The Willows and Beyond Read online

  On Nephew’s speedy return Master Toad asked, “Mole, is there perhaps some champagne in your basket?”

  “There is,” said the Mole, still hesitant.

  “A Moet and Chandon?”

  “It is the one that Toad has always most preferred,” said the Mole.

  “Then open it, please, Mole, and pour a glass for my pater, and for all of us.”

  At this Toad’s hand tightened upon that of his ward, and his eyes seemed to smile and express pleasure, anticipation and contentment, and he sat up a little straighter.

  The champagne was poured, and a glass was placed in Toad’s other hand.

  “Pater, you always said that at such a moment as this you would like a glass of champagne in one hand —”

  “— and a good Havana in the other,” murmured the ever thoughtful Mole, taking out a box of them, for he had often heard the same.

  Toad smiled, and seemed to recover a little, for he nodded and said, “Yes.”

  Then, letting go Master Toad’s hand, he took the cigar that the Mole proffered and sniffed it appreciatively, and sat up without support.

  He put it to his mouth, at which the Mole lit a match for him. He sat then quietly, a glass of champagne in one hand, a Havana in the other, the one merely sipped, the other merely puffed at once or twice.

  “Do not leave us, Mr Toad, surr!” cried Old Tom from among the crowd. “Do not desert us till that dastardly Judge concedes defeat!”

  “I shall not!” said Toad, raising his glass to them. It was just then that the proceedings were interrupted by the sudden sound of the High Judge’s voice — something not at all well received by the Lathbury folk. Why, that man had caused so much trouble, and his men had brutally beaten Mr Toad to the ground. Now he seemed bent upon disturbing their hero’s peace even in his dying hour!

  Toad saw at once how matters lay, and how ugly they might quickly become. He waved a welcoming hand, he managed a smile, he seemed to wish to say that he could not quite get up but — but —“Give him a glass of champagne,” said Toad at last, and it is doubtful if words of reconciliation and forgiveness could be better or more succinctly spoken.

  The High Judge took the glass with good grace, and he raised it to Mr Toad, and in a brief speech declared that he did not wish to disturb Mr Toad or his friends any longer than he must, but wished it to be known that in view of the events of that day, in view of all he had seen and much regretted seeing, he had been persuaded to oppose the common people no longer and had even now given instruction that this fell, and all others over which he had rights or influence would henceforth be of free and unfettered. access at all times to the public, bar perhaps a few days once in a while for grouse shooting.

  Better still, he declared that he would convey to Mr Toad a parcel of land that would ensure access to him, his friends and his inheritors now and for evermore from the highway that ended at Lathbury right up into Lathbury Forest. In short he yielded to all the demands that the Lathbury folk and Mr Toad had made.

  His speech was followed by great cheering, and several of the Lathbury men lifted the High Judge onto their shoulders and, as Toad raised a glass in cheerful acknowledgement of the High Judge’s graceful and immediate surrender of his rights, he indicated to Master Toad that he might just like to be raised up himself for a moment or two.

  This brought a further cheer from the crowd, members of which, led by Old Tom, came forward and gently raised the hero up onto their shoulders. From this new eminence he raised his glass in the direction of the High Judge, and proposed in a voice still heroically weak that their differences all be forgotten, and since the afternoon was advancing rapidly and the air growing cold, that the meeting adjourn to somewhere more comfortable.

  Then it was that Mr Toad, formerly of Toad Hall and now owner of the Lathbury Forest estate — whose value had been trebled that day as a result of the access gained — and his neighbour and good friend (for now he surely was) the most important legal personage in the land, were carried off the fell in triumph for something more robust than champagne at the public bar of the Hat and Boot Tavern.

  XII

  Return to Mole End

  In the months that followed, Toad, Mole and Badger led the younger generation in quiet colonization of Lathbury Forest. The best site was chosen, with a river nearby which might well be regarded as the River itself had once been before the noxious influence of the expanding Town had begun to spoil it, for its waters flowed full and wide, and were clear and pure.

