, right into the ambush so cunningly laid by the High Judge, and were there beaten, defeated and turned back.

  Of all this Toad knew nothing, nor that the battle was all but lost even as he woke up to a throbbing head, and the scent of heather and of peat about him. He sat up gingerly, appraised the gravity of the situation and fell back into the heather with a sigh.

  “They will come and arrest me now for sure,” he told himself, “and I shall be returned to the Town Gaol from where I shall never come out alive. O despair!”

  Toad stared up at the sky and began to feel very strange indeed. It was true that his head ached, but he did not care; and that all his limbs hurt, yet it mattered not. Yes, he felt most peculiar and he began to reflect upon the fact that never, ever in his life had he done anything so glorious as make that speech.

  So many to listen to him.So many to follow him. And yet it had all been but words, just words and vanity and conceit, as the Badger had always said.

  Toad lay pondering these things for some time, and might very well have remained there till the constables found him, had he not heard a terrible groaning nearby.

  He sat up once more and what he saw made him
forget all his own aches and pains, and put from him all selfish thoughts and vainglory For there was poor Mole, a crude bandage about his head, and Nephew tending him, himself cut and bleeding from the fray, while not far off Grandson was carefully applying a bandage to Badger’s arm.

  “Toad, tend to Mole,” grunted Grandson, “while I look after my grandfather.”

  “Dear Mole,” whispered Toad, who felt both chastened and angry as he went to his old friend and knelt at his side.

  The Mole opened his eyes at Toad’s voice and said, “Did we really lose the battle, Toad?”

  “Well, Mole, I don’t think we can claim to have won it,” said Toad quietly, seeing the Lathbury folk dragging themselves back towards the bridge, and possible custody.

  “So we did not find the freedom of which you spoke,” whispered the Mole. “We did not reach the land of liberty.”

  “Freedom?” repeated Toad. “Liberty? Well, I did speak of those things, and I meant what I said, but — but —“

  The strangeness that Toad had felt earlier now returned to him, yet more powerfully, seeming like a singing in his ears, a distancing of all about him. Slowly Toad sat up. He felt again the troubling aches and pains in his limbs, and felt too a tightening about his chest, and it frightened him. As did the line of men that stood guard over Lathbury Chase: six gamekeepers, a few constables, a great many grooms, and the Commissioner of Police.

  “Mole?” said Toad softly. “Might I borrow your cudgel for a time?”

  The Mole sat up a little, much surprised at this request.

  “Of course you can, Toad, but what —Toad picked up the weapon, and he looked at Nephew with a brief smile, perhaps even a modest rueful smile, which in its simplicity and ruefulness was quite unlike any that had ever been seen upon the face of Toad of Toad Hall before.

  He pulled himself up to his fullest height and said, “You know, Mole, old fellow, it isn’t fair.”

  “What isn’t?” said the puzzled Mole.

  “This,” said Toad, pointing at the ranks of the establishment forces, and at the trailing army of the defeated, “it just isn’t fair! Freedom can be found and the land of liberty may be reached! And were our old friend Ratty here he would not give up. Mole, we must go on!”

  Toad had made a good many speeches in his time, but he had never said anything so powerful and direct as those words he spoke to the Mole upon the battlefield.

  “But, Toad!” cried the alarmed Mole. “Where are you going? You can’t — you mustn’t — — O my! Wait for me!”

  How small and vulnerable those two now looked as, with Toad supporting the Mole — or perhaps each supporting the other, they began their slow progress towards the land of liberty. Neither looked back, and so they did not see the stirring hope that came now to Nephew’s eyes, nor the admiration and awe that came to Master Toad’s. They did not see how the Badger nodded to Grandson, and knew that after so many years, Toad was finally reformed.

  “We must not let them down!” cried Nephew.

  “Nor shall we!” declared Master Toad. “Here, Nephew, I have an idea. If you’ve strength enough, hoist me on your shoulders, for unless we muster support —Nephew understood the point immediately, and without further ado knelt on the ground so that Master Toad could climb upon his shoulders. It was a struggle but with Grandson’s help, Nephew managed to stand up once more.

  “I say, you fellows!” began Master Toad.

  “Louder!” cried Nephew.

  “You over there!” he tried again.

  “Louder still,” gasped Nephew, for Master Toad seemed to be getting heavier by the moment.

  Then Toad’s ward let out a great rallying cry and as all heads turned in his direction he pointed to Toad and Mole.

  “It’s Mr Toad!” he cried. “He’s not defeated. And Mr Mole as well. He’s going on. Turn about and follow them! Support them! Help them in their battle against the landlords and the —”

  Poor Nephew could sustain Master Toad’s weight no longer, and tottering first to one side and then to another finally toppled them both forward into a grubby peat hag before the rallying speech was finished.

  But Master Toad had done just enough. The Lathbury men nearest them turned to where he pointed, saw Mr Toad and Mr Mole, and cried to others near, “Look! The fight’s not over yet! Mr Toad’s pressing on once more!”

