Complete Works of Kenneth Grahame

by Kenneth Grahame

  His Wind in the Willows had its origin in a series of weekly letters invented to amuse the school-time of his only son, whose loss in undergraduate prime at Oxford broke the parents’ life. But though his roof had fallen, the pillar stood upright.

  I have a feeling, Sir, that many who loved his books without the privilege of having known him privately will be glad to hear (as I am permitted to tell) that Kenneth Grahame’s end was sudden, peaceful, and painless. On Tuesday, the 5 th, after an evening walk with his wife, he had retired and was reading in bed when the stroke fell with a sudden haemorrhage of the brain. The book slipped from his hand to the floor and he slept out of life to the murmur of Thames by Pangbourne.

  I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

  ARTHUR QUILLER-COUCH

  THE HAVEN, FOWEY, CORNWALL,

  July 14, 1932

  These two biographical notes are written by others, but as Kenneth Grahame wrote so few books, readers may be interested to know that examples of his beautiful descriptive prose are to be found in the Preface to Seventy Years a Showman, by Lord George Sanger, where a wonderfully true picture is given of a fast-vanishing institution, namely, the travelling circus and the caravan life.

  Again, Kenneth Grahame has written other beautiful prefaces — one to his own anthology, The Cambridge Book of Poetry for Children, Eugene Field’s Lullaby Land, La Fontaine’s Fables, and others. I mention these, as they are all characteristic of him.

  At this moment my mind reverts to another unpublished example of his playful charm and its expression.

  A learned Professor of London University wrote to Kenneth Grahame saying he had long pondered over the question of what became of the Mole’s humble though cherished residence, when its owner flung down his whitewashing brush and rushed out into the open, to become acquainted with Ratty, the River, Badger, Toad, and such a possy of new friends, as to keep him absent for a long time from his home.

  The Professor felt unable any longer to resist seeking this information, so at last ventured to inquire what happened to Mole’s dwelling and its care, whilst left unoccupied.

  Kenneth Grahame in his answer to this query wrote what might well have been the inspiration to a further chapter of The Wind in the Willows. He stated that Mole, being a bachelor, probably employed a ‘Char-Mouse’, and that she, out of the kindness of her heart, would at all events see to the feeding of the goldfish in Mole’s little pond and to various other matters of urgency.

  There was more in this enchanting strain, of which the creation of the ‘Char-Mouse’ was the high-light.

  On this note I will wind up my own little Preface, as we have now traced the course of the River backwards from its mouth to its source — thus listening to the first whisper of the Wind in the Willows, and learning something more of the man who wrote it.

  BERTIE’S ESCAPADE

  I

  IT was eleven o’clock on a winter’s night. The fields, the hedges, the trees, were white with snow. From over Quarry Woods floated the sound of Marlow bells, practising for Christmas. In the paddock the only black spot visible was Bertie’s sty, and the only thing blacker than the sty was Bertie himself, sitting in the front courtyard and yawning. In Mayfield windows the fights were out, and the whole house was sunk in slumber.

  ‘This is very slow,’ yawned Bertie. ‘Why shouldn’t I do something?’

  Bertie was a pig of action. ‘Deeds, not grunts,’ was his motto. Retreating as far back as he could, he took a sharp run, gave a mighty jump, and cleared his palings.

  ‘The rabbits shall come too,’ he said. ‘Do them good.’

  He went to the rabbit-hutch, and unfastened the door. ‘Peter! Benjie!’ he called. ‘Wake up!’

  ‘Whatever are you up to, Bertie?’ said Peter sleepily.

  ‘Come on!’ said Bertie. ‘We’re going carol-singing. Bring Benjie too, and hurry up!’

  Peter hopped out at once, in great delight. But Benjie grumbled, and burrowed down in his straw. So they hauled him out by his ears.

  Cautiously they crept down the paddock, past the house, and out at the front gate. Down the hill they went, took the turning by the pillar-box, and arrived at the foot of Chalkpit Hill. Then Benjie struck.

  ‘Hang it all,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to fag up that hill to-night for any one!’

  ‘Then I’ll bite you,’ said Bertie. ‘Choose which you please.’

  ‘It’s all right, Bertie,’ said Peter. ‘We’re none of us going to fag up that hill. I know an easier way. You follow me.’

  He led them into the chalk-pit, till they stood at the very foot. Looking up, it was like the cliffs at Broadstairs, only there was no band at the top and no bathing-machines at the bottom.

  Peter pulled out a large lump of chalk and disclosed the entrance to a long dark little tunnel. ‘Come on!’ he said, and dived in; and the others followed.