  It cannot be said that the Badger was ever as active again as he had been in the great days of the River Bank. Yet on all matters his advice was often sought, if he could be persuaded to emerge from the comfortable quarters that Toad had built for him in a part of the Forest near the finest stretch of the new River.

  As for Toad, he was not long without spacious and stylish accommodation, for on hearing that the medieval palace of a former Chancellor of the Exchequer was about to be demolished on the far edge of the Town, to make way for a shoe factory, he had it removed stone by stone and set up anew not far from where the Badger had chosen to live.

  Here the daily needs of these two old friends were met by a willing staff whose employment and organization were seen to by Master Toad’s agents — he himself being far too busy with matters in the city, where he was rapidly increasing Toad’s wealth and estate, to spend much time in the Forest himself.

  As the months passed into years, the Badger grew more reclusive still, and he and Toad ever more inclined to talk than do; to dream than take risks; to laze in Toad’s comfortable chairs and chaises longues and enjoy their memories of a happy and exciting past, and contemplate a future they no longer felt they need worry about too much.

  Then, one winter, quietly, with his old River Bank friends and all his family about him, the wise old Badger died, at peace with himself and the world. He was buried in Lathbury Churchyard, where Toad and the Mole each spoke a moving funeral oration to his memory Having cast soil in the traditional manner upon the coffin, the Mole and Grandson cast something else in the turf and soil all about: which were seeds, and many of them, of the trees of the Wild Wood, which Grandson had saved in the hope that one day, in a better age perhaps, the Wild Wood might rise again.

  Through those same years, as Nephew and Grandson, and Master Toad too, though at more distance, willingly pressed on with their purpose of creating life anew in Lathbury Forest, the evening of Mole’s life grew ever more quiet and contented.

  He was content to admire the fruits of a new generation’s youthful enterprise, to offer advice when he was asked it, and to be silent as they made their mistakes, had their squabbles, and found ways of making up again.

  He was content, too, to know that just as he had always been welcome in the Badger’s new home, till that great animal passed on, so he was welcome still at Toad’s Palace, though that animal was less and less seen now, since he had rediscovered the pleasures of European travel. Needless to say, from what the Mole heard when Master Toad came visiting to check on the estate, his pater was still capable of causing as much mayhem and amusement in those sunny resorts as he always had along the River Bank.

  The Mole’s greatest contentment of all, however, came from having been taken into the happy home that his Nephew had created with another — one of those of the female kind of whom the Mole and his River Bank friends had always been so wary.

  He was glad that Nephew took so bold a plunge, and gladder still that Nephew should so often sing his praises, and make him feel, old and infirm though he was, part and parcel of his growing family.

  If Nephew’s wife had been unsure about letting his uncle move in with them at first, how soon she, too, grew to love the Mole when she saw how readily he took to his great-nephews and -nieces, and how readily they took to him. Many were the nights that Nephew and his wife found themselves lingering at their children’s bedroom doors, or near the warmth of the fireside, to hear the Mole tell once more some oft-tol
d tale of the Water Rat, or of Mr Badger, or of Mr Toad of Toad Hall.

  The Mole found a happiness and contentment there he never thought he could find, or even knew existed. A home not quite like his own Mole End, yet just as comfortable, and just as welcoming; and a family as lively, as loving, as full of fun as any he could have wished to have had himself.

  A frequent visitor was their neighbour Grandson, whom folk in those parts had begun now to call Badger, for he had many of the virtues of his grandfather, not least of which was an interest in study and learning, and a calm wisdom beyond his years.

  There was one other who was part of their new life, as he had been of their old: Portly. The newer generation, such as Nephew’s children, were encouraged to call Portly “Mr Otter”, or “Otter” when they got to know him better. The older and more enquiring amongst them could not for one moment imagine where Portly had gained his nickname, for by then he was already lean and lithe as adult otters are and, like his father, he was bigger and stronger than most.

