by Colin Dann
‘Oh! Oh!’ he wailed. ‘Mole! What’s happened to you? Are you buried in there or – or – there at all,’ he finished in a whisper.
But Mossy was above ground. After the tree’s crash he had surfaced from one of his network of tunnels and he had been timorously waiting and keeping a look-out for Badger ever since. Now he heard his voice and he slowly struggled over the broken and cluttered terrain towards it.
He began to call. ‘Badger! Badger! You’re safe!’
Badger’s head turned at the sound. He saw the little velvet-clad creature pushing through the debris. The two animals rejoiced at the sight of each other.
‘Oh Badger, thank goodness you didn’t listen to me,’ Mossy said fervently. ‘Your stubbornness saved you.’
‘It did indeed,’ Badger replied. ‘And your tunnels and home – are they intact?’
‘Pretty well,’ Mossy said. ‘But, poor Badger! Where will you live now?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ the old creature admitted. ‘I’m a bit long in the tooth to be digging a new home.’
Mossy was silent. He couldn’t offer any comfort.
‘There’s one consolation, though,’ Badger went on. ‘The Park’s ours to roam again. With the threat of Trey removed, I could live – well, just about anywhere. Only, I’d like to be near you, Mole. And you live here.’
Mossy was eager to hear about the stag and the rest of the animals. Badger soon told him what he knew.
‘Now, what do you think about my idea?’ the old creature prompted as soon as the mole was acquainted with events.
‘I – I – don’t know,’ Mossy answered, ‘if it would be possible for me to – er – move home now.’
‘Oh.’ Badger looked crestfallen.
‘You see, I have family ties like everyone else – well, almost everyone else,’ Mossy corrected himself hastily, ‘and – and –’
‘Of course, I’d forgotten; don’t give it another thought,’ Badger said at once, kindly. ‘I’ll manage. Don’t worry.’
But Mossy did worry. ‘We could stay close anyway, couldn’t we?’ he offered.
‘Well, no, I don’t see how we can really,’ Badger replied doubtfully. ‘You see, the only place I think I can go now is back to that empty set by the Pond. Ah me, I seem to spend all my time going from one end of the Park to the other.’
Mossy was at least cheered by Badger’s prospect of ready-made quarters. But he knew they would be distant from each other now and that there was no help for it. The two animals looked at each other sadly.
‘Well, well, I’d better be going, Mole,’ said Badger. ‘I wish I’d stayed where I was, out in the open. I was more than halfway there already.’
‘Oh Badger, won’t you rest awhile?’ Mossy be-seeched him. ‘You look so tired. I’ll bring some worms for you. I’ve plenty to spare. You could at least wait until nightfall before setting off yet again?’
Badger didn’t need much persuasion. ‘Yes, yes, it would make sense,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll just lie down here for a bit against this tree’ – he referred to the one that had smashed his set – ‘and have a nap while you rustle up some titbits. And thank you, Mole.’
Fox and Vixen had not been able to put Trey out of their minds. He had made himself their enemy, yet the thought of the stag lying in agony under the crushing weight of a tree niggled at their consciences.
‘I suppose he will be found by the Warden,’ Vixen conjectured.
‘Maybe not for hours – or days,’ Fox commented. ‘He may be examining quite another section of the Reserve. Look, Vixen,’ he said with sudden resolution, ‘we can’t leave it like this. I feel I want to see for myself what can be done.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Vixen said, almost with relief.
They headed in the direction they thought most likely to bring them to the wounded stag. They knew he was by the perimeter fence and they guessed it would be at a place not too far from the Pond. In the end they were guided to him without difficulty because they came across the rest of the deer.
Trey had been lying in anguish for a long while. The herd had been unable to help him and he watched the foxes arrive (as he thought) to gloat, with a bitter expression. ‘You!’ he gasped. ‘Couldn’t you have . . . left me . . . to my doom?’
‘We may be able to help,’ Vixen said. ‘It’s not our way to turn a blind eye to any creature in such terrible distress.’
