 Being a political fable of the Riverbank for election day, with apologies to Kenneth

Grahame.

The sun was low in the sky after a long spring day. The water rat and his bosom friend
Mole had spent the afternoon walking the riverbank, pointing at the fresh greens and
early flowers of the new season and it was with an air of contentment the two were
sharing cakes and tea as the golden rays of early evening streamed in through the rat’s
open window.
“Another year, mole, old fellow”, commented Rat, simply to fill the companiable
silence with companiable conversation. “And yet, here on the riverbank, nothing
seems ever to really change. The trees grow green from one year to the next, and the
ducks show their tail feathers to the sky come rain or shine. You know” – here he
stretched in a contented manner – “I’m glad that-“
Whatever Rat was glad of was never said, because at that moment there came a loud
rapping – rat-a-tat-tat! – at the door of Mole’s house. Mole sat upright. “I know that
knock!” he squeaked. “That simply must be old Toad. I’ll go and invite him in, shall
I?”
Rat looked less pleased at the idea, but Mole had already hopped from his chair and
scurried to the door which, when opened, revealed the familiar, portly shape of Mr
Toad. “Toad!” cried Mole. “How delightful to see you!”
“I’m glad you feel that way Moley”, replied Toad, sticking out his hand for Mole to
shake. “You see, I’m here to talk to you on a matter of the gravest importance.”
Rat drifted up to the door and eyed Toad, taking in the colossal blue rosette pinned to
his lapel. “I’ll wager I know what that is”, he said, wearily.
“Rat!”, said Toady. “A pleasure, old man, an absolute pleasure”. He seized Rat’s paw
and pumped it enthusiastically. “I trust I can count on your vote?”
“Vote?” Asked Mole.
“Vote!” replied Toad. “We’re due to have an election, and I’m out canvassing”. He
tapped his rosette. “I’m your Conservative candidate”, he added unnecessarily.
“An election?” squeaked the mole. “How exciting! Shall there be political arguments
and hustings and rallying speeches from soapboxes, and perhaps parades with
placards?”
Toad looked confused. “I certainly hope not”, he replied. “I’m rather hoping to be
swept to power without having to do a great deal of work. The Chief Weasel hasn’t
been much good as our current MP, so I’m planning to keep my head down and just
remind everyone that it’s me or the weasel.” He shook his head. “The last thing I want
is people asking any difficult questions.” He looked hopefully into Mole’s house. “I
don’t suppose you’ve got any babies about that I might kiss?”
Mole shook his head.
“You are married, aren’t you Mole? I can never remember.”
Mole shook his head again.
“Oh”. Toad looked from Mole to Rat and back again. “Oh! Well, obviously as a
progressive Toad I support that sort of thing, too. Whatever it might be.”
“But Toad”, asked Mole. “What are your policies? What are you standing for?”
“To tell the truth, Mole old man”, replied Toad, tapping his nose conspiratorially, “my
main concern is that the roof on Toad Hall has started leaking, and I’m hoping to get it
fixed on expenses. Failing that, maybe I can put a few juicy government contracts the
way of a construction company in return for them tarting the old place up on the Q.T.
Why do you ask?”
Mole looked crestfallen. “I was hoping for something about helping the needy and
making the riverbank a safer place to live?”
“Oh, that!” agreed Toad, jovially. “Of course I’d do what I could. Safety on the
community, care in the street or whatever they call those initiatives. Yes, I’m very
much in favour of all that old tommyrot”, he paused. “So you’ll be voting for me? The
future of the riverbank depends upon it. It’s me or the weasel, you know.”
“Seeing as you ask, Toad”, said Rat. “I would like to know what you’re planning to do
about several serious issues. For starters how would you tackle – “
“Well, it’s been delightful to talk to you. Delightful”, interrupted Toad, quickly. “But
I’ve got to be cutting along. There’s a family over there with several delightful baby
hedgehogs for me fawn over, and I’ve got a reporter for the Guardian with me.
Cheery-bye!” and with a merry wave he was gone, leaving Mole and Rat on the
doorstep.
“Same old Toady”, said Rat, drily.
“But an election, Rat!” worried the Mole. “What should I do? I just don’t know who to
vote for. What do you think?”
Rat thought in silence for a long moment, watching the retreating back of Toad with a
serious expression on his face. Finally he nodded to himself. “I think we should talk to
Badger.”

