The Willows and Beyond

by William Horwood

  “Up and about again, eh Badger? And you, Mole?”

  He paused, and a hunted look came over him.

  “I fear you have come to admonish me?” said he, for he had seen the Badger, and others, look this way at him before.

  “Why, what have you done?” said the Badger.

  “Done? Not much,” said Toad, pulling a worn and folded piece of parchment from his pocket. “Well, something of which I daresay you will disapprove. It will mean I will have to vacate Toad Hall within the month, and you will have to leave the Wild Wood, that I guaranteed. But Mole will still have Mole End and we can all stay with him!”

  The Mole looked uneasy, but Toad only laughed.

  “Have you sold Toad Hall?” said the Badger.

  “I haven’t sold it exactly,” said Toad, “because the agent of the Church Commissioners, who made the best offer on Toad Hall, finally agreed to a swap.

  “A swap?” said the Badger. “For what?”

  “Er, well,” said Toad hesitantly, “I didn’t actually see what it was for because there was a lot of mist about —“You exchanged your inheritance for a parcel of land sight unseen!” exclaimed Badger.

  “That’s the lingo, Badger, that’s what the Very Senior Bishop said: ‘parcel of land’ and ‘sight unseen’. Just so.”

  “The Bishop?”

  “Signatory for the Church Commissioners who was there with the agent, and if you ask me, which you won’t, they didn’t seem to know a great deal about property dealing, whereas I and my partner —“Your partner?”

  “Master Toad was there too, but had to rush back to the Town this morning to arrange the exchange and agree the completion. Wanted to do it fast lest the mist cleared and they changed their minds. These youngsters, they seem to do everything so quickly now: rush, rush, rush. As I was saying, Master Toad has studied property and portfolios and that sort of thing, and said we should —“

  “Should what?”

  “Exchange Toad Hall and all its land for this little bit of paper —“

  The Mole and the Badger were aghast.

  “— which is only a copy of a small part of those deeds that will be mine, or rather ours. Well, I could not leave you out, Badger, seeing as you will soon have no home, or any of the River-Bankers, old or young —“

  “And these other deeds, supposing they exist, are for what exactly?” pressed the Badger.

  Toad started to read from the paper: “‘Excepting that parcel of land which Mr Toad, late of Toad Hall, or kin and beneficiaries … ‘— that’s Master Toad; he told me to put it in — ‘may choose for themselves, but not to exceed half the whole estate, the River-Bankers (whose names are herein attached) shall hereby have conveyed unto them that piece or parcel of land, or those pieces and parcels of land which abut that wilderness known as Lathbury Pool, that fell known as Lathbury Chase, that …’ and it goes on a good bit more in that vein, Badger, till we get to the bit that Master Toad says is what matters, ‘…and which is commonly called, and has been since the beginning of recorded time, as mentioned in the Domesday Book itself, by the name and title “Lathbury Forest”.’ There! That’s about it!”

  “But, Toad, you exchanged Toad Hall for a few trees sight unseen just because there was mist in the way?” cried the Badger, rising from his chair in consternation.

  “Whether there was mist in the way matters not one bit” said Toad, “because it would not be very easy to see all of it from one place even if the day was crystal clear!”

  “Why ever not? How large is it?”

  “About two hundred and fifty thousand acres, I believe,” said Toad nonchalantly, “which makes it the largest estate in all the land, excepting the larger of the Monarch’s estates. All very good hiking country I’m told. Only trouble is there’s no right of access.”

  “No right of access?” thundered the Badger.

  “Forgive me for interrupting,” said the Mole timidly, for Toad and the Badger appeared now to be ranged against each other, “but what might ‘No right of access’ mean?”

  “It means,” said the Badger in a hollow voice, his eyes wild, “that Toad has exchanged Toad Hall for a rude and rugged wilderness to which he cannot go because to do so would mean crossing someone else’s land, for which he will need a permission he is presumably never likely to get.”

  “O my!” said the Mole.

