The Willows at Christmas

by William Horwood

  “In the interests of justice and fair play these kind-hearted gentlemen have been generous enough to provide sufficient funds for me to be able to hire the mangle—makers, tong tuners, corkscrew turners, and tine sharpeners who can modernise our antiquated instruments of trial.”

  “That is kind of them,” said Toad.

  “It is, sir,” said the Parish Clerk, “and very gratifying, too. In consequence, and at their request, I have increased the seating capacity at the Court House. Tickets are being issued for the event starting at one shilling for those who will be outside and there able to see you dragged into Court, to the most expensive — and these are already sold out — being ten guineas for a seat adjacent to the Royal Box. That construction, incidentally, is likely to be occupied by His Royal Highness the Prince himself, and those members of the Royal Hunt who have expressed a wish to be in at the kill (which is to say execution of sentence).”

  “But surely the Court House is large enough already without adding more seats?” said Mole, remembering the huge chamber.

  “Not nearly capacious enough for the multitudes who are showing such patriotic interest in justice, and such very great social concern for — and scholarly interest in — the medieval practice of the law. You see, gentlemen, our Village’s Court Baron, which is presided over by the Lord of Session or his representative, remains the sole exemplar of its type extant and in working order.

  “It is now being very widely suggested that if your case is successful (by which I mean if you are found guilty and satisfactorily punished) then the law of the land, which has erred too long on the side of mercy and the offender, will be changed back to what it was several hundred years ago. That will be a happy day for us all, will it not?”

  “But when will we be tried?” enquired the Mole.

  “No later than New Year a twelve-month or two’ said the Parish Clerk, “which is to say within three years.

  “Three years!” cried Toad when the Parish Clerk was gone. “By then I shall be but a shadow of my former self, assuming I am alive at all.”

  “Calm yourself, Toad’ interjected Mole; “our friends know our plight and will soon be here to rescue us!”

  “You said that yesterday and the day before, and the day before that!” responded Toad. “And still they do not come. I am in despair, Mole! I cannot go on much longer! To think that Ratty and Otter saved me after I plunged into the River only to abandon me here. I wish I had perished then!”

  “But, Toad, just think of how many you will disappoint if you do not stand trial. Why, it seems that the whole county will be watching, and many in the Town.”

  “The county, the Town — watching me?”

  “I am sure of it’ said the Mole.

  “Just one county, just one Town, or do you think other counties and other Towns — perhaps the whole land?”

  “More than likely,” said the Mole. “The gentlemen of the press will be very eager to hear you speak in your own defence.”

  “Goodness,” cried Toad, “I had not thought of that! You are right — I must begin to practise my speeches at once so that I do not disappoint my public. Naturally I shall be making several speeches.”

  “Several?”

  “Of course. First for my plea, which will seek to demonstrate the passion with which I believe in my own innocence! Then for my defence, to show how mistaken are these charges! Next my speech before my ordeal, which will move many to tears! After that will be my various speeches upon the rack, hanging in chains, in the mangle, caught amidst the tines, and I shall entertain the masses with my eloquence even as I burn at the fiery stake!”

  “Do you think that you will be in any fit condition to make speeches at such moments?” enquired the Mole, who was not at all certain on the point and was growing increasingly concerned that he too might have to make a speech.

  “Of course, Mole, of course. Creating speeches is to me what creating a new relish is to you. But fear not: I am an expert at such things. I will even rehearse you in your lines so that you don’t let me down.”

  “That is most kind of you, Toad, and since we cannot be sure when we will go on trial I suggest you begin your preparation at once.

  Toad immediately began to pace about the little cell proclaiming his innocence with lofty words and sentiments, and in particular practising his openings and endings, for it was his considered opinion that it was upon those that the success of a speech most often depended.

  By such means the thoughtful Mole managed to keep Toad preoccupied and to divert him from those moments of dark gloom that were prone to overtake him. His own fears he kept to himself, along with his occasional doubts that they would ever be rescued. But these never lasted long, for he knew that if there were any animals in the wide world who could be trusted to come to their aid it was their River Bank friends.

  By midnight on New Year’s Eve Toad was already asleep, exhausted from a day of speechifying, but the Mole was still awake. He stood, as he did every night, at the grille in the Gaol door, staring at the night sky as the nearby church clock heralded the arrival of the New Year. Since he was in the habit of making resolutions, he made one now: “If ever — no! when — I am set free, the first thing I shall do when the weather gets better is to journey north and meet my sister once again!”

  Mole’s trust in their friends was well justified, for while the Badger and Miss Bugle travelled north in pursuit of Toad’s Uncle Groat, the Rat and the Otter had by no means been idle.

  The initial idea of a direct approach to the Village Gaol had been thwarted by the stoats and weasels, who had taken up positions around the Village, and particularly in the vicinity of the Gaol itself.