  With respect to the fate of the Otter, Portly’s father, nothing was heard till one June, when two years after the Badger’s death, an itinerant pedlar from Lathbury brought news that Otter of the River Bank was no more. Where or how he had passed on was not known, but certainly a traveller from the southern coast had reported that an otter who answered to Mr Otter’s description had lived there for a time, and he had often been seen in the creeks and inlets fishing in a blue-and-white inland craft.

  “Ratty’s boat!” whispered the Mole when he heard this news, and if he wept quiet tears it was as much for happy memory as for sad loss, and gladness to know that his friend’s beloved boat had seen out its last years in the care of one such as the Otter.

  It gave him special comfort, for Ratty still held as dear a place in the Mole’s heart as he ever had, and always would. Long, long had that traveller’s silence been, and Mole had very nearly given up all hope of hearing from him again — not because he doubted Ratty’s affection for him, not one bit, but because it seemed likely that somewhere out on the High Seas, or maybe in a far distant port, the Rat had reached the end of his travels, and his life.

  The Mole was realistic in this regard, and hoped that whatever had finally happened to his old friend was short, swift and, well — adventurous and exciting — and that it happened only after he had seen those many places he had marked off on the atlas that the Mole kept by his bed, for nightly perusal and dreaming.

  So it was with considerable surprise and relief that two years after the Rat’s departure, a missive found its way to Nephew’s home in an envelope much stamped and over-stamped, and re-addressed from Mole End, with the strange note: “Addressee believed deceased, try his nephew, care of Lathbury Forest.”

  The letter was from the Rat and had been written only a few months after he had left the River Bank, and it was short and to the point:

  Dear Mole,

  Have made landfall in Cyprus having lost Sea Rat to the pirates of Istanbul.Getting up a command to rescue him. Am well and hope you are too. Your friend Ratty. PS. will get my journal copied and sent to you for safekeeping.

  Ratty

  It was three more years before the Rat was heard of again, and as for the journal, that did not arrive. Then, quite suddenly, two more short missives turned up, one marked “Delayed by Rough Seas”. The first came from Al Basrali in the Persian Gulf to say that the Rat had joined the Caliph’s Court as Tutor in Nautical Matters to his eighteen male heirs; and the second, dated nearly two years on, brought the news that he had “escaped the Caliph’s dungeons and lately arrived in Penang to claim my reward for rescuing the Australian High Commissioner from brigands.”

  It pleased the Mole to see that the Rat’s handwriting was as firm as it had ever been, and to know that his friend had found at last that excitement and adventure he had always dreamed of.

  But after that there had been no more letters, none at all, and in the secret silence of his heart the Mole rather feared that there never would be. But he was happy to have as a final memory of his friend and erstwhile companion in adventure the image of him rescuing an important personage “from brigands”.

  It cannot fairly be said the Mole ever went into decline. He moved about a bit more stiffly, yet move about he did. He saw more dimly, yet still well enough to enjoy a view, and the sight of his growing grandchildren’s faces. He heard less well, but not so badly that he could not be woken by the morning chorus, or hear the nightjar’s song as he sat in the porch of an evening with Nephew with a rug over his knees and sipping a warming drink.

  “Yet he seems suddenly so sad and silent, and will hardly speak to me anymore, which is most unlike him,” Nephew told his wife one September day. “It’ll be his birthday at the end of the month and I would like to find out what’s wrong before then and put it right. Why don’t you talk to him?”

  Nephew’s wife did not have to wait long for an opportune moment. The very next morning, soon after Nephew had gone off for the day, the postman delivered a letter for the Mole, and it was plain enough who it was from, since the stamps, this time, were Egyptian, and the letter, as before, was re-addressed from Mole End.