  “Did you bother to find out who owns the land upon which you cannot go without trespassing?” asked the Badger dismissively.

  “Of course I did,” said Toad, utterly unperturbed. “It is owned by the High Judge —“

  “The High Judge!” cried the Badger now in complete despair, for if there was one person in the land least likely to grant Mr Toad, formerly of Toad Hall, right of access, it was that representative of justice who had done battle with Toad so many times in the past, and had so often found him guilty and wanting.

  “But, Toad,” cried the Badger rising wildly, “how could you possibly have committed such folly?”

  “Fear not, Badger, for I have a plan.”

  “Another plan!” cried the Badger dismissively. “It had better be a good one.

  “O it is, very good, and it is just as well. You see, last night I spent a good deal of time in the Hat and Boot at the invitation and expense of the men of Lathbury, among whom I am something of a hero.”

  “And?”

  “And that worthy group of gentlemen, recognizing in me a leader born and bred, and one who is not only selfless on other people’s behalf, but also fearless where injustice is concerned, have asked me to lead them in a mass trespass of Lathbury Chase, that same land that prevents me getting to my new estates.”

  The Badger and the Mole stared at Toad in amazement, caught between grave doubts about his idea and excitement at the sheer boldness of his plan. As they did so, Toad strutted about, seeking to look like a leader born and bred, and there was in the Mole’s eyes a return of that old admiration for an animal who always saw a way forward out of difficulty. It seemed a very long time since he had been in such a scrape as this, and frankly the Mole felt excited at the prospect.

  “I’m with you, Toad,” he cried, “and I know Ratty would be were he here!”

  The Badger was more circumspect, frowning and pacing about while Toad winked at the Mole as if to say “You see, he’ll come round.”

  “Unless,” said Toad at last in his most winning and disarming way, “you can see a better way for us all to get out of the mess we’re in?”

  The Badger came to a stop and said, “I cannot, not at all. And I suppose — old though I am, and portly though you now are, Toad, and a touch greyer and more lined though our friend Mole here is these days — I suppose that if we are to say farewell to the Wild Wood, and the River Bank as well — for farewell it will surely be — then Ratty would have been the first to have agreed that we might as well go out fighting!”

  “Hurrah!” cried the Mole as Toad danced about and clapped his hands, making cuts and thrusts in the air with an imaginary sword.

  “Meanwhile,” said Badger, “before we set off upon this new enterprise, I trust I have time to say my last farewell to the Wild Wood?”

  The Badger did have time, for it took nearly a month for Master Toad to conclude matters on behalf of his pater, and Lathbury Forest to be put into Toad’s name —subject only to completion of the sale of Toad Hall and all its estate to the High Judge and his partners.

  During that time, the Badger saw the last trees felled, and those ancient tunnels and secret places he and his father before him had delved beneath the Wild Wood, briefly exposed by the bulldozers before they were covered up again and flattened in preparation for building. But by then his grief was all done and, moving for those last days with Grandson into Toad Hall, that wise animal sought to put all behind him, and think only of what might yet be, if Toad’s new scheme found success.

  He found support from an unexpected quarter — the Otter. That sterling animal had long since
decided it was time to leave the River Bank, but had been reluctant to say so, for he had rightly feared that the Badger might take the news hard. Yet with matters turning out as they had, and the Badger with new possibilities in mind, the Otter broke the news.

  “Often talked with Ratty about travelling south down the River to the coast, you know,” said he.

  “No, I didn’t know,” said the Badger; “but now Ratty’s gone you’ve thought of it again?”

  The Otter nodded with resignation.

  “The River’s not the same without him, but she wanted him to go. Now I feel the same, Badger, and Young Rat’s keen to come with me. Portly’s old enough to look after himself now, I think — indeed, he’ll be better off without me. But I’d like to explore the River below the Weir, and Young Rat will need companionship for a while before he decides if he’s to follow in his father’s footsteps and travel abroad once more, or come back to stay amongst you in your new home.”