  The Parish Clerk had provided the Wild Wooders with food and warmth — the latter in the form of braziers which burned brightly in the High Street and along the bridge and greatly increased the guards’ morale. As for food, this was freely supplied from the well-stocked larders of Toad Hall, and Toad would not have been pleased to know that he was footing the bill of victualling the very forces deputed to watch over him. Naturally enough, the offer of second helpings to those who undertook guarding duties ensured plenty of recruits for that tedious and chilly task.

  This initial setback did not put off the Rat and the Otter for long. Two nights later they succeeded in penetrating the Village’s lines by boat, and under cover of darkness they were able to examine the Gaol from the outside. They very rapidly concluded that an assault upon it would probably end in their own arrest.

  “The door is too well padlocked and the walls too thick for direct assault,” the Rat whispered.

  “And that window’s too high and narrow for easy access, even if we could furnish Toad and Mole with tools to loosen the bars,” concluded the Otter.

  To make matters worse they failed utterly in their attempts to attract their friends’ attention because the roar of the river’s flow was so great that their surreptitious cries could not be heard, and they dared not risk alerting the stoat who stood guard near the door itself. Even so, they were heard and then seen by some of the other guards, and had to beat a hasty retreat.

  In addition to these difficulties, the Rat had quickly established that all their homes, including Mole End, were being spied on by the Wild Wooders for signs of activity.

  “So even if we got them out, Otter, what would we do with them? Since it seems that the trial will not take place for a few days yet, we have time to prepare a bolt-hole. I suggest that Toad’s boathouse would be the safest place to hide — it is accessible by water, yet nearly impossible to raid from that direction, and it would be very hard for our enemies to flush us out before we made good our escape, which might be in one of several directions.

  “I therefore think we should return to our respective homes and appear to live normal lives by day, whilst working at night to ready the boathouse for our friends’ escape. The weather is so bitter that the Wild Wooders’ vigilance is bound to decline when night falls, so we can make
our move then.”

  “Meanwhile,” observed the Otter, “the longer the trial is delayed the better, for it will give Badger and Miss Bugle time to travel back from the north.”

  So it was that by day the two river animals went about their normal business seemingly without concern for their incarcerated friends. While by night, unseen, they used their river skills to make passage to the boathouse, and put in place such provisions of food and clothing as their friends would need if they were to make a clean getaway.

  Meanwhile, the mood in the Village regarding the prisoners changed from initial apathy to curiosity, then to excitement and finally, as the weasels and stoats began to take their guarding duties rather too seriously, to anger. For when they began to demand evidence of identity and purpose of travel, and then made the mistake of imposing a curfew after dark, the Villagers held a meeting at the Public House and an Action Committee was formed to free Mr Toad and Mr Mole.

  As a result, two of those gentlemen the Mole had met in the Public House before Christmas, having heard of Ratty and Otter’s sterling work trying to defend the prisoners from their enemies at Toad Hall on Christmas Day, called upon them on behalf of the Committee to solicit their support.

  This provided the breakthrough in intelligence that the Rat needed, for when he heard that one of the Committee had actually been incarcerated in the Gaol and knew the layout of the inside of the Court House they quickly arranged to meet him. He told them all he knew and for the first time they saw that there might be a means of freeing their friends.

  It was now the third of January, and the tenth night of the prisoners’ incarceration was approaching. That same day the Rat gained new intelligence that made it imperative that their friends were sprung from gaol as soon as possible — the date of their trial had been set.

  They learned this in the form of a notice brought from the Village by the Action Committee, which had been posted far and wide.

  “We shall have to make our move at once,” declared the Rat when he heard this news. “I beg you to return at once to our friends on the Action Committee and ask them to create a diversion in the Village at ten o’clock tonight to give us the opportunity to get Toad and Mole out unseen!”

  “You have a plan then?” asked the Villager.

  “In a manner of speaking, we have,” said the Water Rat evasively, “but we had best keep it secret, even from you.

  “Well, this is exciting!” said their ally. “A diversion there will be!”

  When he had gone, the Otter looked at the Rat and said, “It certainly is exciting, since you have even kept your ‘plan’ secret from me!”

  The Rat sank despondently into his armchair and said gloomily, “There is no plan, you know that as well as I, but perhaps if we make one last attempt, inspiration might come…”

  The Water Rat had long since realized that the only way of rescuing his friends without breaking down the door was by way of the culvert that dropped from their cell straight into the river. It was this seemingly impossible route — which no prisoner had ever used in the Pound’s five-hundred-year history, and survived — that had so taxed Rat’s ingenuity these days past. But after two hours of uninspired debate, they found they had made no further progress.

  Morning gave way to afternoon and after a late lunch the Rat said suddenly, “You know, I remember Mole telling me once that when he is stumped by some problem or other he resorts to a glass or two of his famous sloe and blackberry. He feels it is inclined to loosen the mind.”

  The Otter needed no second bidding. He went to the Rat’s kitchen cupboard, found an opened bottle of that remarkable brew and poured two glasses. They supped it in silence as the precious minutes continued to slip away After a second glass the Rat felt his head begin to spin and he realized he must drink no more if he was to have a clear mind for the evening.

  “Let us try one more time,” said the Rat. “Now, we agree that the culvert offers the only escape?”

