The Farthing Wood Collection 1 Page 12

‘There’s certainly a lot to be said for it,’ Badger remarked.

  ‘But it takes months off your life,’ Tawny Owl pointed out. ‘You may as well be dead for six months of the year.’

  ‘Not quite as long as that,’ Toad corrected him. ‘Anyway, it depends on the weather. In a mild winter, I might be out again in February.’

  ‘Mark my words, Toad,’ Tawny Owl said with emphasis. ‘This is going to be a difficult one.’

  ‘Then my heartfelt good wishes go with you,’ Toad said sincerely. ‘I hope you all come through.’

  The three friends remained talking a while longer, while the cold wind continued to blow. Finally Tawny Owl declared he was hungry and flew off in search of prey. Something struck Toad at his departure and he fell to musing.

  ‘You know, Badger,’ he said presently, ‘we shake our heads over old Adder and his designs on my cousins the frogs, but really he’s not so much a threat to the denizens of White Deer Park as Fox or Owl, who go hunting here every night.’

  ‘A thought that had also occurred to me,’ Badger acknowledged. ‘But there were foxes and owls – and other predators – in the park before we arrived. So in the same way the voles and fieldmice and rabbits of the Farthing Wood party run the same risk from the enemies already here.’

  Toad nodded and sighed. ‘My idea of the Nature Reserve as a new and safe home for all has not proved quite true,’ he said ruefully.

  ‘Nowhere is completely safe,’ Badger assured him. ‘But the Park is about as safe as anywhere could be for wild creatures, for there is no presence of Man. And in that respect it is a veritable haven compared with Farthing Wood.’

  Toad grinned. ‘You’ve soothed my mind as usual,’ he said. ‘Well, Badger, I shall not delay you any longer. Farewell till Spring.’ He turned to make his way back to the bank where Adder was already asleep. On his way he encountered Fox again. This time Fox stopped. Toad explained where he was going.

  ‘You could perhaps give a message to Adder for me,’ Fox requested. ‘Tell him to go down deep. And you too, Toad,’ he finished enigmatically.

  ‘How deep?’ queried Toad.

  ‘As deep as it takes to escape the frost.’ Fox shivered in the wind as if illustrating his warning.

  ‘We shall take heed, Fox,’ Toad answered. ‘Have no fear.’

  They parted and Toad crawled on towards his objective. Fox stood and watched him a long time. Then he shook himself vigorously and went to rejoin Vixen. Winter, he knew, was hovering just around the corner, waiting to pounce.

  During the next few weeks, as October passed into November and the leaves fell thick and fast in White Deer Park, the animals kept very much to themselves. Their main preoccupation was food.

  Nature had provided an abundance of berries and nuts which, as all wild creatures know, is a sure sign of severe weather to come. So the squirrels and the voles and the fieldmice were able to feast themselves for a short period. There was a spell of heavy rain which brought out the slugs and worms, and Hedgehog and his friends fattened themselves up nicely before they made their winter homes under thick piles of leaves and brush in the undergrowth. As they disappeared to hibernate, the other animals knew that time was running out, and renewed their efforts. All ate well for a space.

  The first heavy frost descended at the end of November and Mole, whose tremendous appetite was un-dimmed, found an abundance of earthworms deep underground. Their movements were restricted by the frozen ground near the surface and he amassed a large collection against emergencies. He was so proud of his efforts that he was bursting to tell someone about them. So he tunnelled his way through to Badger’s set which was close by, and woke him from a late afternoon snooze.

  ‘It’s me! Mole!’ he cried unnecessarily. ‘Wake up, Badger. I want to tell you what I’ve been doing.’

  Badger sat up slowly and sniffed at his small friend. ‘You smell of worms,’ he said abruptly.

  ‘Of course I do,’ Mole replied importantly. ‘I’ve been harvesting them.’

  ‘Harvesting them?’

  ‘Yes, you know, collecting – er – gathering them. I’ve never known it to be so easy to catch so many. They’re all securely stowed away in a nice big pile of earth where my nest is.’

  ‘I didn’t realize it was possible to stow away slippery things like worms,’ Badger remarked. ‘By the time you get back they’ll all have wriggled away.’

  ‘Oh no, they won’t,’ declared Mole. ‘They can’t,’ he added mysteriously.