  “You’re a sensible animal, Otter, and always were,” said the Badger. Then he added wisely, “As for Young Rat, he needs to see the world a little more before he settles down otherwise he’ll be restless all his life. He could not have a better companion than you to help him make up his mind about his future.”

  A few days later the Otter and Young Rat slipped off down-river, and the River Bank seemed suddenly even more empty.

  For Mole and Mole End, his home for so many years, matters were less brutal than they had been for the Badger, though no less distressing. Try as he might to clear out the contents of his little home and put them into storage till a new home might be found, he could not do it, and he packed and unpacked three times at least.

  Finally, one of the rabbits who lived nearby, who had always been on the best of terms with him and held him in high esteem, agreed at Nephew’s suggestion to hold Mole End’s keys and look after the place “till Mr Mole returns or decides what he wants done with his house and effects”.

  This formula gave the Mole the comfort of being able to believe that Mole End might stay the same, and that one day — well, they would just have to see. This much agreed, the Mole took his final leave of the beloved place on the morning of Toad’s planned departure, in his launch, for Lathbury, and the adventure of the mass trespass.

  “Goodbye, Mr Mole! Goodbye!” cried the rabbits as he left in a carter’s dray, with only his much-loved luncheon-basket, his cudgel and one or two other such precious items to hand.

  “Goodbye!” said the Mole, turning and waving, his face wet with tears. “Goodbye!”

  He looked back at his home one last time and then resolutely turned back, and looked back no more.

  “Drive on!” he called. “Drive on.”

  In later years, if Nephew ever had to choose the moment when he knew his uncle to be as courageous a mole as ever lived, it was that moment: when, growing old, his face grey and lined, most of his life left behind him in Mole End, Mole was still young enough in heart and mind to move on from the past, and look forward with interest and excitement to the future, however uncertain it might be.

  XI

  Toad’s Finest Hour

  Toad’s final departure from Toad Hall was accompanied by a great deal of pomp and circumstance, much to the embarrassment of the Mole and the Badger, who would have preferred to leave the River Bank quietly.

  To make the occasion more enjoyable Toad hired a band to put on a display of music and marching on his lawn, concluding with a rendition of “Hail the Conquering Hero Comes” as, after many a tearful farewell, he climbed aboard his launch accompanied by his friends and left Toad Hall for the last time.

  As they travelled up the River they knew so well to join the Lathbury men for their mass trespass, they acknowledged the cheering crowds on the banks and Toad’s chest swelled ever larger as he looked forward to the glorious battle that confronted them. When his magnificent flotilla of craft came at last to the outskirts of Lathbury, however, our hero’s face fell somewhat, and a look that suggested a cowardly desire to escape the scene suddenly came upon it.

  The cause of this change was very plain to see as they neared the stone bridge that stood adjacent to Lathbury’s notorious Hat and Boot Tavern, the agreed rendezvous for the start of the trespass.

  On the Lathbury bank of the River, all the town’s menfolk had assembled, along with many of their wives, mothers, sisters and a good many of their children. On catching sight of Toad’s launch, with its master standing seemingly so brave at the helm, this group let out a great cheer and the men raised their staves and cudgels.

  Toad had no sooner seen this display of raw and warlike intent, and realized with considerable alarm that this was not to be the quiet protest he had imagined, than he heard an answering shout from the other bank, where a number of the High Judge’s gamekeepers, wardens, grooms and other estate workers were standing.

  A good few of these large, tough-looking gentlemen Carried staves as well, and the gamekeepers had twelve-bore shotguns. Plainly they meant business, and they answered the Lathbury folk’s welcoming shout with a roar of disapproval and contempt.

  Toad saw that he was as much the target of this verbal assault as he was the focus of the cheers and hopes of the Lathbury side. As they approached the Hat and Boot Tavern, with rival forces gathering on either side, what fuelled his alarm still more was the sight of the massed ranks of constabulary upon the bridge, there to keep the peace.

