At Mr. Badger’s

Whoever does not know of the hospitality and winsome nature of Mr. Badger has been put off from learning of him by some unfortunate misunderstanding. Due to private matters having to do with night and winter and his having a somewhat retiring nature, he is not always easily met. Yet when rain or winds storm outside, moaning in the weeping willows and whistling at the doors and windows, passers-by can find welcome, warmth and security within, night or day. Besides, Badger is recognised at the most upstanding and knowledgeable figure around and his conviviality is always an attraction.

Badger’s extensive residential burrows, where the wind in the willows is often heard, are the popular meeting place for many who live in the forest, fields or along the river and is visited by bearers of news and rustic conversationalists. His huge kitchen, with its usual roaring log fire, chimney nooks, a long trestle table, tall settles and oaken pews, is well supplied. Its rafters are hung with a voluminous store of preserved eatables and delicacies.

Mr. Beaver had knocked hard at the front door and was welcomed by Badger as his close and prized companion. Beaver always remarks on the decorated stonework of the sound pillars and arches, the high ceilings and - though the entrance hall gives a somewhat shabby impression - the oaken doors and passages in the large hall. This pronounces that this is no mere sett, it is indeed an extensive property of distinction. “As you know”, says Badger, “the humans built on a scale which no animal could ever have done, but they left all this behind when they disappeared into the wide world. We badgers are but inheritors of their buried bounty, which had been overgrown by the forest and were often become dingy and damp. What badgers found use for, we insulated, restored and renovated until we have all this extra space for stores, cosy bedrooms, underground meeting halls in winter, safe from the weather and any dangers.”

Admiring the spacious and well-appointed living room, with its comforts and alcoves, warm decor and atmosphere, Beaver remarked, “This setting suits you and is always inviting. Yet it would never do for me, of course. I have to be near water, and mostly under it in my own homely space. Admittedly, I do have to I build and uphold everything myself so I make it as I want for comfort …and maybe for a future family of my own.”

Badger’s winter storeroom was stacked with baskets full of root vegetables, trays of fragrant apples, dried edible fungi and nuts, bunches of wild garlic, preserving jars with fruits, honey, strawberry jam, rowan berry jelly, and dried fruits and nuts. From oaken beams hung a host of dried herbs and leaves of edible plants, onions and wild garlic, joints of bacon and cured ham. Casks of beer and cider of several vintages stood around on the floor.

Beside this room is an extra guest bedroom with inviting soft beds, scented with lavender and potpourri, where Beaver and the otherwise retiring Hedgehog luxuriated while Badger entertained them with stories heard from a seaman; flying fish that fell on ships’ decks, curious playful porpoises whales gambolling around the prow of ships, mile high thin water spouts which collapsed if one fired a gun near them, giant manta rays which would turn somersaults in the air, waters in which all kinds of fish could be followed at night by the sparkling phosphorescence they stirred up. How much his guests took in is uncertain because sounds like gentle yawns and possible light snoring were heard before he had finished.

Among the wide community of other respectable animals most frequently met at Badger’s are Mr. Otter of Holt-on-the-River, Mr. Squirrel the elder, and several of their various relatives; water rats, field mice and, of course, the gifted popular vocalist, Mr Vole of Waterside Cottage who would lead sing-songs on occasion. Everything about life in the wild - the only really worthwhile concern - can be gleaned here; the weather, the rhythms of nature, the doings, comings and goings of all and sundry. Hares and rabbits dropped in occasionally, and now and again they arrived out of breath from running away from nefarious and notorious denizens who prey on their neighbours - foxes, stoats, weasels and wildcats. These miscreants were always wholly unwelcome by judicious Mr. Badger, who only admits decent folk to his much sought-after circle.

Such was his renown that the local young would take every opportunity to attend any story-telling sessions he held beside a roaring log fire when the snows began. Wintertime conversation was often about summer pursuits, especially punting in the shallows, sculling , rowing and swimming. Badger would excite them with tales of about river boats that pass by on their way to the great inexplicable sea and never return, the good or bad habits of foreign beasts that roam the land - some fierce some harmless. He collected all that anyone remembered about what visiting travellers of the wide world had told them; ever pondering mightily over the ocean and the beyond, how they came to be, how far they reached and whether there was an end to it all anywhere.

This is also the place to discuss the enigma of those strange exotic beings, the human breed and their peculiar goings on. With snuffling laughter, Otter remarked, “They sometime actually swim in the river, you know. Don’t ask me why, because they never really do anything like catching fish or collecting delicacies from the underwater rocks. They struggle to keep afloat, splashing about clumsily a lot while.” Vole nodded vigorously and added, “A good job they don’t build holts or other living spaces in the riverbank or we’d never be shot of them.”

“I avoid them as far as inhumanly possible,” said Mr. Badger, “and usually only come out when it is nearly dark, for who can say what they will or will not do? They have such disturbing calls too, not like our barks but other strange sounds.”

Nodding, Hedgehog added, “They try to tempt us with bowls of a sticky white liquid with soggy lumps of bread in it. When I feel their presence, I curl up tight and hope for the best.”

“Whenever I sense one, I go back into my vole hole,” said Mr. Vole, ‘or, failing that, slip under water asap.”

“A sensible precaution!” Otter twirled his flexible head and neck in strong assent. “Of course, I do not have much truck with them since as in the past they often hunted down my ancestors with vicious dogs… may they rest in peace. Anyhow, I swim so silently and mostly under water looking for food that they hardly get a glance of me. Which reminds me, Badge, would you please pass me some of those delicious-looking fish paste sandwiches?”

“With pleasure!” said Badger who donned an apron and set about carving his crusty homemade loaves. “What will you have to drink? I can recommend some mature ginger beer or, if you prefer, a glass of elderberry wine.”