  II

  They groped along the tunnel for a considerable way in darkness and silence, till at last they saw a glimmer of light; and presently the tunnel ended suddenly in a neat little lift, lit up with electric light, with a seat running round three sides of it. A mole was standing by the door.

  ‘Come along there, please, if you’re going up!’ called the mole sharply.

  They hurried in and sat down. ‘Just in time!’ said Peter.

  ‘Any more for the lift?’ cried the mole, looking down the tunnel. Then he stepped inside smartly, slammed the door, pulled the rope, and they shot upwards.

  ‘Well, I never!’ gasped Bertie. ‘Peter, you do know a thing or two, you do! Where — what — how—’

  The lift stopped with a jerk. The mole flung the door open, saying ‘Pass out quickly, please!’ and slammed it behind them. They found themselves standing on the fresh snow, under the open starlit sky.

  They turned round to ask the mole where they were, but the lift had vanished. Where it had been there was a square patch of grass free from snow, and in the middle of the patch was a buttony white mushroom.

  ‘Why, we’re in Spring Lane!’ cried Bertie. ‘There’s the well!’

  ‘And here’s Mr. Stone’s lodge, just in front of us!’ cried Peter.

  ‘Splendid!’ said Bertie. ‘Now, we’ll go right up to the house, and sing our bewitching carols under the drawingroom windows. And presently Mr. Stone will come out, and praise us, and pat our heads, and say we’re dern clever animals, and ask us in. And that will mean supper in the dining-room, and champagne with it, and grand times!’

  They hurried up the drive, and planted themselves under the windows. Then Bertie said, ‘First we’ll give ‘em “Good King Wenceslas”. Now then, all together!’

  ‘But I don’t know “Good King Wenceslas”,’ said Peter.

  ‘And I can’t sing!’ said Benjie.

  ‘Well, you must both do the best you can,’ said Bertie. ‘Try and follow me. I’ll sing very slow.’ And he struck up.

  Peter followed him, as best he could, about two bars behind; and Benjie, who could not sing, imitated various musical instruments, not very successfully.

  Presently they heard a voice, inside the house. It was Mrs. Stone’s, and she was saying ‘What — on — earth — is — that — horrible caterwauling?’

  Then they heard another voice — Mr. Stone’s — replying: ‘It sounds like animals — horrid little animals — under the windows, squealing and grunting. I will go out with a big stick, and drive them away.’

  ‘Stick! O my!’ said Bertie.

  ‘Stick! Ow, ow!’ said Benjie.

  Then they heard Mrs. Stone again, saying, ‘O no, don’t trouble to go our, dear. Go through the stable yard to the kennels, and LET — LOOSE — ALL — THE — DOGS.’

  III

  ‘Dogs, O my!’ said Bertie.

  ‘Dogs, ow, ow!’ said Benjie.

  They turned tail and ran for their lives. Peter had already started, some ten seconds previously; they saw him sprinting down the carriage-drive ahead of them, a streak of rabbit- skin. Ber
tie ran and ran, and Benjie ran and ran; while behind them, and coming nearer and nearer, they could hear plainly Wow — wow — wow — wow — wow — WOW!

  Peter was the first to reach the mushroom. He flung himself on it and pressed it; and, click! the little lift was there! The door was flung open, and the mole, stepping out, said sharply: ‘Now then! hurry up, please, if you’re going down! Any more for the lift?’

  Hurry up indeed! There was no need to say that. They flung themselves on the seat, breathless and exhausted; the mole slammed the door and pulled the rope, and they sank downwards.

  Then the mole looked them over and grinned. ‘Had a pleasant evening?’ he inquired.

  Bertie would not answer, he was too sulky; but Peter replied sarcastically: ‘O yes, first rate. My friend here’s a popular carol singer. They make him welcome wherever he goes, and give him the best of everything.’

  ‘Now don’t you start pulling my leg, Peter,’ said Bertie, ‘for I won’t stand it. I’ve been a failure to-night, and I admit it; and I’ll tell you what I will do to make up for it. You two come back to my sty, and I’ll give you a first-rate supper, the best you ever had!’

  ‘O ah, first-rate cabbage-stalks,’ said Benjie. ‘We know your suppers!’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Bertie earnestly. ‘On the contrary. There’s a window in Mayfield that I can get into the house by, at any time. And I know where Mr. Grahame keeps his keys — very careless man, Mr. Grahame. Put your trust in me and you shall have cold chicken, tongue, pressed beef, jellies, trifle, and champagne — at least; perhaps more, but that’s the least you’ll have!’