  ‘Why, what have you done to them?’

  ‘I’ve tied them up in knots!’ cried Mole excitedly. ‘And they can’t undo themselves.’ He began to giggle as he saw Badger’s stupefied expression, and he was still giggling when Badger received another guest, in the shape of Fox.

  ‘Have you been outside?’ he asked, after greeting them.

  They shook their heads.

  ‘It’s snowing,’ he stated.

  They followed him up Badger’s exit tunnel to look. It was dusk, but the sloping ground in the little copse Badger had favoured as his new home was gleaming white. The trees themselves glowed mysteriously in their soft new clothing. They watched the large flat flakes drift silently downward. There was no wind. Everything seemed completely still save what was dropping steadily from the sky.

  ‘It’s already quite thick,’ Fox told them. ‘I can’t see my tracks.’

  ‘I’ve never seen snow falling before,’ Mole said as he watched with fascination. His eyes, used to darkness, blinked rapidly in the brightness of the white carpet spread before them. ‘Will it cover everything?’

  ‘Not quite everything,’ answered Badger. ‘But it makes movement very difficult for small creatures. The birds don’t have to worry, of course. Except in so far as feeding is concerned.’

  ‘I can only remember one winter in Farthing Wood when it snowed,’ said Fox. ‘That was when I was very young. But there was only a light fall, and it didn’t really hamper anyone’s movements.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ nodded Badger. ‘Of latter years there’s not been a great deal of bad weather. But I recall the times when Winter meant Winter, and we had snow every year. Of course, my memory goes farther back than yours, Fox.’

  Fox smiled slightly. He knew Badger loved to indulge in reminiscences, and he was aware of his proneness to exaggerate about ‘life in the old days’.

  ‘I remember one winter in particular,’ Badger continued, delighted to have an audience. ‘You hadn’t appeared on the scene then, either of you, and I’m pretty certain Tawny Owl wasn’t around at that time either. Anyway, the snow lay on the ground for months, and I had to dig a regular track through it for foraging purposes. Everything was frozen hard – the pond, the stream, every small puddle. My father was still alive then and he taught us how to munch the snow for water. Otherwise we couldn’t have drunk and we should have died.’

  ‘What does it taste like? What does it taste like?’ shrilled Mole.

  ‘Oh, well – er – like water, I suppose,’ replied Badger. ‘Yes, and I shall never forget the number of birds and small creatures who perished from the cold.’

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ Mole cried. ‘I hope you don’t mean moles?’

  ‘Well, possibly not moles,’ said Badger hurriedly. ‘Mostly songbirds really. They couldn’t find enough to eat and, naturally, their little bodies weren’t able to withstand the bitter weather.’

  ‘Poor things,’ said Mole in a subdued tone. ‘It’s a pity they can’t hibernate like Adder and Toad.’

  The snow seemed to fall more thickly as they watched. Mole shivered.

  ‘Go back inside,’ the kindly Badger said at once. ‘It’s warm in my sleeping-chamber.’

  ‘I’m not cold,’ Mole told him, ‘but thank you, Badger. No, it’s just the eeriness that made me shiver. It’s so quiet and still – it’s uncanny.’

  Through the ghostly trees they spotted a dark figure stepping through the snow. They all knew at once it was the Warden of the Nature Reserv
e on his rounds. They watched him stop periodically by a tree and tie something on to a low-hanging branch.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Mole asked, whose short-sightedness could only distinguish a tall blur of movement.

  ‘I don’t know for sure,’ answered Badger. ‘But it’s my guess he’s leaving some sort of food for the birds.’

  ‘Then that’s bad news for us,’ Fox said at once. ‘Humans never do such things without a particular reason. It is well-known they can tell in advance what sort of weather is approaching. We must be in for some severe times.’ He trotted over to look at the objects the Warden had left behind.

  ‘You’re right, Badger,’ he called back. ‘It is bird food. Nuts and fat and so on. I hope our feathered friends are up early,’ he continued to himself, ‘otherwise Squirrel and his pals will be having a feast at their expense.’ He said as much to Badger on his return.

  ‘Well, we must stop them,’ said that thoughtful animal resolutely. ‘The squirrels have buried enough acorns and beech-nuts to feed the whole of White Deer Park.’

