The Willows and Beyond (22 page)

“My atlas!” cried the Rat, stopping suddenly “I quite forgot to say that I wanted you to have it, or rather to keep it safely for me till I return. I shall write as often as I can, and perhaps you will mark within its pages my passage through Araby and the Orient?”

“I shall, Ratty, I shall!”

The Mole and the Rat chattered on, and Sea Rat and his son said their own farewells, with many more kind words from Badger and Grandson, till the company reached Ratty’s boat, now heavily laden with the victuals they might need for the voyage to the coast.

Toad arrived soon afterwards, and made a rousing speech, declaring that the Rat was a capital fellow and that in journeying from the River Bank he carried all their hopes with him. Toad might have said a good deal more had his speech not been drowned out by the arrival of the Village band, whose members had taken dangerous and precarious stations upon a traction engine, especially hired and driven for the occasion by Master Toad.

Then amidst hissings of steam, the blaring of wind instruments, the huzzahs and farewells of all their friends, the Rat and the Sea Rat finally embarked, and with an expert push from Young Rat, were suddenly off and away.

“Goodbye,” they all cried.

“Goodbye, Sea Rat!”

“Farewell, Pa!”

“Goodbye, Ratty!”

Till only one still cried farewell from the Bank, alone yet not lonely, wistful yet not sad, and that was the Mole.

“Goodbye, dear Ratty!” he called out last of all, as Master Toad tooted the whistle of the traction engine and set off to accompany the travellers as far as the Weir road would allow him. “Good luck, my friend!”

Then, at the last, as the boat reached a turn in the River beyond which it would not be seen, the Water Rat gave the oars to the Sea Rat for a moment and turned, and waved his final farewell to the Mole.

Yet one last voice had still to join itself to theirs. For the sun was rising with the day, spring was all about, and there rose in the air the River’s voice, content now to see her most faithful of companions off and away upon his travels, off for a time beyond her ken.

The Mole heard her song, and understood its words. “She sings not of farewell,” he murmured, wiping away a tear, “but of the safe return of one who could never have found final contentment here till he had journeyed afar. Ratty will be back, he
will!”

Then all came and stood by the Mole, and watched till there was no more to see.

In the weeks that followed Ratty’s departure the Mole had no time to grow sad, even had he wished to, for there was much to do in preparation for the Public Hearing concerning the future of the Wild Wood.

No one was more vociferous in their support of the Badger’s opposition to the scheme than the Mole and Mr Toad, yet when it finally came to the attendance at the Hearing in May, they suffered the indignity of being turned away at the doors.

It seemed that the good folk of Lathbury, and in particular the customers of the notorious Hat and Boot Tavern, were on the march, intending to fan the flames of the Wild Wood dispute and so gain publicity for their own cause, which was the right to free access to Lathbury Chase, the great fell above their village which had been in the High Judge’s family since the eighteenth century.

Anticipating trouble, the Town Authority had posted a platoon of police constables by the door of the Town Meeting Hall in which the Hearing was to take place, as well as eight formidable mounted policemen. This array of helmets and blue uniforms brought out a cold sweat upon Toad’s brow, for he and constables did not get on well, and trouble usually ensued when they met.

It transpired that only those individuals who had received a Notice of the Hearing and had brought it along (a copy would not do) were to be admitted —which fortunately included the Badger. Unfortunately, those who were unable to produce such documents were not to be admitted, and that included Toad, the Mole and Master Toad.

“But I’m Toad of Toad Hall, Constable!” cried Toad, considerably put out.

“That may be so, sir, or it may not be, it is not my part to say,” replied the Chief Constable affably, “I am merely here to uphold the laws of the land, under which, namely and pursuant to the Residential Public Hearings Act of 1907, Section 63, paragraph 5 —“

“O, bother all that,” said Toad. “I’m affected, so let me in. Indeed, there was a conference of residents along the River Bank last month which I may say went so far as to take a vote upon the subject of my participation in, and speaking at, the Hearing today, very much as Members of Parliament are elected by their constituents and…”

Toad paused at this point, fearing perhaps that the Chief Constable might enquire more closely into that non-existent vote, but instead the officer allowed a firm and resolute expression to settle upon his face as he said in measured tones, “None shall be admitted without the proper authority, sir.

“Pooh!” cried Toad, making a sudden and foolish dash for the entrance, and signalling the Mole and Master Toad to do likewise.

The Mole was glad he chose not to follow Toad’s advice, as several large officers descended upon the two toads, while all further advance was blocked by two of the mounted policemen and the Very Chief Constable was summoned.

“I wouldn’t advise you to do that again, if I were you, sir,” said he to Toad and his ward, both by then suspended by the scruff of their necks by burly constables, “for we would not want to place you under arrest. If my memory serves, sir, you have seen the inside of the Town Gaol before, have you not, and are a known trouble-maker?”

