the journey. They put me in the back of their car, and the next thing I knew I was being tipped into a glass box in their garden.’
‘How long did they keep you in this glass box?’ asked Fox.
‘I suppose about four weeks,’ replied Toad. ‘They put some netting on the top as a lid, and one day their wretched cat, who was always prowling around trying to get at me, knocked it off. So I leapt as high as I could, and I managed to jump out of the box and hide behind a shed. That very night I started my journey home.
‘I hadn’t got very far before I decided I ought to strengthen myself with a good meal. All the humans had ever given me was mealworms; tasty enough, but so boring without some change to relieve the diet. I still think you can’t beat a juicy earthworm, fresh and moist from its burrow.’
‘Hear, hear!’ cried Mole feelingly. ‘Nothing like them! I could eat them till I burst. Never tire of ’em.’
‘It’s a wonder there are any left at all, with your appetite,’ remarked Tawny Owl.
‘Oh, nonsense, there are plenty for everyone,’ Mole justified himself a little shamefacedly. ‘Though during this dry weather I have my work cut out finding them. They do go down so deep, you know.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Toad. ‘Anyway, when I had eaten my fill, my first problem was to get out of that garden. The great difficulty lay in getting round the wall. There was no wooden fence with convenient gaps in it – just a stone wall all round the garden. However, I was determined not to be disheartened, and there was one thing in my favour. The wall had bits of pebble and flint stuck into it – for decoration perhaps, I don’t know – and I knew I could use these projecting pieces to climb up.
‘It took so long, however, that I was sure daylight would break before I had reached the top, particularly as I fell off about four times, and had to start again. But I knew I had to get up that wall, even to have a chance of setting out for Farthing Wood.
‘Well, I got to the top eventually, and walked along to the end of the wall. By that time it was just starting to get light, and I knew I would have to jump for it. I looked all round for a plant or something to break my fall, but there was nothing; only concrete all around. Of course, I couldn’t possibly risk jumping on to that, so I had to lower my legs over the edge, and climb down the pebbles again. Fortunately, it didn’t take as long as going up, and I was just thinking I could probably jump the last few inches when that horrible cat came out of the house. I pressed myself close to the wall and froze.’
Toad broke off, and contemplated his enthralled audience. The room was completely, utterly silent, so that you could have heard a pine needle drop. The young squirrels had wrapped themselves cosily in their mothers’ thick tails, and the fieldmice and voles were now all bunched together in a large, furry mass, which was animated only by a score or so of quivering pink noses. Every animal gave Toad his rapt attention. Only Adder appeared to be taking no further interest in the proceedings. He had allowed his head to drop forward, but whether he was asleep or not would have been difficult to say.
‘Would you believe me,’ Toad went on quietly, ‘if I told you I stayed in that spot all day, trying to look like another pebble? I couldn’t risk climbing down any further because there was nowhere to hide, and if the cat had seen me it would have been the end of me.
‘Fortunately, the day was reasonably cool, and as soon as it was safely dark, I let myself drop the rest of the way to the ground, and then crawled and hopped as far as I could away from the house. There were only one or two other houses nearby, and once I’d got past them I began to feel much freer. My sense of direction told me what course to take, and I kept on down to the end of the road. This was sealed off by a sort of ditch, and behind that a fence. I knew I was on the right route, and those two things didn’t present much of a barrier to me. I hadn’t gone far on the other side when I realized I must be in some sort of private park, because the fence stretched as far as I could see in both directions.
‘Now I don’t know exactly why it was, but the more I looked at that fence, the safer I felt. I suppose it was because I knew I was on the right side of it.
‘It was very quiet and peaceful in there, and a lovely bright moon was shining as I made my way along, flicking up a few insects on the way. I decided to make my bed under some trees, so I scooped out a little hole in the earth, and pulled some dry leaves round me. I slept quite well during the day because, apart from the birds, no one seemed to be about.
‘When it was dusk I emerged again, and continued forward. After a while, the trees gave way to some open land, and ahead of me I could sense water. You can’t imagine how excited I became at that, after all those weeks without a dip. It was another bright, moonlit night, and eventually I could see a pool ahead, where the moon was reflected perfectly. As I approached I thought I could hear one or two croaks coming from the water. I realized I had not been mistaken, when the whole party of the pool’s inhabitants started croaking in unison, making a tremendous racket. It was a call I couldn’t place, unlike any I had heard before. They were obviously frogs – but what sort of frogs?
‘As I didn’t know if they were likely to be friendly, I approached the water’s edge cautiously, and just watched them for a while. There seemed to be quite a number of them splashing about in the centre of the pool, and some were just floating, with their heads out of the water. These were the ones making the noise. They were blowing out their cheeks like two bubbles in their efforts to croak the loudest.
‘After I had been there for a little while, they stopped croaking, and seemed to decide amongst themselves that it was time to leave the water. They began to make for the shore, some swimming in my direction. I stood my ground. As they clambered out, one of them called, “We’ve got a visitor. A toad.”
‘They all came up to have a look, remarking that they hadn’t seen me before, and that the toads who shared their pond in the spring had all been gone a week or more to make their homes on land. They made quite a fuss of me when I told them my story. They explained to me that they had just left the pond to feed, and invited me to join them.
‘There was no shortage of food, and we were all able to eat our fill. Although it was night-time, I was able to discover that these unusual frogs were a definite shade of green, with darker spots, and a stripe of a paler colour down the centre of the back. When we had finished eating, they asked me to join them in a swim, and I was glad to accept.
‘We swam out to the centre, and rested amongst the water-weed, and I took the opportunity of asking them about the park. Their spokesman was an old, fat male who seemed to be a sort of patriarch of their society. He told me the park was called White Deer Park, and it was a Nature Reserve.’
Toad paused for effect, and there were obliging murmurs of, ‘Ah’ and ‘Of course – the Nature Reserve.’
‘We have heard of these Nature Reserves,’ said Badger. ‘Do they, in fact, reserve nature?’
‘Exactly as the name implies,’ Toad answered emphatically. ‘My friends the frogs told me all about it. A Nature Reserve is a piece of land – or water – of exceptional value and interest because of the rare animals or plants – or both – in it. There is a certain breed of human called a Naturalist, who, unlike most ordinary humans, spends his time learning about, and caring for, animals and plants. Their prime consideration is our well-being and safety. The frogs told me these Naturalists usually work in groups, and it was one of these groups that decided that their homeland, White Deer Park, was too valuable to be left unprotected. So, about three years ago, it was sealed off, designated a Reserve, and now no humans are permitted entry to it without a special pass. Even then, they may not remove