  Here the lift stopped with a jerk. ‘Tumble out, all of you,’ said the mole, flinging the door open. ‘And look sharp, for it’s closing time, and I’m going home.’

  ‘No you’re not, old man,’ said Bertie affectionately. ‘You’re coming along to have supper with us.’

  The mole protested it was much too late; but in the end they persuaded him.

  IV

  When they got back to Mayfield, the rabbits took the mole off to wash his hands and brush his hair; while Bertie disappeared cautiously round a corner of the house. In about ten minutes he appeared at the pigsty, staggering under the weight of two large baskets. One of them contained all the eatables he had already mentioned, as well as apples, oranges, chocolates, ginger, and crackers. The other contained ginger-beer, soda-water, and champagne.

  The supper was laid in the inner pigsty. They were all very hungry, naturally; and when everything was ready they sat down, and stuffed, and drank, and told stories, and all talked at once; and when they had stuffed enough, they proposed toasts, and drank healths— ‘The King’— ‘Our host Bertie’— ‘Mr. Grahame’— ‘The Visitors, coupled with the name of Mole’— ‘Absent friends, coupled with the name of Mr. Stone’ — and many others. Then there were speeches, and songs, and then more speeches, and more songs; and it was three o’clock in the morning before the mole slipped through the palings and made his way back to his own home, where Mrs. Mole was sitting up for him, in some uneasiness of mind.

  Mr. Grahame’s night was a very disturbed one, owing to agitating dreams. He dreamt that the house was broken into by burglars, and he wanted to get up and go down and satch them, but he could not move hand or foot. He heard them ransacking his pantry, stealing his cold chicken and things, and plundering his wine-cellar, and still he could not move a muscle. Then he dreamt that he was at one of the great City Banquets that he used to go to, and he heard the Chairman propose the health of ‘The King’ and there was great cheering. And he thought of a most excellent speech to make in reply — a really clever speech. And he tried to make it, but they held him down in his chair and wouldn’t let him. And then he dreamt that the Chairman actually proposed his own health — the health of Mr. Grahame! and he got up to reply, and he couldn’t think of anything to say! And so he stood there, for hours and hours it seemed, in a dead silence, the glittering eyes of the guests — there were hundreds and hundreds of guests — all fixed on him, and still he couldn’t think of anything to say! Till at last the Chairman rose, and said ‘He can’t think of anything to say! Turn him out!’ Then the waiters fell upon him, and dragged him from the room, and threw him into the street, and flung his hat and coat after him; and as he was shot out he heard the whole company singing wildly ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow — !’

  He woke up in a cold perspiration. And then a strange thing happened. Although he was awake — he knew he was awake — he could distinctly hear shrill little voices, still singing ‘For he’s a jolly good fe-e-llow, and so say all of us!’ He puzzled over it for a few minutes, and then, fortunately, he fell asleep.

  Next morning, when Miss S. and A. G. went to call on the rabbits, they found a disgraceful state of things. The hutch in a most untidy mess, clothes flung about anyhow, and Peter and Benjie sprawling on the floor, fast asleep and snoring frightfully. They tried to wake them, but the rabbits only murmured something about ‘jolly good fellows’, and fell asleep again.

  ‘Well, we never!’ said Miss S. and A. G.

  When Albert King went to take Bertie his dinner, you cannot imagine the state he found the pigsty in. Such a litter of things of every sort, and Bertie in the midst of it all, fast asleep. King poked him with a stick, and said, ‘Dinner, Bertie!’ But even then he didn’t wake. He only grunted something that sounded like ‘ — God — save — King — Wenceslas!’

  ‘Well!’ said King. ‘Of all the animals!’

  THE END

  LETTERS by Kenneth Grahame

  NOTES ON THE TRANSCRIPT

  1. When Kenneth Grahame substitutes one word for another, crossed-out words are included with a *, except in the case of ordinary slips in writing.

  2. Square brackets indicate pencil additions.

  3. Pencil additions which are obscure are indicated by a question- mark in the margin.

  4. A gap is indicated by (gap).

  5. Dots indicate the omission of family matters.

  GREEN BANK HOTEL, FALMOUTH,

  10th May 1907

  MY DARLING MOUSE,

  Have you heard about the Toad? He was never taken prisoner by brigands at all. It was all a horrid low trick of his. He wrote that letter himself — the letter saying that a hundred pounds must be put in the hollow tree. And he got out of the window early one morning, & went off to a town called Buggleton, & went to the Red Lion Hotel & there he found a party that had just motored down from London, & while they were having breakfast he went into the stable-yard & found their motor-car & went off in it without even saying Poop-poop! And now he has vanished & every one is looking for him, including the police. I fear he is a bad low animal.