  The Mole opened the letter with strange foreboding, for his name and original address were not in the Rat’s familiar hand. But the contents were, though it took some moments for the Mole to see that the thin and straggling writing therein was Ratty’s, but of a Ratty all too plainly ill and ailing.

  Dear Mole,

  I am ill with the Gruesome in Cairo just as Sea Rat once was and unlikely to see the light of tomorrow. Have missed you and the River Bank these months past and have wanted to come home. If I ever recover I will do so, but it seems unlikely. Please say goodbye to the old place for me and sit on the bank once more and commune with her I loved so much — the River.

  Yours always

  Ratty

  The Mole wept then, wept as he never had before, shedding all those tears he had held back since Ratty had left the River Bank.

  He sniffled and wept, and wept and sniffled some more, and talked of old times, and had a little to eat and some fresh-brewed tea.

  Finally he said, “I’m just a silly old mole, aren’t I? For times change and we must all pass on in the end.”

  “You’re not silly at all!” replied Nephew’s wife firmly “That’s not a word any of us would ever apply to you!”

  “Help me on with my coat, my dear,” said the Mole, “for I have a fancy to take a turn along the River.”

  “Shall I come with you?”

  “I would be glad if you would,” said he, suddenly feeling old and frail.

  The grateful Mole led her outside and down to the River, which flowed faster here than it had on the River Bank, whose willows were replaced here with larger trees, their leaves just beginning to turn to autumn colour.

  The Mole stood watching the water’s flow for a long time, the Rat’s fateful letter in one hand, as he leant on a stick with the other.

  “Ratty used to be able to commune with the River’ he said, “and said very often that she will tell you what you need to hear, if only — if—”

  “What is it, Mole?” said she, coming closer, for his voice was fainter now.

  “There have been times when I myself have heard the River’s song,” he said, almost in a whisper, “and I must have told you that it was she who told me to encourage Ratty to go off on his travels, and I did, I did. Then, when he left in his boat with the Sea Rat I heard her song of farewell — except that — except —The letter fluttered suddenly from his hand and he dropped the stick and moved closer to the edge.

  “Except what, Mole, what?”

  “Except that she did not sing of farewell at all, but of a safe return, that one day when his travels were all done Ratty would come back home, and — and I can hear her now — I am sure. Where is that letter? Let me see it once more!”

  She found it on the ground and gave it back to him, and restored his stick as we
ll.

  He peered at it and said, “There! It was written not six months since, and though he was ill I am sure he might have recovered, just as the Sea Rat did. Yes — I am sure — I think.”

  He sat down then upon the bank, just as he so often had by Ratty’s house, and Nephew’s wife might have sat by him then had not Nephew himself come by.

  “Let him be,” he said, putting a restraining hand upon his wife’s arm, “for he is communing with the River, just as Ratty so often did. Let him be still and hear her song once more.

  So the Mole sat, listening as best he could, waving his hands and arms about as the Rat always had, all the better to win out of the River her sweet and secret song of guidance and truth for those she loved.

  Till at last he sat still, his head low, nodding sometimes, his hands falling to his sides. Then he slowly stood up and turned to them, his eyes clear, his expression certain, and purposeful.

  “It’s Ratty,” he said at last, “he’s safe now, but he’s not well, not well at all. He’s coming home at last, and I must be there to greet him. I must be there.”

  No more words were needed to convince Nephew of the seriousness with which his uncle spoke. Mole had been such a stalwart friend to others in the past, never judging them, always patient with them; now he would need a little help himself, for he could not return to the River Bank on his own, without support.

  “Leave it to me, Uncle, I shall arrange it at once and we shall have you there for your birthday”

  “My birthday!” exclaimed the Mole. “He never once forgot it. If he is coming back, as I am sure he is, then he will want to be back for that. O yes, he’ll do his best to be back for that!”

  Nephew summoned Portly Grandson and Master Toad to a conference at once, where all agreed that they would accompany the Mole back to his old home for a day or two and let it be his birthday treat, for no one deserved one more.