  The Otter nodded.

  “We agree that while you or I can hold our breath underwater long enough to swim from the bank and up into the culvert, it is no good expecting an animal as cowardly and inclined to panic as Toad to emulate the feat in the opposite direction?”

  “Nor is it sensible to hope that one as unused to swimming as Mole, however brave he may be — and we know he is — might attempt this escape without help from one of us.”

  “Hmmm,” mused the Rat, before adding, “mind you, our good friend Mole has surprised us on many an occasion with his resourcefulness and bravery, so we should not now underestimate his ability to help us and himself in this situation.”

  More silence followed till, sighing with resignation and his face filled with a look of reluctant defeat, the Rat quaffed the last of the sloe and blackberry and slowly got to his feet.

  “Rat, old chap, if even you cannot think of a way then there surely is none!” said the Otter sombrely.

  “I really don’t like to give up when I know that Toad and Mole are relying on us, but you know, Otter, sometimes we simply have to accept that there is no solution, and that … and that … that … that’s it!”

  He turned about the room several times, glass still in his hand, in a state of considerable excitement.

  “What’s it?” cried the Otter, relieved to see the light of inventive insight in the Rat’s eyes.

  “This, old fellow, this…” cried the Rat, holding up his glass for the Otter to see before turning it upside down and placing it on top of his head.

  When the Otter still seemed not to understand, the normally sensible Water Rat began to walk about the room with the glass balanced precariously on his head while extending his hands and arms in front of him and sweeping them about as if removing unseen cobwebs.

  It was suddenly all too plain to the Otter that his most trustworthy of friends had suddenly gone mad, driven to that state by worry for their friends, and the effort of thinking too hard.

  “Yes, yes…” cried the Rat, making exaggerated movements of his legs, and narrowing his eyes in a fierce and ferocious way, as if fighting his way through thick undergrowth, “this is it!”

  He is not only mad, thought the Otter, but very likely will soon become dangerous as well!

  “Rat,” essayed the concerned Otter in a gentle way, as one might talk to someone who is likely to turn violent if spoken to too harshly or suddenly “you look rather tired. Perhaps it would be wise if you went to bed for an hour or two and rested so that you awaken refreshed and feeling better.”

  “Tired?” cried the Rat in surprise, taking the glass off his head. “Better? I never felt less tired than I do now, and never better. But having solved the problem of getting Toad and Mole out of the Village Gaol in principle, I must work out how to carry through the solution in practice. I had rather hoped you might have something to contribute, Otter, but if you’re tired then by all means go to bed and leave me to it!”

  He turned his back on the bemused Otter and disappeared into his kitchen, from whence his friend soon heard the sound of running water and the clatter of metal pans. The Otter was just contemplating his options, one of which was flight, when he heard the Rat calling out to him in an otherworldly, muffled kind of voice.

  Fearing that the demented Rat might cause himself injury, the good-hearted Otter rushed to his aid. He found his friend amidst a scatter of ancient and long unused cooking equipment. Over his head and quite covering it up, he held a metal tureen of such vast proportions that it could only have been one used in the distant past for cooking stews for a troop of soldiers, or perhaps for a hog’s head, whole.

  “Well?” said the Rat. “Do you think it will do?”

  “It looks very well on you, old fellow,” said the Otter even more gently than before, his eyes searching for something with which to defend himself.

  “Looks well on me!” cried the Rat as he advanced upon the Otter and bumped into the table. “I am not concerned with looks but practicalities!”

/>   He took the tureen off his head and seemed very surprised to find that the Otter had adopted a position of defence, a serrated bread knife in one hand and a cast-iron frying pan in the other. Light dawned upon the Rat’s face and he eyed the Otter quizzically.

  “My dear fellow,” said he, starting to chuckle, “I am beginning to think you have not quite followed my drift.”

  “Well…” said the Otter uneasily and not yet dropping his guard, “your behaviour seems decidedly odd, to say the least of it, and I really think you should allow me to summon help.”

  “Look here,” said the Rat, chuckling even as he put down the tureen and took up the glass once more. “Perhaps I had presumed too much in thinking you understood my plan! Now, see what happens if we invert this glass and put it in the water in my sink, so. The air is trapped inside as I push it underwater, leaving sufficient to breathe for anyone whose head is inside such a vessel. Of course, it needs to be bigger than a glass — hence the tureen.”

  “Well I never!” cried the Otter who saw the implications at once. “You think we might take these through the culvert and persuade Toad and Mole to escape with tureens on their heads to help them breathe?”

  “That’s about the size of it,” said the Rat.

  “Do you have a second tureen?”

  “This one will do for Toad, for his head is very big, and somewhere or other I have a pan I used to use for jam-making, before Mole came to the River Bank and took it upon himself to supply me with jam and other conserves.”

  He found the pan and set it alongside the other.

  “But will it work?” mused the Otter.

  “It will, provided one does not allow the vessel holding the air to tilt too much, for if you do…”

  He tilted the glass, the air escaped in two or three bubbles, and water immediately rushed in to replace it.