Not many know that there are several sequels to 'The Wind in the Willows', published in the 1990s. "But that's impossible!" I hear you cry, "Kenneth Grahame died in 1932."
Quite so, but these sequels weren't written by the man himself but by William Horwood who, in an act of homage and celebration to Kenneth Grahame, wrote 'The Willows in Winter', 'Toad Triumphant', 'The Willows and Beyond', and 'The Willows at Christmas'.
They're as allegorical and anthropomorphical and - suppressing the sesquipedalian in me - as plain insightful into the human condition as their original. Here is an excerpt from 'The Willows in Winter':
"The Mole sat toasting his toes in front of the fire. The winter wind howled safely outside, sending occasional flurries of soot down the chimney. He was thinking that things were nearly perfect, but not quite.
'I must not be uncharitable,' he said to himself, though a slight and uncharacteristic frown showed he was finding it diffcult not to be. 'I have my health, I have my home and I - I must not be unfriendly.'
He darted a glance across the hearth towards the smaller and less comfortable chair that was ranged there, looked briefly at the cause of his ill-temper, and looked away again.
'No, I must be patient. My heart must be compassionate. I must put up with it. I must - O bother!'
The wind blew suddenly more violently all round the outside of his house, and doors rattled, and an ember of the beech log that was burning brightly on his fire cracked and shot onto his rug and smouldered there.
'Don't worry!' said the unwelcome guest who sat in the chair opposite. 'I'll move it!'
'I can do it myself, thank you very much,' retorted the Mole in a grumbly way, quite unlike his normal good-natured self. 'O - O drat!'
He shook his paw in momentary pain at the heat as he sought to pick up the ember and put it back where it belonged.
'Would you like a - ?'
'No I wouldn't!' declared the Mole vehemently. 'I would like - I would like - I - '
But he could not bring himself to say what he would like, which was to be left alone and snug in his cosy home, free to potter through the winter evening, free to make himself a warming drink - or not, as the case might be - but certainly free not to have to think about someone else."
Which is exactly how I feel about "Riverbend" even though I could not bring myself to say it. Summer or winter, I just want to be left alone, free to potter, free to make myself a cup of tea - or not - and certainly free not to have to think about someone else. Welcome to "Riverbend"!
