The Willows and Beyond

WILLIAM HORWOOD

The Willows and Beyond

Illustrated by Patrick Benson

I

The River’s Warning

It was late September, and after a week of storms and rain, which had caused the River to rise, and the once-glorious vegetation along the River Bank to grow old and bedraggled, the sun started to show itself again.

Now, with a new dawn, the day promised a time of calmer, drier weather and the final touch of an Indian summer. A thin veil of mist hung over the River, and all seemed subdued, and at peace.

The Mole, who had not been able to leave Mole End for some days, had left Nephew to busy himself with a few necessary repairs to the windows and doors before winter set in, and had gone off for the day to see his good friend the Water Rat.

He had reached the Iron Bridge and was leaning on its parapet to gaze down at the River, and watch its endless flow, when he noticed somebody sitting a little way along the bank, hardly more than a misty silhouette.

“Is that you, Otter?” he called. “Hello, Mole,” said the Otter, rising to join him. Then, seeing the fat wicker luncheon-basket he carried, he added, “You’re not off to see Ratty, are you?”

“You can join us if you like,” said the hospitable Mole. “Seeing that these are likely to be the last few decent days of summer, I thought —“

“I’d leave Ratty well alone today, if I were you, Mole,” said the Otter seriously. “He’s communing with the River, and has been since yesterday”

“Aah!” said the Mole, putting down his basket. “Then I’ll have to think of something else to do, for at such a time Ratty’s best left by himself.”

The Otter continued to stare down at the River, and seemed unusually quiet and distracted for one normally so cheerful.

“Is something amiss along the River?” enquired the Mole anxiously.

“I think there may be,” said the Otter, “though what it is I cannot say. I have known Ratty commune with the River many times before, we all have, but not for quite so long, and not so… so
seriously.

“I took him some food and a warming drink last evening — I left it nearby where he might see it when he was ready, for I did not wish to disturb him — but I swear it was untouched this morning.”

“You mean he has been out all night?” cried the Mole.

“I think he must have been.”

“And he seems troubled?”

“Very,” said the Otter sombrely.

“Well, we certainly shouldn’t disturb him,” said the thoughtful Mole, “but we can be at hand when he has finished, for he’ll be very tired, and in need of good food and company”

So it was agreed, and the two spent the day at Otter’s house, sending Otter’s son Portly down-river from time to time to see how Ratty was getting on.

“He’s still there, just sitting and staring, and raising his arms occasionally, as he does when he’s communing,” reported Portly at eleven o’clock, at midday, at two o’clock and again just after three.

“We’ll leave it till the end of the afternoon,” said the Otter, “and then I’ll go along again myself. Meanwhile, Mole, I hope you don’t mind if I help myself to some more of that cranberry pie you’ve made; there’ll still be plenty left for Ratty”

“Please have as much as you wish,” insisted the Mole, “and for goodness’ sake put some of this clotted cream on top, for it just does not taste the same without it.”  A little later, Mole went out and gazed down-river towards the distant form of the Rat in the fading sunlight. “O my” he sighed, and went back to sit by the Otter and wait while the minutes and hours passed by.

Both of them knew that if there were one animal along the River Bank who understood the River’s moods better than any other, and who heard its call more clearly than them all, it was the Water Rat. Come spring, summer, autumn or winter, a day rarely went by when the Rat was not either in the water or on it, swimming or sculling, thinking and dreaming. If he did have to be away from the River Bank, for social or business reasons, he was restless and uneasy till he was back in touch with the River again.

For the most part the Rat called the River “she”, and none thereabouts doubted where his heart and spirit lay, or what was the source of his deepest joy and happiness, and, for that matter, his sporadic moods and silences. The River-Bankers never questioned the Rat for a single moment on those occasions, happily rare and usually at times of spring and autumn spate, when he warned others off the River, and told them to leave her alone for a time.

His chief confidant and helper in such difficult times was the Otter, who lived as close to the River as the Rat, and was as adept as he in managing her more violent moods of storm and flood. When it came to matters of River history and lore, however, the Otter deferred to the Rat’s greater knowledge and wisdom.

It was one of the quiet pleasures of the River Bank to see the Rat and the Otter conferring about the changing mood of the River, sitting upon the bank, their feet dangling in the water, their voices low Only Portly was allowed to disturb them, for such was the power of the River over them that they sometimes needed reminding that their tea was ready, or they were due at Mole End in half an hour for supper.

It was no wonder then, that the Otter was so concerned about this latest episode. But as the September day wore on into a balmy evening and still Portly reported that there was no change, they began to think that something very serious indeed was afoot.

The Mole was just beginning to consider that he might go home for the night and return in the morning when Portly came running along the bank.

“He’s moved! He’s up and he’s stretched, and he’s gone back into his house and shut the door!”

“I think this is a matter for you now, Mole old fellow,” said the Otter. “You’re a better judge than I as to whether or not Ratty’s at home to visitors.”

The Mole smiled and said, “Now, how much of that cranberry pie have you left?”

They quickly gathered together what remained of the feast the Mole had prepared, added a few things from the Otter’s more workaday larder and set off to see if their friend might be lured back into society.

“Ratty!” called the Mole, having tapped at his door. “Are you there, Ratty?”

“You know perfectly well I am,” said an irritable voice from inside Ratty’s house.

“Well then, are you at home to visitors? Because I’ve brought you some —The door opened a little and two bright eyes peered out.

“Some what?”

“O, nothing very much, just a little bit of supper, because I had heard —“

“What had you heard?” said the Rat, letting the door open a shade more.

“— and I know that at such times —“

“What do you know about such times?” said the Rat in a more friendly way, and opening his door wider still.

“— that you could do with a bite or two, and that a well-made warming drink would not go amiss.”

The Rat opened the door completely and looked at the contents of the Mole’s basket with unabashed pleasure.

“Is it very bad, the news you have from the River?” said the Mole.

The Rat abruptly turned his attention from the basket to the Mole and his expression changed.

“I think it may be, Mole, for her call these past two days has been strange. She worries me. She worries me a great deal.”

The Rat stood with his old friend, staring at the light of evening upon the River, and listening to the distant calls of the migrating geese, which had settled for the night in the nearby meadows.

Quietly Otter and Portly came to join them, and not long afterwards Nephew also arrived, for he had been worried about his uncle. Nephew sensed the importance of the occasion immediately and settled down with the others to contemplate the silent flow of the River.