The constables unceremoniously deposited the considerably chastened Toad and Master Toad some way from the Meeting Hall door, along with their accomplice the Mole, at the feet of the various onlookers who had gathered there to enjoy the fun.

“It isn’t fair!” said Toad, brushing himself down.

“No it isn’t!” declared Master Toad less good— humouredly. “Not to admit a citizen of the land, and then when ‘e protests to threaten ‘im with gaol. In France that constable’s ‘ead would not stay long on ‘is shoulders if the citizens ‘ad their way!”

Just lately Master Toad, in whose final year at school the study of European history had loomed large, had been studying the French Revolution and had discovered some radical roots he did not know he had.

Master Toad’s sentiments might well have inflamed the passions of a Parisian mob, but in the Town passions rise more slowly and the best one member of the crowd could do was to shout, “No, it ain’t fair, but what do you expect when the Very Senior Bishop himself is involved? Not fairness, that’s for sure!”

“And the Commissioner of Police!” cried the indefatigable Master Toad. “That gentleman is in on it too!”

“Is he?” asked another.

“That’s a scandal!” declared a third.

“And what’s more,” cried Toad himself, seeing that the crowd was gathering about him and unable to resist the opportunity it offered, “the High Judge is lining his pockets too at the expense of us Wild Wooders!”

“That’s right, and he’s inside the Hall right now, conducting the meeting hisself in his own favour!” thundered another protester.

“Won’t be for long, not if the men of the Hat and Boot get their way!”

“What’s that?” called out Toad, for he had fond memories of the Hat and Boot Tavern in Lathbury, a low dive from the clutches of whose angry customers Ratty and Mole had once rescued him.

“You don’t think the Wild Wood’s the only scheme his High Judgeship has got his fingers into, do you, mate?” said Toad’s latest ally, quickly informing Toad of the matter of Lathbury Chase.

“It isn’t fair!” cried Master Toad, sensing this to be the best slogan for the day.

“No,” cried Toad, “it isn’t fair!”

“Please, Toad,” begged Mole, for he could see that the crowd might soon turn ugly, “I really think it would be wisest if we left this matter for Badger to debate inside.”

“Pooh, Mole!” cried Toad, the gleam of public glory in his eye. “Debate and discussion never achieved anything. It isn’t fair!”

“No, I suppose it isn’t fair,” began the Mole.

But these were unwise words to repeat, for hearing them and thinking he was one of the leaders, the crowd hoisted the Mole upon its shoulders along with Toad and Master Toad as the chant grew loud and rhythmic, and police and protesters swayed back and forth.

“It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair Toad of Toad Hall says it isn’t fair!”

Meanwhile, inside the Hall, and with the three personages so heavily involved in the scheme all present on the platform (one presiding, one watching out for breaches of the peace, and one praying), Badger was coming to the end of a long and well-argued speech against the scheme.

“We have natural right and justice on our side, m’lud, and the rights of commoners as well, and thus far we have been peaceful in our protest, and I may say very reason —The chanting from outside was louder now, and almost sufficient to drown the Badger’s measured words.

“— reasonable, I say, and peacef—”

There were sounds of skirmishing and the neighing of horses and shouting of men.

“— peaceful, as I have suggested and —“

Then outside it was suddenly peaceful no more.

Hoisted up as they had been, Toad, Master Toad and finally even the Mole, rather let things go to their heads and shouted all the more, playing to the growing crowd around them, who were loving it.

Even so, the constables might have contained the mob had not a formidable army of men, women and children, not to mention some very rough-looking weasels and stoats, just then appeared from that cobbled way that is called Lathbury Turn.

Toad saw them, and knew them at once, for many of them were Hat and Boot customers.

Perhaps, after all, he did feel a momentary pang of terror and fear, and saw visions of the interior of the Castle’s deepest dungeons, and its condemned cell, which he knew so well, but such inner warnings did not survive long.

No longer, indeed, than the first cry of the Lathbury folk upon seeing him.

“It’s Mr Toad come to lead us!” they cried. “And ‘e’s got his own set of followers to help and the constables are trying to arrest them! Come on, lads!”

This analysis of the situation was not quite accurate, but as Toad himself had said, what
is
the use of discussion and debate?

The Lathbury men joined in the fray, someone put an umbrella in Toad’s hand as an emblem of his authority, and he waved it and uttered his battle cry, “It isn’t fair! Charge!”

So unseemly a mêlée as then ensued had not been known in the Town’s long history since the notorious St Scholastica’s Day riots of 1355 when the common folk were similarly put upon by those who held power and authority.