The Farthing Wood Collection 1 (19 page)

‘Hunting difficult?’ Badger asked unnecessarily.

‘That’s an understatement,’ came the reply. ‘There’s nothing about. This rabbit died from the cold, I should say. Of course, it’s frozen solid. But you have to eat what you can these days.’ The animal wrenched off another mouthful and appeared to find it of great relish. ‘What about you?’ the stoat enquired. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.’

‘No, you wouldn’t have,’ Badger told him. ‘I don’t usually wander as far as this. I’m one of the newcomers to the Park.’

‘Oh, you’re one of the great travellers, are you?’ the stoat said with a touch of cynicism. ‘Well, you’ve found no garden of abundance here, I’ll bet.’

‘Who could have expected weather like this?’ Badger answered. ‘In any case, the whole countryside must be affected.’

‘Of course,’ agreed the stoat. ‘This winter will halve the population of this Reserve, though.’

‘Do you think so? As bad as that?’

‘Bound to,’ the animal said shortly. ‘Very little food means very few survive.’

Badger nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

The stoat seemed to be waiting to be left alone again. Badger eventually noticed. ‘Er – I’m sorry to have interrupted you,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’ He moved away and called back a hesitant, ‘Good luck!’ over his shoulder, but the stoat was too busy with his meal to respond.

However, the remarks he had made to Badger had made it pretty evident that none of the creatures in the Park was faring very well. He thought of the Great Stag, whose wisdom could perhaps serve the animals’ interests in their hardship. But where was he to be found? Not in the woods, at any rate. He would be in open country. Badger continued on his way.

But he never reached the deer herd, though they were in his sights before the accident happened. He was descending a slight slope which was very slippery with ice. His feet skidded and he went hurtling down, unable to stop himself, just like a toboggan. At the bottom of the slope was a large rock. Badger was completely powerless to avoid it. One side of his body and one hind leg struck the rock heavily. Badly winded, he let out a cry of pain at the blow on his leg. When he could breathe freely again, he tried to hoist himself upright, but such a searing agony shot through the injured hind leg that he merely collapsed on his side once more.

There he lay for the rest of the night. He knew there was no possibility of walking, and the dreadful cold seemed to penetrate every inch of his fur. He wondered what would ever become of him. ‘What hope have I got?’ he asked himself. ‘I’m a long way from my friends, I’ve no food, no shelter, and I can’t move.’ He fell into an uneasy doze.

When morning came, Badger awoke so cold and stiff he could barely even raise his head. But salvation was on the way, although he did not know it. The Warden
of the Park had been out distributing the bales of hay for the White Deer herd, and was doing a general round of the Reserve in his Land Rover. Stopping periodically to view an area through his field-glasses, he spotted the almost inert form of Badger and went to investigate. In no time Badger found himself being lifted, taken to the vehicle where he was laid gently down amongst some old rugs, and transported back to the warmth and comfort of the Warden’s cottage kitchen.

The Warden fetched an old dog basket, lined it with sacking and old cloths and deposited the uncomplaining Badger inside. Then he stood contemplating the animal thoughtfully for a minute, before beginning to prepare some food. Badger fell into another doze, induced by his weakness and the warmth of the room.

When he next sleepily raised his eyelids, he found some raw mince and warm milk placed in front of him. He was able to move his body sufficiently to feed and he ate greedily. His rescuer appeared to be delighted with this, for Badger sensed eyes on him and looked up. The man was smiling broadly, and Badger was astonished, almost numbed by the brightness of the human face. Never had he been so close to humankind before. There was something mysterious – awe-inspiring – there: something quite beyond his own experience and understanding.

But the Warden did not linger. Badger was left to finish his meal and rest in peace. As he sank back on the bed provided for him, he thought of his friends in the Park that he had wanted to help. A lot of help
he
had been to them. They were still suffering in the bleak winter weather – battling against elements that soon could overwhelm them entirely. He knew that his absence would be noticed. The animals would be ignorant of his fate, and he as ignorant of theirs. Would he
be able to walk again? He realized the Warden wished to aid his recovery. But how long would he be kept here? He despised feeling so helpless.