‘What can . . . you do?’ Trey panted. ‘Puny creatures . . .’
Vixen ignored his gibe. ‘What do you think, Fox?’ she asked her partner. ‘He’ll surely die if that tree isn’t moved.’
Fox was racking his brains. He glanced at the other stags who stood about, none of them offering any suggestions. One of them said, ‘He’s as good as done for. It’s only a matter of time.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Fox said slowly. He was studying the size of the males, their likely strength and the possibility of their using their great antlers. He came to a decision. ‘There’s only one chance,’ he said briskly. ‘You males must line up here by the felled tree. Then you must bend your necks and press your antlers against the trunk – all of you, together. You have to try and push it off him.’
The stags muttered amongst themselves.
‘Why should we?’ asked one bluntly. ‘Trey was no friend to us. His day is over.’
‘What’s your interest in helping him?’ another one challenged Fox. ‘Why do you ask this of us?’
‘I’ll tell you why,’ Fox answered softly. ‘Because I picture myself under that tree. It’s not difficult to imagine how the poor beast must be suffering.’
His words had a noticeable effect on the male deer. They looked crestfallen; some, a little ashamed. They came forward. Trey watched them in disbelief. He didn’t know what to make of Fox, but his pride came to the fore.
‘Leave me . . . be,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t ask . . . your help.’
Fox ignored him. The stags hesitated, then continued. Even now some were still in awe of their maimed leader. They set their heads to the bole of the pine and, each straining to his utmost, pushed against the weight of the upended tree. Trey groaned, then bellowed with pain as he felt it shift.
‘Harder!’ Fox urged. ‘It’s moving!’
Suddenly the tree half-lifted and then rolled over, leaving Trey free, his gashes and wounds exposed to the onlookers’ gaze. He struggled to raise himself but, racked with a terrible agony, fell back again. His crushed and broken limbs could no longer support him. His efforts had exhausted him and he was unable to stir. The other deer backed away, appalled at what they saw.
‘We can’t leave him like this,’ said Vixen.
‘Only human intervention can help him now,’ Fox replied grimly. ‘We must search for the Warden.’ He turned a look of compassion on Trey and a flicker of recognition momentarily lit up the stag’s glassy eyes.
The foxes moved away. They had not gone far when the human figure they knew so well suddenly confronted them. The Warden had heard Trey’s roars of pain and was already on his way to investigate. He recognized the pair of foxes and, for a second, three pairs of eyes met. Then the man went on, leaving Fox and Vixen with a strange feeling of comfort and well-being. They saw he was heading for the wounded beast.
‘Do you think there’s anything even he can do?’ Vixen whispered.
‘He has his means,’ Fox said. ‘Humans have great powers.’
Later, that evening, after his rest, Badger left the regretful Mossy and stumbled away into the darkness. Mossy wondered when he would see him again and Badger, for his part, had much the same thoughts in his own mind. The old animal didn’t hurry himself. A new, lighter wind had sprung up, but a chilly one with the feel of late autumn about it. Badger was wary of any wind now that might dislodge the ‘creakers’ Fox had warned about, so he kept to the open as far as he could. It was a sensible precaution but one that, unfortunately, made his journey to the substitute home much longer, and this delay was to prove crucial.
18
The Missing Ones
THE DAMAGE CAUSED by the hurricane throughout the Reserve was extensive. Badger, of course, was not alone in having his home destroyed. And, by the time he had hauled himself to the Pond and crept round its edge to the abandoned set, a whole family of badgers had forestalled him. The set was already tenanted. Badger smelt the smell of his own kind as he snuffled the air. He guessed at once what had happened. At the entrance hole he stopped and listened. Animated badger voices – some young, some older – were all chattering about their luck in finding this new home. Badger sighed. They had beaten him to it, and he had to acknowledge that the extensive tunnels and chambers were more suited to a family than to one ancient, solitary animal. He trudged to the Pond to drink.
Lost in his mournful reflections on the situation, he was unaware that another badger was drinking, only a metre or two away. But she, however, had noticed him and, so familiar a figure was the Farthing Wood badger, she knew at once who he was. She lost no time in trotting to his side.
