The Animals of Farthing Wood

by Colin Dann

  ‘It’s no use,’ said Fox wearily. ‘We’ll have to move and look for a drier spot.’

  ‘If I remember correctly,’ said Toad, ‘there’s a barn not far away.’

  Fox wanted to know how far.

  ‘I can’t be exactly sure,’ replied Toad. ‘It’s so difficult to see anything at the moment, except the rain.’

  ‘But do you know in what direction it is?’ asked Fox.

  Toad pondered for a minute. ‘I’m sure I could find it,’ he said at length.

  ‘Then we put ourselves in your hands,’ said Fox. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘In any case, we can’t stay here.’

  So the animals wearily formed another line in the rain, their still wet bodies taking a second soaking, and Fox led them off, at Toad’s instigation, across the field that lay before them.

  In one corner of this field they encountered a stile, which they were all easily able to circumvent, and it gave on to a narrow path which ran between the fields beyond. In one of these a herd of black and white Friesian cows, with a number of calves, were doing their best to shelter under a large oak tree.

  Toad advised Fox to continue along the path, so, after satisfying himself that no humans were near, he led the animals slowly down it, keeping well in to the side by the hedgerow border.

  They found that the path led into an orchard, where pear and plum trees had recently finished blossoming. At the far end was a long, low wooden building with small windows.

  ‘Is that the barn?’ whispered Fox.

  ‘It’s not the one I saw before, but it looks as if it will suit our needs,’ Toad answered.

  The animals lost no time in running over to it, and for once they were lucky. It was open.

  ‘It’s a storehouse,’ remarked Fox. But at that time of year there was no fruit to store. There were a few empty boxes lying around on the floor, and a few odds and ends on a shelf that ran the length of one side. At one end there were the remains of a bale of straw that must have been used for packing. Apart from this the storehouse was quite empty.

  The straw and the floor were dry. ‘This is marvellous,’ said Hedgehog. ‘We’ll be snug and dry in no time.’

  The rodents had already begun to pull lumps of straw from the bale. Fox stood irresolute, his head down. His fur dripped continuously, and a little puddle of water had formed at his feet.

  ‘What’s troubling you, Fox?’ asked Badger, who was fashioning himself a comfortable nest of straw in one corner.

  ‘I don’t like the idea of that open door,’ Fox said. ‘Why should it be open if the storehouse is not in use?’

  ‘I can’t say,’ said Badger. ‘But if it had been closed it would have been no use to us!’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ said Fox, still not moving.

  ‘We can stay here until this storm is over, at any rate,’ Badger reassured him. ‘Nobody will be about in this rain – not even farm workers.’

  ‘When it stops we shall have to look for food,’ Fox said. ‘However . . . yes, we’ll stay here for the present, and rest.’

  Tawny Owl alighted in the doorway. ‘Kestrel’s in one of the plum trees, keeping a lookout,’ he announced. ‘Pheasant’s agreed to relieve him in a while. I’m joining you until dark.’

  The owl fluttered up to a vacant piece of shelf and there he perched. For a time he watched the animals preparing their nests from the straw; then he closed his eyes.

  Badger, having finished his own arrangements, directed the voles and fieldmice in forming their own little ball of straw.

  The larger animals laid out a generous, thick expanse all over the floor, and lay down side by side. Even Adder was content to entwine himself round some of the strands.

  The squirrels, however, objected to sleeping on the floor. ‘It’s just for now – just this time,’ Badger told them. ‘There’s not time enough to build a proper nest on the shelf.’

  So Weasel and Mole joined Badger in the corner, Fox lay down with the rabbits and hedgehogs, Hare and his family joined the squirrels, and Toad snuggled up with the mice. Only Adder found that no one wished to sleep near him.

  As they listened to the rain lashing down outside, the animals from Farthing Wood were all the more grateful for the snug dryness of the storehouse. One by one they dropped into sleep, forgetful of their empty stomachs.

  There was not one of the party left awake when Kestrel arrived on the threshold having completed his watch, his dry feathers showing that the furious storm had at last abated.

  As Kestrel joined his sleeping friends, the safety of the party was now entrusted to Pheasant.

  12

  Trapped!