Eventually his very helplessness overcame him, and in his weak state he fell asleep again. He did not know that, on several occasions while he slept, the Warden looked in, and was amused by his snoring. But there was a fresh supply of mince and water to drink when he woke at his usual hour in the evening.

When he had finished eating again, he became aware of a presence in the room, although he had heard nothing moving. In the gloom that he was so used to he soon noticed a pair of green eyes watching him unblinkingly from the doorway. They belonged to a large ginger cat, the Warden’s pet.

‘You’re in a bad way,’ the animal remarked, and walked on noiseless feet towards him in an elaborately unhurried way. By the basket the cat bent and sniffed curiously at Badger for a long time. ‘You have the rank smell of a wild creature,’ he announced.

The creature’s coolness nonplussed Badger. He was not a mouse or a pigeon, but a large untamed animal whose normal strength must be totally unknown to the cat.

‘Have you been eating my meat?’ was the next question.

‘Your master fed me,’ Badger replied.

‘I have no master,’ the cat responded at once. ‘I am my own master. I do as I choose.’

‘Then why do you choose to eat meat provided by a human?’ Badger asked subtly.

‘Why ever not?’ the cat wanted to know, flicking his tail slightly in irritation. ‘It saves me the trouble of finding it for myself.’

Badger was silent.

‘I’ve no objection to your eating it, anyway,’ the cat said nonchalantly. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from, and all sorts of other things as well. Do you like fish?’

‘I’ve eaten fish on occasion, yes,’ Badger answered.

‘Hm. What do you usually eat?’

‘Grubs, roots, bulbs, small creatures.…’

‘Rats?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Good. Then we have something in common. My chief pleasure is hunting rats.’

‘Are there many around here?’ Badger asked, immediately thinking of their value to Fox and Vixen and Tawny Owl, too.

‘Not since I arrived on the scene,’ replied the cat boastfully, flexing his claws. ‘The man brought me here as a kitten two winters ago.’

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of human steps. The Warden came into the room, and Badger was astounded to see a complete change of character come over the domestic animal. Running to its owner, it became at once the playful and affectionate pet, rubbing itself round his legs and purring noisily; then scampering off to a corner before returning to repeat the performance. The man spoke to his pet which increased the volume of purring instantly.

Badger soon understood it was the cat’s mealtime now and the leg-rubbing ritual, together with stretching and mewing, continued until the food was ready. It then abruptly stopped while the more important task of eating was taken care of.

Badger came in for a word or two from the Warden also, though of course he understood nothing. Yet the sounds were very pleasing to him and comforting, too, and he was quite sure that had been the intention.

When the Warden left the kitchen again, the cat followed him. A short time afterwards he returned to put his ginger head round the door. ‘I’m going to spend the rest of the evening in front of the fire,’ he informed Badger. ‘I feel very sleepy. But we’ll talk again later. I hope you’re comfortable for now?’

Badger assured him he was, and found himself alone again. He was soon musing over the strange mixture of his new acquaintance’s personality: semi-domesticated and yet semi-independent. Despite himself, he felt drawn to the animal. He promised to be an interesting source of information.

Outside it was snowing again. In the warmth and security of the basket, Badger felt distinctly guilty as he thought again of his old companions. How he wished they could be sharing his new-found comfort with him now.

The next day Badger felt a good deal stronger after plenty of rest and food. He particularly enjoyed a couple of apples the Warden thoughtfully gave him. With his returning strength, he began to look forward to being active again, and was pleased to receive another visit from the cat as a relief from the monotony.

The cat came running into the kitchen, his ginger fur glistening where the snowflakes were melting. ‘It’s really quite dreadfully cold out there,’ he announced. ‘Far too cold for me. I bet you’d sooner be in here too.’