  This astonishing news spread swiftly amongst the retreating Lathbury folk, and they saw that it was true: their hero Mr Toad was not defeated, and if that was so, and one as small and vulnerable as kindly Mr Mole was following him, then they must rally and lend their support as well.

  They turned back and followed Mr Toad once more, whilst the High Judge’s tired men, some already sitting in the heather from fatigue and premature jubilation at their victory, saw to their astonishment and horror that the foe were regrouping about that rabble-rouser Mr Toad, and were coming up in numbers even greater than before. For the Lathbury men had been joined now by the wives and youths who had come out in expectation only of helping their injured, and by children who till then had stayed well clear of the fray.

  Not only were the waiting guardians of the Chase now clearly outnumbered, but all hope of reinforcement was gone, for many of the constables had drifted down towards the bridge, and others of the High Judge’s men had done likewise, lured by the prospect of free ale.

  Sensing their foe’s unease, the Lathbury men hurried to catch up with their hero Toad, who, resolute still, was marching ever nearer the waiting ranks of the enemy, with poor Mole trying to keep up with him and Nephew and Master Toad now but a short way behind.

  It was when they were but a hundred yards from the enemy, that the glorious view of the higher and more distant hills and mountains to the north came in sight.

  The Mole’s gaze shifted from the threat ahead, and focused on the more distant prospect, whose half-bidden vales and slopes, and steep cliffs and rises, were bathed now in an autumn evening haze, golden red, and beautiful.

  “Toad!” he whispered incredulously “That vision you see there is Beyond. It is the place that Ratty and I tried to reach all those years ago, but of course we never could.”

  “Beyond?” said Toad, astonished. “That is no such thing. That is Lathbury Forest, which we now own, and which is to be our new home, if only we can gain a right of access to it this day!”

  “But —“ said the Mole.

  “No buts, Mole, the enemy’s only just ahead!’ Then, even as the nearest of the High Judge’s men raised a stave to strike him down, Toad turned to the Lathbury men and, pointing at the summit of the Chase, commanded his followers:

  “Take it in the name of freedom!”

  Then Toad fell, though whether from a blow or from his own fatigue even those closest to him could not say. The hand that had pointed in the direction of victory now clutched at his chest, as he cried out: “Follow them, Mole, defeat them, do it in memory of the River Bank! Do it for Toad who was once of Toad Hall!”

  Without hesitation the Mole took up his cudgel and, waving it about his head, bravely led the last charge of all, with Nephew and Master Toad and Grandson close by and the Lathbury men all about, till the High Judge’s men broke ranks and fled, and the battle was won.

  A short while later, when the first flush of victory was over and the crowds upon the Chase had cheered and sung, and admired the view to Lathbury Forest so long denied them, Master Toad said suddenly, “But where’s Pater? Where is he?”

  When he saw that Toad still lay where he had fallen, he ran back, followed by Nephew and Grandson, and finally, when he could break free of the admiring crowd, the Mole as well. Not long after the Badger came up to join them.

  The red warm light of the setting sun was upon Toad’s face and he seemed peaceful and content as he lay with his eyes open, staring not at the celebrations upon Lathbury Chase, but towards the more distant prospect of Lathbury Forest.

  He looked at the Mole and then at the others, and then back towards
his new domain, and said, “Is victory ours?”

  “It is Toad! O, it is!” cried the Mole. “And all thanks to you!”

  “Sadly, I shall not be able to enjoy its fruits,” said Toad, sighing a good deal, and shifting about as if to ease the aches and pains of his warrior wounds.

  “Why is that, Pater?” asked Master Toad.

  “Because I am near death,” said Toad. “But at least I shall pass on in the knowledge —”

  “O, Pater!” cried Master Toad, weeping effusively. “Please do not die!”

  “Really, Toad, I do not think —“ began the Mole, but the Badger raised his hand.

  “Let Master Toad handle this,” he whispered, “for I do believe he has the measure of Toad better than all of us. His tears are surely no more convincing than Toad’s sighs and groans.

  “Do not weep, Master Toad, or mourn for me,” continued Toad stoically, “for my life is fulfilled in this action today and I — I — aaah —“

  Toad writhed about a good deal more, and then closed his eyes and put his head more heavily still upon his ward’s chest as if trying to summon up strength for one last attempt at coherent speech before he finally left them behind forever. As Toad’s eyes closed, however, his ward’s expression changed from abject sorrow to simple enquiry.

  “Mr Mole,” said he in a low voice, that Toad might not quite hear, “where is that victory ‘amper you prepared this morning?”

  “Why, it’s in Toad’s launch,” said the Mole, “but is it quite appropriate if Toad is so weak?”

  “Nephew, fetch it, will you?” commanded the Badger, beginning to understand Master Toad’s drift.

  While Nephew hurried off, the rumour spread that Mr Toad was mortally wounded, and soon crowds flocked towards where he lay — so much so that Grandson had to hold them back.

  “O, let them nearer, pray,” said Toad in a frail and faltering voice, raising himself up a little to hear rather better the common folk’s wails and lamentations at his imminent demise.