  Tom Griggs had been in a black humour all that morning. He had lost another chicken the previous night, from right under the nose of his guard dog, a big bull-mastiff. The animal was worse than useless; it always seemed to fall fast asleep just when it was needed most. This latest theft had brought the total of stolen chickens to four. And now the hens were in such a frightened state that they would not lay. Oh, if he could just get his hands on the guilty fox!

  To cap it all came the storm. After weeks of drought which had dried up his crops, those that had survived were now being beaten flat by this merciless rain. ‘I shall be ruined, Betsy, I’m sure of it,’ he muttered angrily to his wife, as he stood watching the storm dash itself against his windows.

  Mrs Griggs could offer him no comfort. Weather was its own master; mere humans had no control over it. She went on preparing the midday meal, keeping silent except for an occasional word to the farm cat, which sat shivering in the kitchen, soaked to the skin.

  The rain finally stopped as Griggs was moodily munching the meat pie his wife had made. He pushed his plate away. ‘No more for me, my dear,’ he said. ‘I must go out and have a look round.’

  He got up, ignoring the protestations of his wife concerning the unfinished meal, put on his gum-boots and mackintosh, and, taking up his ancient shotgun from the corner, went outside.

  The sky had lightened considerably, but the ground was awash with puddles.

  The bull-mastiff strained at its leash as it saw its master. ‘Down, Jack!’ called the farmer. ‘You’re no use to me!’

  It lay down again, sadly, and watched him out of sight.

  It took Griggs about an hour to examine his fields for damage, and he found what he had expected to find. This put him into an even blacker humour.

  As he trudged unhappily back through his small orchard, a gaudy cock pheasant rose up from the long grass, and, putting his gun to his shoulder, he shot clean through it. The glossy, multi-coloured bird crumpled, and plummeted to the earth.

  At the sound of the shot, the pheasant’s dull-marked mate also took to the air, uttering a loud, startled clatter. Griggs promptly fired his other barrel at the hen pheasant, and she, too, dropped to the ground.

  He collected the two limp bodies and then, noticing his wife standing by the storehouse, with the now unleashed Jack by her side, he called out, ‘We’re in luck, Betsy! A brace of pheasant!’

  ‘You come and see what I’ve found!’ she called back.

  Griggs was somewhat struck by the way in which his dog remained by the shed, bolt upright, and did not bound towards him at his approach.

  ‘Look through the window if you want a surprise,’ said Mrs Griggs, indicating the storehouse.

  Her husband put his face to the glass, and a gasp escaped him. For a moment he remained immobile, then he moved away and looked at his wife, round-eyed.

  ‘It’s . . . it’s full of animals!’ he said in a tone of disbelief, handing the pheasants to her absent-mindedly.

  ‘Including your fox,’ she added meaningfully.

  Griggs looked at his gun. ‘Caught him red-handed,’ he whispered.

  ‘I came out to give Jack his dinner,’ his wife informed him. ‘I just chanced to wander round here, and there was our store-shed full of animals – and birds – all fast asleep. When I saw the fox, I quickly shut the door
on ’em all.’ She paused to examine the two unfortunate members of Fox’s party who were not inside, and which her husband had just killed in the orchard. Then she motioned to the shed. ‘There’s an owl on the shelf, and a sort of hawk thing,’ she reported. ‘I reckon they must have all run in there out of the storm. Did you ever see such a thing?’

  ‘No, I never saw such a thing,’ said Griggs emphatically. ‘And I won’t ever again. The culprits won’t get away from me this time.’ He seemed to think the other animals had also played a part in the theft of his chickens.

  ‘Now, Jack,’ he admonished his dog, ‘you sit there, and don’t stir till I say so. We’ve got work to do.’

  The bull-mastiff did not show the slightest inclination to do anything but sit exactly where it was, its teeth partially bared in anticipation of its forthcoming moment of success.

  ‘What are you going to do, Tom?’ asked Mrs Griggs, following her husband indoors.

  Griggs brandished his shotgun at her. ‘I’m going to clean and oil this,’ he said. ‘Then I’m going to re-load her, and then I’m going to settle a little score with our friend the fox.’

  ‘What about the other animals though?’ asked his wife.