‘It’s a pleasure to see you,’ she said sincerely.
‘Oh!’ said Badger with a start. ‘Is it?’ He looked at the young female.
‘What a terrible storm,’ said the female. ‘I’ve moved my family here. We lost our old place.’
‘Yes. So I gathered. I’m also homeless,’ Badger confessed.
‘You? Oh no. That’s dreadful. But wait – were you –?’
‘Yes,’ Badger interrupted her. ‘I came here on the same quest. But you stole a march on me,’ he joked. ‘I’ve no complaints; don’t feel bad about it. There’s too much space to be wasted on one old male.’
‘Oh, but you have to have shelter too,’ the female replied feelingly. ‘There’s plenty of room for one more. Please – we shouldn’t care to leave you out in the cold. Do join us. We shan’t interfere. You can keep yourself to yourself. And we –’
‘No, no, I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Badger refused. ‘You’re very kind, I’m sure. I do appreciate it. But I’m not used to sharing. Really, I wouldn’t care to start now. I’ll be all right. I’ll find something.’ He had already begun to move off.
‘Please,’ the female badger called after him. ‘Don’t go. I’m sure we could work something out quite to your satisfaction.’
‘I’m touched by your kindness,’ said Badger, but he didn’t turn back. ‘Please don’t concern yourself about me.’ He even increased his pace.
The young female stood looking after him. ‘Poor old fellow,’ she murmured to herself. ‘I do believe he was a little afraid of me.’
‘No home now, no home now, not anywhere,’ Badger muttered as he wandered about. ‘What can I do? I can’t live out in the open. Perhaps there’s a hole somewhere I can tuck myself into.’ That was the best he could hope for. Just a resting-place; a refuge. He didn’t expect to find himself a proper set. And, as he wandered and searched and searched and wandered, even the modest demand of a small hole seemed unattainable. The prospect of wandering right through the dark hours without discovering anything seemed a real possibility, as the areas Badger dared to search were limited because of the risks under the trees.
For the first time in his long life Badger came close to despair. He tried reminding himself that, during the animals’ long trek from Farthing Wood, he had had to rest and hide in all kinds of unusual places. But he had been younger then, more adaptable and, above all, not alone. Now he was aware of an awful loneliness and he really was too old to cope with this sort of disruption to his life.
‘What a way to end up,’ he murmured self-pityingly as he sought in vain for a shelter of some kind. He got in such a state that it rather turned his head and he didn’t realize where he was going. He wandered through one of the gaps in the broken perimeter fence and out on to the open downland. He didn’t know where he was and he went on, blindly searching, as if he were still within the Park. In the end weariness and hopelessness took their toll of the old creature and he simply lay down where he was and went to sleep. Even the cold wind failed to disturb him.
When daylight broke over the grassy expanse Badger woke up, thinking momentarily that he was safe inside his set. His eyes soon told him differently and, with an awful shock, he realized he was no longer even in the Nature Reserve. He felt as if he were in a sort of daze. Nothing seemed quite real any more. He didn’t know why he was standing alone on the downland or how he had got there.
‘No point going back to that place,’ he told himself as he stood looking towards White Deer Park. ‘Nowhere for me there.’ The rigours of homelessness and solitude had scattered his wits. ‘Only one home for old Badger,’ he decided as he remembered the comforts of his ancient family set in Farthing Wood. ‘That’s where I’ll go. Nobody else knows about it. It’ll be just for me, like always.’ And at that moment he really did believe the set was there waiting for his return.
‘Now, let me see, which direction would it be? It’s a long way, I know.’ He looked about him and settled on his course. Some dim recollection of the way the animals had travelled prompted his decision. ‘Hm, yes. I think this is it,’ he mumbled as he set off again. ‘Toad will know anyway. When I see him he can remind me.’
The cold wind ruffled his bristly coat. Under other circumstances Badger would have known perfectly well that Toad, in such temperatures, would be driven to begin his hibernation. But that sort of reasoning was beyond him now and so, in this sorry state of mind, he went on.