  ‘You’ll be asleep when they get up,’ Fox reminded him with a smile. ‘You’d better leave it to me to have a word.’

  ‘Will you and Vixen be warm enough in your den?’ Badger asked suddenly. ‘I’ve collected plenty of extra bedding for my set, and you’re welcome to share it.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ replied Fox, ‘but I think we’re all right. We keep each other warm, you know,’ he added.

  Badger smiled. ‘That must be a great comfort,’ he remarked. He looked around. ‘Well, I feel like a bit of a ramble. Coming, Fox?’

  ‘With pleasure. Er – see you later, Mole?’

  ‘No, I’ll go back to my nest,’ said the little animal. ‘I’m sure to feel peckish again soon – you know what I’m like.’

  ‘We do indeed,’ laughed Fox. ‘Shall we go, Badger?’

  The two friends ambled off through the snowy wood. For some time neither spoke. Badger felt that Fox had something on his mind, so he remained quiet until his friend should be ready to talk. He watched the snow-flakes settle on Fox’s lithe chestnut body, grizzling his fur and making him appear prematurely aged.

  At length Fox said, ‘If we do have a long spell of snow, I shall have to start making plans for a food supply.’

  ‘I don’t think that will be necessary just yet,’ Badger said calmly. ‘We can see how things develop. The animals will make shift for themselves.’

  ‘Of course they will,’ said Fox hurriedly. ‘They’ll have to. But I have a feeling in my bones about this winter and – well, quite frankly, Badger, I’m more than a little concerned.’

  Badger felt he should allay his companion’s fears if he could. ‘Don’t go worrying yourself,’ he told him. ‘After all, to begin with Toad and Adder and the hedgehogs are not involved. I can look after myself and so can Weasel, Tawny Owl and Kestrel. Of the smaller creatures, the squirrels have only to dig up a fraction of their buried treasure to survive, and Mole has never been so well supplied. So who does that leave? Hare and his family, the rabbits, the voles and the fieldmice. All of them eat seeds and vegetation. You’re a carnivore. You couldn’t begin to be as proficient at finding stores of their food as they are themselves.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Fox agreed. ‘It’s just that if any of them do get into difficulties I shall feel responsible for getting them out.’

  ‘It’s early days yet,’ said Badger. ‘You just think about Vixen for the time being. The others will manage, you’ll see.’

  ‘You’re always a comforting chap,’ Fox said warmly, ‘and I’m truly grateful, Badger.’

  They reached the Hollow together and Fox’s next words made it clear that Badger had not succeeded in putting his mind at rest.

  ‘This is where our new life began last summer,’ he said, looking down at the familiar meeting-place of the Farthing Wood community. ‘Let’s hope the next few months won’t see the end of it for some of us.’

  The first signs were not good for wild creatures as the old year drew to a close. December came in with a blizzard, and over the next few weeks a cruel, bitter frost held the Park in its grip night after night. During the daylight hours the sun gleamed fitfully but snow clouds blotted it out for most of the day, and so very little of the frost disappeared. The ground became as hard as iron, and ice coated the Edible Frogs’ pond to a thickness of two inches.

  A stream ran through most of the Reserve and, some distance from where the Farthing Wood animals had set up home, Whistler the heron could be found. He had chosen an area under some overhanging alder trees where fish abounded in the shallow reaches. Now each day he and his mate watched the slower-moving water by the stream’s banks gather more ice. Soon only the centre of the stream, where it rippled swiftly over the tinkling pebbles, continued to flow. Whistler had to step on to the ice to be able to continue his hunting, but the fish were less plentiful further out in the water and the heron and his mate began to notice their diet suffering.

  ‘It looks, my dear, as if we shall have to be rather less choosy in our fare,’ Whistler observed in his slow, precise manner. ‘From your greater knowledge of the Park, can you suggest any fresh avenues of approach?’

  The female heron nodded. ‘I told you long ago of a place upstream, where the water runs very fast, and which abounds in crayfish. But you told me you had no liking for shellfish.’

  Whistler shrugged his great wings. ‘Obviously I shall have to overcome my aversion, at least temporarily. Show me the way, if you please.’