  Goodbye, from

  Your loving Daddy.

  GREEN BANK HOTEL, FALMOUTH,

  23rd May 1907

  MY DEAREST MOUSE,

  No doubt you have met some of the animals & have heard about Toad’s Adventures since he was dragged off to prison by the bobby & the constable. At first he lay full length on the floor, and shed bitter tears, and abandoned himself to dark despair. For he said ‘How can I ever hope to be set free again, I who have been imprisoned — and justly — so often, for stealing so many — so many — he could not utter the word, for his sobs choked him. Base animal that I am (he said): O unhappy and abandoned [forsaken] toad (he said); I must languish in this dungeon (he said) till people have forgotten the very name of Mr. Toad. With lamentations such as these he passed his days & nights, refusing consolation, refusing food or other light refreshments: till one day the gaoler’s daughter, who was a tender-hearted young woman, took pity on him & said ‘Cheer up toad! & try & eat a bit of dinner.’ But the toad lay on the floor & wailed & wouldn’t eat his dinner. Then the gaoler’s daughter went & fetched a cup of hot tea & some very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in it in great golden drops like honey. When the toad smelt the buttered toast he sat up & dr
ied his eyes for he was exceedingly fond of buttered toast; & the gaoler’s daughter comforted him & he drank his tea & had another plate of toast. Then they discussed plans for his escape from the dungeon, & the gaoler’s daughter said ‘Tomorrow my aunt, who is the washerwoman to the prison, will bring home your week’s washing, & I will dress you up in her clothes & you will escape as the washerwoman.’ So when the washerwoman came with the linen, they dressed toad up in her clothes & put a bonnet on his head & out he marched, past the gaolers, as bold as you please. As he was passing one of them, the man said ‘Hullo mother washerwoman, why didn’t you send home my Sunday shirt last week, you lazy old pig?’ & he took his stick & beat her full sore. And the toad was mad with rage, because he wanted to give him a punch in the eye, but he controlled himself & ran on through the door, which banged behind him & he was Free. This is as far as I have heard at present.

  Your affectionate Daddy.

  THE FOWEY HOTEL,

  FOWEY, CORNWALL,

  28 May 1907

  MY DEAREST MOUSE,

  — Now I daresay you will want to hear something more of the sad misadventures of Mr. Toad. Well, when he found himself outside the prison gates it was quite dark & he was in a strange land, with no friends, & he was frightened, & didn’t know what to do. But he could hear the puffing of steam-engines not very far off, & he saw some red & green lights through the trees, & he said to himself ‘That must be a railway station, & if I am to get home the first thing to do is to get into a train that goes there’. So he made his way down to the station & went into the ticket office & asked for a ticket. And the man said ‘Where for?’ And the toad told him. And the man said ‘That will cost five shillings’. So the toad felt for his pocket, to find the money, when to his horror & dismay he couldn’t find any pocket! Because he had got the washerwoman’s dress on. Then he remembered that when he had changed clothes in such a hurry he had left all his money, & his keys, & pencil, & matches, & everything, in the pockets of the clothes he had taken off. So there he was, miles & miles from home, dressed like a washerwoman, without a penny of money. Then Mr. Toad shed bitter tears, & said to the man ‘Please I have lost all my money — will you be very kind & give me a ticket for nothing’. But the man only laughed and said ‘Go away old woman! We don’t carry washerwomen for nothing on this railway!’ So the toad went away crying, and wandered down the platform by the side of the train, thinking whatever should he do, till he came to where the engine was. And the engine- driver saw he was crying, & said cheerfully ‘What’s the matter, mother?’ And the toad replied ‘I want to get home, so badly, but I’ve lost all my money, & I can’t buy a ticket.’ Now the engine-driver was a kind-hearted man, & he said ‘Look here, washerwoman! This engine-driving is very dirty work, and I dirty so many shirts that my wife says she’s tired of washing ‘em. If you will wash two shirts for me next week, I’ll let you ride on the engine with me now, & so you will get home for nothing!’ Then the toad was overjoyed, and he sprang up on the engine with great delight. Of course he had never washed a shirt in his life, and couldn’t if he tried, but he thought ‘When I get home, & get some more money, I will send the engine-driver some, to pay for his washing, & that will be just the same’. Presently the engine-driver blew his whistle & the train began to move out of the station; & soon they were puffing and rattling through the country, ever so fast, & the toad was jumping up & down with sheer delight, to think that soon he would be home again. —