During the next few days the animals speculated about the White Deer herd. The Warden had taken charge of Trey and Whistler had reported that the stag had been removed from the Reserve. ‘I doubt if he will be seen again,’ he said. ‘His injuries were so severe.’
‘Only time will tell,’ said Fox. ‘We did our best for him, at any rate.’
‘And if he doesn’t return, who will be his successor?’ Weasel wondered. ‘Let us hope it will be one who recognizes that the Park is for all of us.’
‘We can almost depend on that,’ said Vixen. ‘The blood of the Great White Stag, our friend, is in most of the herd. Trey was not typical. The others are unlike him. They’re altogether milder creatures.’
The inhabitants of the Park became used to the presence of men brought in to remove dangerous and fallen trees and to repair the all-important Reserve fencing. The sound of mechanical saws became a regular feature, together with that of hammers and motor vehicles. Naturally the animals kept well away from any human activity but, as time went on and much of the wreckage was cleared away, they were struck constantly by the new look of the Park that was their home. New vistas, new clearings were opened up. The familiar terrain became unfamiliar and for a while the Reserve’s inhabitants all felt strange; as if in some way they had been displaced. However, there was one piece of good fortune that resulted from the storm.
On his rounds of inspection the Warden had covered every corner of White Deer Park. In this way he had discovered the poisonous containers that had been dumped some time ago into the ditch which led into the stream from outside the Park’s boundaries. In no time at all these dangerous items had been disposed of, yet it would take a while longer for the water to be rid of its pollution and run clean again. All aquatic life in the stream had been killed. It became the Warden’s responsibility to monitor the level of toxicity in the water so that eventually, once the stream was healthy again, re-stocking of fish and other small fry, as well as some vitally necessary vegetation – water-weeds and suchlike – could go ahead.
The ever watchful Whistler kept his friends up to date with events. ‘He’s testing the water,’ he guessed. ‘He cleared the rubbish out of it. I think he’s trying to make the stream well again.’
Another time the heron notified them, ‘The Warden’s taking some water away with him. If he’s going to drink it, it must be pure.’
‘Take care,’ Fox warned him. ‘Don’t risk yourself too soon.’
‘There’s no danger,’ Whistler answered. ‘I shan’t g
o close to it until the fish return. Then I’ll know the stream runs clear once more.’
But the stream was not the animals’ main concern. Their chief worry now was the disappearance of Badger.
No-one knew where Badger had gone. Fox and Vixen had soon found the crushed home of their old friend and had been pointed in the direction of the abandoned set by Mossy. But when they discovered the family of strange badgers in residence, they turned their attentions elsewhere. A meeting was held in the Hollow and everyone was asked to comb each likely spot for a sign of the missing animal. Of course every one of them drew a blank.
Fox feared for the worst. ‘I’m afraid we’ve lost him,’ he said to Vixen brokenly. ‘He can’t be in the Park any more. We’ve looked everywhere. There’s just nowhere else. He’s gone outside it, I know he has.’
Mossy was distraught. ‘He couldn’t find a home, he couldn’t find a home,’ he kept chanting in his misery.
‘We’ll find him a home all right,’ Plucky declared. ‘It only needs a few of us to drive out those usurping badgers. We’ll save the set by the Pond for our Badger.’
‘No, no, we certainly shan’t,’ Fox, his elder, corrected him. ‘Your heart’s in the right place, Plucky, I know. But the set was never Badger’s own. The other animals have just as much right to it. They’ve settled there and we shan’t disturb them. Oh, if I could only find the dear old creature I’d dig him a home myself. Yes, if it took all my strength I’d do it.’
‘You wouldn’t do it alone and you know it,’ Vixen told him. ‘I have claws too. Do you think I wouldn’t want to help?’
‘Of course you would,’ Fox said. ‘But what’s happening to us? First Tawny Owl and now Badger. We’re losing each other and – and I don’t think I can put things right this time. I just can’t bear it, Vixen.’