‘It’s certainly warm here,’ Badger admitted. ‘But my set was always quite cosy, you know. There was plenty of dried bracken and leaves and grass and so on to pull round oneself.’

‘But didn’t the snow cover you?’ asked the cat.

‘No, no, my home’s underground,’ Badger explained.

The cat looked surprised. ‘Underground? How extraordinary,’ he said.

‘Not extraordinary at all,’ Badger said a little defensively. ‘A lot of wild creatures live underground. It’s a lot safer and, as I said, very comfortable.’

‘Who are your enemies?’ whispered the cat.

‘Humans principally,’ Badger replied. ‘And dogs.’

‘Well, you’ve no fear from humans hereabouts,’ the cat reassured him in a well-meaning way. ‘There aren’t any, except the man here, and he loves all wild creatures.’

‘I know there’s nothing to fear here,’ Badger replied. ‘That’s why we all came to the Reserve in the first place. For safety.’

‘Where did you come from, then?’

‘Oh, a long, long way away. A place called Farthing Wood. We had to leave, because the humans were destroying the wood. Our homes were threatened, and if we had stayed we would have been killed.’

‘How many other badgers were with you?’ asked the cat.

‘None. We were a motley party. Fox, Weasel, Tawny Owl, Mole, Toad, Kestrel, along with hedgehogs and rabbits and hares and squirrels and voles and fieldmice and even a snake.’

‘This is most interesting,’ declared the cat. ‘It sounds as if half the countryside was on the march.’

‘It wasn’t really like that,’ Badger smiled. ‘We were only a small band and, naturally, we lost some of our number on the way. Considering the hazards we encountered, we were fortunate not to lose more.’

‘I see,’ said the cat, who did not at all. ‘The mice were taken to provide food for you on the way.’

‘No, no, no,’ Badger cried in horror. ‘They were companions on our journey. Before we set out, we all swore an oath to protect each other’s safety – not to molest one another.’

‘But surely,’ persisted the cat, ‘in the wild it is common for stronger animals to prey on the weak?’

Badger nodded. ‘But we are no common group of animals,’ he said with the greatest satisfaction.

‘I’m beginning to understand that,’ remarked the cat. ‘Tell me about your adventures.’

‘With pleasure,’ said Badger. ‘And the only way to do that is to begin at the beginning.’

So the cat sat perfectly still while he heard about the animals’ escape from Farthing Wood and their journey across country, with all the dangers they had faced of the fire, the river crossing, the Hunt and the motorway. He also heard how the animals had seen the Warden before arriving at the Park. ‘Well, well,’ he said afterwards, ‘quite a story. Makes my life seem very dull.’

‘Each to his own,’ Badger said sagely. ‘I imagine you’re content with your lot?’

‘Oh yes, I have everything I want. Food, warmth – and I can come and go as I please. A cat can be happy with very little.’

‘Have you never felt the desire to be completely free, completely in charge of your own life?’ Badger enquired.

‘But I am,’ the cat protested. ‘As I told you, I please myself.’

‘It’s not what we wild creatures would call really free,’ Badger said provokingly. ‘I rather think you’re more attached to the man than you care to admit. I was interested to see the way you responded to him yesterday – you made quite a fuss of him.’

‘Oh well,’ the cat answered, beginning to lick his chest fur as a diversion, ‘they expect something for their pains,
don’t they? The man likes to think I’m dependent on him.’

‘Perhaps you are?’

‘Not at all,’ the cat said huffily. ‘I can survive perfectly well on my own if I have to. You’re just trying to rile me.’

‘I certainly am not,’ Badger said at once. ‘But I’ll tell you what. Once I can walk again I shall leave here. Why don’t you come with me and prove to the human you don’t really need him?’

The cat did not take up the challenge. ‘How
is
your leg?’ he asked. ‘Still painful?’

Badger indicated that it was. The cat began to lick the wound sympathetically. But Badger had to call out to him to stop. ‘Your tongue is so rough,’ he explained. ‘But you’re very kind.’