  ‘Those we’ll see about later,’ he replied. ‘There’s plenty of time.’

  Fox had woken with a start as he heard the door close on them. It was not a loud noise, and most of his companions continued to sleep unawares.

  ‘Are you awake, Kestrel?’ Fox whispered, as he saw the bird stir.

  ‘Yes,’ Kestrel whispered back. ‘Was that the wind?’

  ‘No, I can hear someone outside,’ Fox replied. He walked to the door and tried to peer through the crack underneath. At once there was a loud growling noise. Fox quickly retreated.

  ‘There’s a human and what sounds like a very large dog,’ he informed Kestrel.

  ‘We’d better wake the others,’ suggested Kestrel.

  ‘No,’ Fox said sharply. ‘Not yet. We don’t want any panic.’ He sniffed all round the sides of the shed, pushing at various boards with his paw.

  ‘Have a look at the windows,’ he said finally.

  ‘No latches,’ Kestrel reported. ‘In any case, none of you animals could climb up here.’

  Fox nodded and went over to Badger’s corner. A gentle prod roused him.

  Badger noticed at once the door was shut. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘Now we’re in a mess.’

  ‘I’m afraid we are,’ Fox said. ‘But there must be a way out.’

  Badger stood up, unintentionally disturbing Mole. ‘What is it, Badger?’ asked the sleepy animal, with a yawn. ‘Are we going?’

  ‘Sssh!’ Badger cautioned. ‘We’re thinking. Go back to sleep, Mole, there’s a good fellow.’

  But Mole sensed there was something wrong. ‘Oh! We’re shut in!’ he shrieked. ‘We’re caught!’

  ‘Be quiet!’ snapped Fox fiercely. ‘Do you want everyone to wake up?’

  There were sounds of stirring amongst the straw. They heard the lazy hiss of Adder’s voice. ‘Mmm. It seems our exit is sealed,’ he drawled. ‘I knew it was a mistake to put that stupid, vain bird on guard. Pheasants are only good for eating.’

  ‘No use saying that now,’ remarked Badger. ‘What’s done is done. What we’ve got to do now . . .’ he broke off as they heard the unmistakable report of a gun.

  The animals looked fearfully at each other. There was a brief silence; then they detected the alarm call of a pheasant followed immediately by a second gunshot.

  ‘Sounds as if Pheasant’s done for,’ Fox muttered.

  All the animals were awake now, milling about in the centre of the floor, and bombarding Fox and Badger with frightened questions.

  Finally Fox shouted for silence. ‘Please! Everyone, quiet!’

  He began pacing up and down the shed, a few feet one way, then a few feet back. ‘Now, I admit we’re in danger,’ he said in a low voice. ‘There’s no point in denying it.’ His head was down, and he seemed to be merely thinking aloud, not addressing the others. ‘But if you all keep calm,’ he murmured, ‘we’ll think of a way out.’ He continued to pace.

  ‘There’s only one way out, of course,’ Tawny Owl observed.

  All faces turned to him.

  ‘Dig,’ he said.

  ‘Dig?’ asked the squirrels.

  ‘Dig?’ asked the fieldmice.

  ‘Of course!’ exclaimed Fox. ‘Dig! We’ll dig our way out.’

  At that moment they heard human voices calling to each other outside. It was Tom Griggs telling his wife about the pheasants, and she replying to him about her find in the store-shed.

  The animals fell silent again. The next minute they saw the farmer’s face pressed to the window. In his eyes they read amazement, then anger, and finally resolution. They saw him turn away, and heard his and Mrs Griggs’s footsteps receding towards the farmhouse.

  ‘Right,’ said Fox. ‘No time to lose. Who’s our best tunneller?’

  ‘Mole,’ replied Badger.

  The little creature visibly swelled with pride. At last he was to be of some use to the party. It was all he could have wished for.

  ‘Come on then, Mole,’ said Fox. ‘Show us what you can do.’

  ‘Just watch me,’ said Mole ecstatically. Then he looked up at Fox in consternation. ‘But where do I begin?’ he asked miserably. ‘I can’t dig through that.’ He pointed with his snout at the wooden floor. He was so disappointed that he could feel the tears beginning to collect.

  ‘Leave that to us,’ said Squirrel, and gathered the gnawing power of his party together.