  The two water birds rose into the air together, their long, thin legs trailing beneath them like pairs of stilts. From the air, the Park was one vast expanse of rolling white, pierced by clumps of bare, snowclad trees. Whistler’s damaged wing shrilled musically with its every beat, and his eyes began to water in the freezing temperature.

  They landed after a brief flight, and Whistler’s mate began to search the stream-bed. Here the water was completely free of ice. Suddenly her pointed beak stabbed downwards, and then re-emerged firmly clenching a feebly moving crayfish, which she swallowed at a gulp. Whistler joined the hunt and was soon successful. His mate watched for his reaction. ‘Hm,’ he murmured, swallowing hard. ‘Not at all bad. It’s surprising how an empty stomach may overcome the most rooted prejudice.’

  As there were fish also to be had in this stretch of water, the two birds made an excellent meal. His satisfaction made Whistler call his friends from Farthing Wood to mind. He wondered what difficulties they might be experiencing.

  ‘We mustn’t be selfish,’ he told his mate. ‘This food source might well be of benefit to others. While you return to the roost, my clever one, I think I’ll search out Fox and see if I can be of use to him.’

  Accordingly he flew off in the direction of Fox’s earth. As it was daylight he did not expect to find his friend above ground, and was surprised to see a very lean Vixen sitting by one of the entrance holes when he arrived. She appeared to be very disconsolate, but bravely tried to look cheerful as she greeted the heron.

  ‘Is Fox below?’ Whistler asked her.

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Things have been getting rather hard, and he decided to go and see for himself how everyone else is coping.’

  ‘The very reason I came to see you,’ Whistler explained, and went on to describe his earlier success in the stream.

  Despite her efforts at control, Vixen’s mouth began to water freely as she heard of the fish Whistler and his mate had enjoyed.

  ‘It would be more than a pleasure for me to help you catch some,’ Whistler offered.

  ‘I’m sure Fox would be most grateful,’ Vixen said appreciatively. ‘I think I should wait for him to return before we go. There might be one or two other animals who would like to join us.’

  ‘I wonder how long he will be?’ Whistler asked.

  ‘I don’t know exactly,’ answered Vixen, ‘but he’s already been gone some hours.’

  While they waite
d, she explained how their hunting trips had become steadily less fruitful and how their diet had become one of carrion, insects and even snails when they had discovered a hibernating colony. ‘But they tasted so good,’ she added.

  ‘Oh yes,’ agreed the heron. ‘I myself have made some adjustments in my eating pattern,’ and he went on to tell her of the crayfish he had eaten.

  Presently they saw the familiar figure of Fox approaching them, accompanied by a smaller one they could not at first distinguish. It turned out to be Weasel.

  Whistler and the two animals greeted each other with pleasure. But Fox’s expression returned to one of deep concern when Vixen questioned him on his discoveries.

  ‘It’s even worse than I’d expected,’ he informed her miserably. ‘The voles and fieldmice have already lost a considerable number of their party, and some of the older rabbits have died of the severe cold. If this weather continues for a long spell the mice, in particular, are going to be decimated.’

  Whistler expressed his sympathy but, privately, was more alarmed at Fox’s own appearance. Gone was the vigorous, supple body of the resourceful leader the animals had come to rely on during their long trek to the Nature Reserve. Gone was the bright-eyed, healthful expression of his face. And gone was the rich lustre of his coat, that had marked Fox as a creature in his prime. Now his eyes were downcast, his fur dull and staring, his movements slow and hesitant, while his body was not so much lean as distinctly bony. By comparison Weasel’s much smaller form, always as slim as a sapling, looked in much better shape.

  Whistler hurriedly told Fox about the proposed fishing. Without a great deal of interest, Fox agreed. Then he said, ‘But of what use are fish to voles and fieldmice? They are hungry too.’

  ‘Of course they are,’ said Vixen. ‘But you must keep your strength up if you wish to help them, even though that is going to be difficult.’

  ‘Rabbits and fieldmice soon replace their numbers,’ Whistler pointed out in an attempt to ease Fox’s mind.

  ‘Yes, but there may be no stock of fieldmice to replace numbers from,’ Fox muttered. ‘Their community has lost more in the last week than during the whole of our journey across the countryside. And the voles haven’t fared much better.’