This is time for podcast, yeah. The podcast is starting.
What's? The podcast It's All gonna be
Alright in the air. It's gonna be alright.
You've got some worries, my dear little Arise.
Rest your busy minds because it's finally time.
The Stories from Now and Then. Hello, kids.
And kids at Heart, welcome back to Stories From Now and Then.
My name is Captain Blunderface, and I'm here in the old library
with Deprecatus. Of course, today we're taking
care of our spring cleaning. Yeah, just a second, Deprecatus.
I'm going to move these boxes over here onto the floor.
And these piles of books, I'll put them on the window sill for
now while we organize all of the papers.
Well, it's just spring cleaning Deprikatis.
It's not a huge deal. You know, we do this every year.
Well, you have lots of other spaces to hang out in.
But don't worry, we'll be done before you know it.
In the meantime, before Nickelodeon today's story, we
have a shout out for Vienna in the Comox Valley in British
Columbia. Cats are her favorite animals.
Blue is her favorite color, and she loves the story of Elsa from
Frozen. So, Vienna, this story is for
you. And with that, we'll pass it off
to the amazing Nicola for today's story, which is Part 1
of The Wind in the Willows. You know, Captain, one of my
favorite things about springtime is how it feels as though the
world is waking up again. The flowers, the trees, and also
all of the animals. The birds start singing, the
bears come out of their dens, and everything just feels so
alive. And we've got a classic story
today about some lovely forest animals.
It's called The Wind in the Willows by a man called Kenneth
Graham, and it follows the adventures of a few very special
animals. Now we've shortened the stories
so that we can fit as much in as possible, but today's will just
be Part 1. Here we go.
There was beneath a hedge where roots twisted like old fingers
and the earth smelled of damp leaves and quiet industry, a
small home made comfortable by long habit and careful pause.
In this home lived Mole, who had spent all the morning engaged in
spring cleaning, as respectable creatures often do when the
season first begins to stir itself awake.
He had swept the hallways, shaken rugs, polished his
shelves, and beaten dust from corners where dust, having once
settled, had every intention of staying forever.
By noon he was powdered from whisker to tail, with soot upon
his nose and a weariness in every limb that made even the
sight of another shelf feel unbearable.
Then something happened that comes from time to time to
sensible creatures in spring. A softness in the air, a
brightness pressing faintly at the edges of underground
windows. A feeling difficult to explain,
impossible to resist, That there must be something happening
elsewhere. Mole leaned upon his broom.
He looked at the walls of his little room, at the hooks, the
cupboard, the tidy coal scuttle. And all at once they seemed too
still, too familiar, too much the same as yesterday.
Without quite deciding to do so, he laid down the broom, climbed
the narrow tunnel toward the surface, and began scrambling
upward with sudden determination, pushing through
earth until at last his nose broke through into daylight.
The world above met him all at once.
Warm sun lay upon the fields. The hedges were touched with
tender green. Tiny shoots stood up everywhere,
as if each had been invited separately to attend spring and
had arrived punctually. Birds sang with a confidence
that suggested they had arranged the whole morning themselves.
Mole blinked. He drew in a deep breath and
felt from whisker tip to tail, that the world was entirely
right. He had not known until that
moment how badly he wished to be out of doors.
The broom, the dusting cloth, the unfinished cleaning, all
vanished from importance at once.
He wandered through meadows where butter cups had begun
their golden business, crossed little paths bordered by Moss,
and passed beneath branches where sunlight moved in
fragments upon the ground. Everything seemed alive with
invitation. At last, after wandering farther
than he intended, he heard a sound unfamiliar enough to stop
him at once. A low, moving sound, soft but
endless. A gliding, whispering sound.
He followed it through reeds and grass until suddenly the ground
opened before him, and there lay the river.
Mole had never truly seen a river before.
It moved and glittered and curved away into distances full
of promise. Little wrinkles of light
travelled upon its surface. Reflections trembled and broke
and joined again. It seemed always busy, yet
perfectly at ease. He stood still, entirely taken
by it. Seated upon the bank nearby, in
a small boat painted blue and white, was a water rat.
Not the sort of rat 1 imagines in dark corners, but a bright
eyed, well brushed fellow in neat clothes with small, capable
paws and an expression of easy satisfaction, as though the day
had begun exactly as he hoped it would.
Seeing Mole, he lifted one paw in greeting.
Hello, Mole, said he cheerfully. Mole was startled that his name
should be known. Hello, he answered shyly.
Come and have a row, said the rat, as if nothing could be more
obvious. I don't suppose I know how, said
Mole. That's all the better, replied
the rat. Neither did I once.
There are invitations which sensible creatures might examine
carefully before accepting, and there are others that seem to
carry their own certainty. Mole stepped in.
The boat rocked alarmingly. He nearly lost balance.
The rat steadied him with practised ease.
Then they were off. At first Mole sat rigid with
alarm, for every little movement seemed likely to overturn them
both. But the Rat handled the oars
with such confidence that fear soon gave way to delight.