  The faces and eyes of these stolid and well—armed constables had about them a fierce and determined look, and caught as they were between two opposing factions, their mutual gaze fixed itself upon Mr Toad as if he alone was the cause of the trouble.

  There was no way back. However much he might have liked to turn about and flee, the crush of supporting craft upon the River, not to mention the presence of police boats, made this impossible. Instead Toad found his launch heading gently for the bank by the bridge. Immediately several sturdy officers, including Toad’s old friend the Senior Commissioner of Police, hurried down the bank, grasped the painter of Toad’s launch, and hauled its unhappy and now frightened admiral ashore towards a pair of waiting handcuffs.

  The Commissioner of Police was very well aware, however, that arresting Toad in full view of the rebellious mob that for some peculiar reason so revered him might prove unwise.

  “Mr Toad,” essayed the Commissioner, raising his voice somewhat because the crowds were becoming increasingly raucous, “I wish this affair to end soon and peaceably and you would be ill-advised to provoke the forces of law and order further. I therefore offer you this chance of speaking to your followers. Please urge them to go back to their homes without causing an affray!”

  Toad was only too happy to accept this offer, thinking he might slip away unseen, but the Lathbury men immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was being arrested, and surged forward, and as the constables attempted to restrain them, tempers became even more frayed.

  Worse still, the moment Toad realized that so great and powerful a personage as the Commissioner himself was not only encouraging him to make a speech, but had actually ordered the constables to aid his passage to the most prominent part of the bridge and raise him up that he might be heard, his earlier fears fled him and he felt suddenly dangerously light-headed. Toad liked nothing better than an audience, and now the cries of encouragement and support from the Lathbury men so swelled him up with vanity and pride, that all common sense left him at once and he felt impelled to speak out.

  “O, please be sensible, Toad!” cried the Mole, who by now had clambered out of the launch with the others. “Please do not say anything too provocative!”

  “Provocative?” cried Toad, waving his arms about and climbing up onto the bridge’s balustrade that he might be seen by his audiences all the better. “I shall certainly be provocative!”

  The Lathbury men cheered at these wise and noble words, while the constables looked on helplessly, for Toad was rather beyond their easy reach and they were in
danger of pushing him into the River if they tried to stop him speaking, thereby provoking a full-scale riot.

  “For what common and ordinary citizen of our noble realm would not be provoked at the sight of such bullies and thugs as we seem to see upon the far bank of the River?” continued Toad in a loud voice.

  This initial sally from Toad brought complete silence, as all waited to see if he would continue in this vein. But Toad, so full of pride a moment before, now saw the angry faces of the High Judge’s men, who seemed so much bigger and stronger all of a sudden, and decided there and then that he must immediately retract, recant and escape. Perhaps with a quick a leap into the River and a hasty swim downstream, he might yet escape, with his life.

  Then there came a shout from the Lathbury side that puffed up his pride once more, making him quite forget the danger.

  “You’re a great gennelman, Mr Toad, and we’re glad you’re going to tell those brutes the truth!”

  This ill-judged remark came from Old Tom, Toad’s old drinking companion from the Hat and Boot Tavern, and it provoked a good many cheers and huzzahs of the kind Toad found even more intoxicating than the Tavern’s ale.

  “Brutes they certainly are!” cried Toad to renewed loud cheering, though he needed no further encouragement. “Brutes in mind and body, who think nothing of threatening the honest citizens of Lathbury with their sticks and guns!”

  “Mr Toad,” called out the Commissioner, who now saw that his attempt to win Toad’s support had gone horribly wrong. “I am hereby placing you under —“

  “Listen to the voice of corruption!” called out the very foolish Toad, who intended to enjoy himself while he might. “Listen to the man who seeks to protect with his corrupt constables those who have purloined the common land!”

  The cheers at this, and accompanying cries of righteous anger (on one side) and rage (on the other), were loud indeed, and both sides so pressed and surged forward upon the bridge that the outstretched arms of the arresting officers were swept harmlessly away from where Toad stood.