  ‘We can gnaw too,’ said the hedgehogs.

  They were joined by the rabbits and the voles and mice. Opening their mouths, they presented over a score of sets of powerful teeth to the floor and began to gnaw.

  The din was terrific as they set to work. The bull-mastiff heard the rasping and scraping of their teeth and began to growl again.

  ‘They’ve left the dog behind,’ Kestrel said to Fox.

  ‘How are we to avoid him?’

  ‘I think that’s where I come in,’ hissed Adder, and slithered towards the crack underneath the door. Here he stationed himself, keeping the farmer’s dog at bay by alternately hissing and lunging at its inquisitive muzzle.

  The thin planks of wood that formed the floor of the shed soon succumbed to the concerted efforts of the rodents. When the hole was big enough, Mole squeezed through, and began to dig vertically downwards through the soil underneath as fast as his expert claws could manage.

  As the hole in the floorboards was enlarged, Badger was able to climb into Mole’s pit, and, following in the tracks of his friend, he widened the tunnel as he descended. Presently he reached a junction in the tunnel where the industrious Mole had turned off horizontally, carving out a straight path that would eventually take him right underneath the shed, to emerge again in the orchard.

  ‘Where are you, Mole?’ Badger called softly as he stopped. ‘Are you outside yet?’

  ‘Not yet, Badger,’ he heard a muffled voice reply from the darkness ahead of him.

  ‘How do you know?’ Badger asked. ‘You’d better dig up to the surface to see.’ He was afraid that Mole, in his enthusiasm for being useful, might get carried away and dig too far.

  ‘All right,’ he heard Mole answer him.

  Badger waited patiently. A little later he heard Mole’s excited squeak. ‘Yes! I’m out! Badger, I’ve done it!’

  ‘Good fellow,’ said Badger warmly. ‘Now, come back to me. If we work quickly, we’ll all be safe in a few minutes.’

  Mole, an elated expression on his face, returned along the tunnel to Badger.

  ‘Now, I want you to go back to Fox,’ Badger told him. ‘Tell him to organize a chain of animals to pass the earth along that I’m going to dig out. He’d better stay at the entrance of the tunnel to pile the earth in the shed. Off you go!’

  A moment later Weasel appeared. ‘Fox said to go ahead,’ he informed Badg
er. ‘You push the soil back to me, and I’ll pass it on to Hare. Behind him is Rabbit, then Mole, and finally Fox at the top.’

  ‘Good.’ Badger nodded. ‘I’m going to dig fast, so be careful you don’t get buried.’

  Without another word he began to move forward along the tunnel, kicking large sprays of earth behind him with his powerful back feet. Weasel worked overtime to keep his part of the passage clear, furiously pushing the earth behind him to Hare.

  As they progressed down Mole’s tunnel, more animals were needed in the line to keep the soil moving all the way back to the entrance, where Fox was busily spreading it over the floor of the shed. By the time Badger reached the point where Mole had started to dig towards the surface, nearly the whole of the party was helping with the work. Only the tiny animals, the voles and fieldmice, the very young, and Toad and the birds remained in the store-shed, assisting Fox where they could.

  Adder had remained at his post all the while, and had succeeded in holding the attention of the bull-mastiff so well that the dog remained completely unaware that the animals had almost tunnelled their way to safety.

  Badger soon saw daylight ahead and cautiously inched his way to the surface. Pushing out only his head, he saw that he was back in the orchard, about six feet from the shed. Only a matter of inches round the corner sat the bull-mastiff. Badger sniffed elaborately in every direction, and then stepped out of the hole.

  Looking down into the tunnel, he could see Weasel, his fur and face covered in lumps of earth, climbing up towards him.

  ‘Pass the word back to Fox that we’ve finished,’ Badger whispered, ‘and that he must get everybody through the tunnel as quickly as he possibly can. I’ll stay here at the exit to help everyone out.’

  Weasel turned to whisper the message to Hare, then joined Badger on the surface. The procedure was repeated by all of the animals in the tunnel, so that when Hedgehog, who was the last in the line, finally repeated Badger’s words to Fox, most of the party was already hiding in the long grass of the orchard, ready to race for safety.