The river moved beneath them like something alive and
friendly. Rat spoke as they drifted.
He spoke of bends and backwaters, Reed beds, little
hidden landing places and pools where fish gathered under roots.
There is nothing, he said firmly, absolutely nothing half
so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.
He said it with such conviction that Mole immediately believed
it one of the great truths of existence.
They landed at a grassy place where Rat unpacked luncheon from
a basket. Cold chicken, bread, little
cakes, ginger beer and sandwiches appeared in a
quantity Mole found astonishing. You, You always carry this much,
Asked Mole. One never knows when one may
feel hungry, said Rat. After luncheon, they drifted
again. Dragonflies flashed blue above
the reeds. A moorhen crossed ahead of them
with solemn urgency. Somewhere distant, cattle moved
lazily in fields. Mole felt as though his old
underground rooms belonged to another life.
Toward afternoon, Rat proposed that Mole try the oars himself.
Mole accepted bravely. What followed was less graceful.
The boat first turned in a circle, then struck reeds, then
nearly sent both of them sideways.
Mole rowed earnestly, which did not improve.
Matters not too much, cried Rat. Less left.
No, your other left. A moment later, Mole lost
balance entirely and fell backward into the river.
The cold came as a shock, sharp enough to empty every thought
from his head. He splashed helplessly until
Rat, laughing but efficient, caught him by the collar and
brought him spluttering to shore, wrapped in blankets.
Soon after, Mole laughed too, though shakily.
I I shall learn, he said. Of course you shall, said Rat
kindly. Everyone does.
As evening softened the river, Rat suggested that Mole might
stay with him. My rooms are close by, he said.
Nothing grand, but comfortable enough.
They followed a little path among reeds to Rat's home, half
hidden in the riverbank. It proved more than comfortable.
There were books, armchairs, bright brass things, tobacco
jars, framed maps and windows looking directly upon the water.
Everything suggested long habit joined to quiet pleasure.
Mole admired everything. A kettle sang.
Lamps were lit outside. Evening gathered Blue among the
willows. Rat spoke of friends.
Let's Toad, he said. What sort is Toad Asked Mole.
Rat smiled in a way difficult to interpret.
An excellent fellow, he said. Carefully.
Enthusiastic, Very enthusiastic indeed.
Whatever he is doing at the moment becomes, to his mind, the
finest thing ever attempted by any creature.
Sounds admirable, Said mole rat gave a small cough.
It depends somewhat what he has lately discovered.
And others, Badger, said Rat, lowering his voice slightly, as
though naming someone both respected and slightly
mysterious. Lives in the Wildwood.
Keeps to himself, mostly. Knows everything worth knowing.
Mole glanced toward the darkening window, where trees
now stood in deeper shadow. The Wildwood sounds serious.
It is serious, said Rat. Simply, Perfectly safe in
daylight if one knows the paths, less agreeable if one does not.
They ate supper comfortably, while outside the river darkened
and stars began quietly appearing overhead.
Later, seated near the fire, Mole felt a contentment unlike
anything he had known. Underground, the room held
warmth, The river whispered beyond the window.
From somewhere outside came the faint rustle of wreaths moving
in evening air. He had left home only that
morning, intending perhaps no more than a brief walk.
Yet already the world had widened astonishingly.
Rat, seeing his expression, smiled.
You'll like river life, he said. Mole looked toward the dark
water, where moonlight had just begun touching the surface.
Yes, he said softly. I think I shall.
And because spring had only just begun, and because rivers always
lead onward, this first day by the water was only the
beginning. Let's leave Mole and Rat there
to have a rest after their adventurous day.
We've met 2 animals so far and we've heard about two more, Toad
and Badger. We will meet them in the next
part of the story. Before we finish today, I'm
curious to know what animal would you be if you were a
forest creature? Would you be like mole or
perhaps like a water rat? Sometimes I think I would like
to be a rabbit, nice and cosy and just happy to eat all day.
What about you, Captain? What animal feels right for you?
I think for me it would have to be an Opossum, not to be
confused with a quote possum, which are different and they
live in Australia, but an Opossum and it's because they're
pretty mysterious and they seem to be scared of nothing I guess.
So that sounds cool. As for our spring cleaning, we
tidied up a lot and now I just have to tidy up the window sill
and our spring cleaning will be done.
Yeah, I guess this was a big deal for you with all this stuff
moving around. These boxes are kind of bigger
than you. And I guess you couldn't hang
out on the window sill either with all the clutter.
You know what, Sure thing. Next time I'll try to leave the
window sill open for cat activities only.
Remember, if you'd like a shout out, just send us Adm on
Instagram at Stories from Now and Then.
We'd love to hear from you and you can get a future episode
dedicated to you. Stories from Now and Then is
narrated by the amazing Nickel Award.
I'm Captain Blunderface, and we'll see you next time on
Stories from Now and Then.