*****

“Toad? An MP?” The expression on Badger’s face was one of incredulity. “I know
what put that idea in his head. He’s been looking at that bust of his grandfather in
Toad Hall.”
“Was Toad’s grandfather an MP?” asked Rat. “I didn’t know that.”
“Before your time. Before mine, almost”, said Badger. “He was of the old school. MP
for twenty years and then first Baron Riverbank. Built the local school out of his own
pocket to ensure the ducklings and cubs got an education. Not like the sort of politico
we get these days.” He shook his head sadly. “Now all we’ve got is a choice between
Toad and the Chief Weasel.”
“The Chief Weasel isn’t so bad”, piped up Mole. “He says he’s reduced poverty
amongst young rabbits by fifty percent!”
“That’s because he ate half of Mrs. Rabbit’s children” observed Badger.
“Cut hospital waiting times for the elderly?”
“By eating all the rabbits too old to run away.”
“Have all the Chief Weasel’s policies involved eating the rabbits?”
“Not just that, Mole”, replied Rat. “He’s planned for them to have an ever-increasing
number of babies every year for him to eat. He calls it post-prandial endogenous
growth theory. Mr and Mrs Rabbit are at their wits end.”
“Put simply, you can’t formulate a long-term government policy on the constant eating
of rabbits”, said Badger. “That’s the problem with weaselism. Sooner or later you run
out of other people’s rabbits.”
“But that’s the problem, isn’t it, Badger?”, said the Water Rat. “The Chief Weasel is
committed to increasing the number of baby rabbits he devours in real terms year on
year, and all Toad seems to want is to have the biggest house in the area and swan
about the place. That’s the choice?”
Badger sat in his old leather armchair and gazed into the embers of the fire. He stroked
his grizzled muzzle in silent contemplation. “There’s only one thing for it”, he said at
last. “I shall have to stand for Parliament myself.”
“Oh, Badger!”, cried Mole. “What a splendid idea!”
“There’s a political debate at the village hall tomorrow night”, said Badger. “I shall
announce my candidacy and attend. This time there will be an alternative to the
Weasels and Toads of this world!”

*****

The Village Hall was full to capacity. Riverbank folk had never seen such a thing as a
political meeting and expectations had been high, but had been largely disappointed.
The Chief Weasel had given a long speech on how the only way to create a fair world
for future rabbit children was to vote for him, but his message had been undermined
by the new rabbit-fur hat and coat he was wearing, and the large rabbit sandwich he
was taking bites out of between sentences. After that, Toad had promised to moderate
his policy of having a lovely big house by offering to let riverbank folk look at it from
a reasonable distance on Sundays and Bank Holidays. As the meeting had gone on
Badger had stayed largely silent, only occasionally letting out a disgruntled snort
whenever Toad or the Chief Weasel said something unpopular – and as a result the
mood in the Hall was very much on Badger’s side.
“It’s amazing, Mole”, whispered the Water Rat as the two sat at the back. “Badger
hasn’t said anything at all, and he’s becoming more popular by the moment. Just
imagine what it’ll be like when he actually starts answering questions. He’ll be swept
to power by a landslide!”
Mole nodded. “He certainly seems to disagree with the Chief Weasel and Toad at all
the right moments. I wonder what his policies are going to be?”
Finally, it was Badger’s turn. He shifted his wise old head to gaze paternally at the
audience. “Now”, he said. “Does anyone have any questions for me?”
It seemed like nobody wanted to question Badger. Such was the victory he had scored
by simply disagreeing with everything Toad and the Chief Weasel had said that there
was, for a moment, a reluctance to put him on the spot. Eventually a very small vole
raised a paw. “Please, sir? Please?” Badger smiled gruffly and indicated for the vole to
continue. “The Chief Weasel took all the gold and silver out of the Riverbank Bank
and made it into expensive cutlery for eating Mr and Mrs Rabbit’s children. How
would you get it back?”
Badger looked surprised. “I hadn’t really thought about that”, he admitted. “What do
you suggest?”
“But sir!”, said the Vole. “It’d be your job to think about that, not mine!”
Badger nodded. “Good heavens. Do you know, you’re right. I suppose it would be if I
got elected, yes. Well, I’d think about it jolly hard.”
The vole burst into tears and there was a ripple of discontent in the Hall. At the first
hurdle Badger had shown himself to be fallible. Another paw shot up, this time from a
youthful hedgehog. “What about the stout cudgels?”, it asked.
“Stout cudgels?” asked Badger.
“Yes. We’ve had no serious trouble from the foxes in the Wild Wood and the Wide
World ever since we got our own stout cudgels to frighten them off. We would keep
the stout cudgels, wouldn’t we?”
“Good heavens, no”, replied Badger. “I’d throw all those silly old things away. I’m
sure the foxes in the Wild Wood are just misunderstood, and even if they aren’t I’m
moderately confident our friends the French and Germans would help out. Probably-
ish.” The Hedgehog fell into a worried silence.
Another paw went up, less certainly this time. It was Mrs Rabbit. Badger nodded at
her to speak.
“Sir, it’s like this. My babies live in mortal terror of the Cheif Weasel and we’d like to
see he never get’s near power again. Would your new election system make sure he
could be got rid of?”
badger stroked his grey muzzle in thought. “Well, yes and no. If by yes, I mean no,
anyway. You see, under my proposals the Cheif Weasel would be pretty much
guaranteed a seat in Parliament if the weasels got any votes at all. I expect the ferrets,
stoats and pine martens would gain seats as well”, he added. “But on the plus side my
chums would get more seats – and in a democracy that’s really what matters, isn’t it?”
He said more, but it was drowned out by the fearful crying of Mrs Rabbit’s latest litter,
all of whom added their tears to those of the vole.
Badger settled back in his chair with an air of confidence in his answers. However, the
crowd in the Hall was not mollified and it began to break up in some confusion.
Weasels rushed here and there claiming that the Chief Weasel had shown dignity and
gravitas (and furthermore had gone more than forty-eight hours without eating any of
Mrs Rabbit’s children), whilst pale young amphibians in sharp suits hopped hither and
yon declaring Toad the outright winner. Badger sat with a complacent smile on his
face, whilst the crowd which he had held in his hand only moments before drifted
away.
“I just don’t understand it, Rat”, said Mole to his companion. “Badger was doing so
well until he opened his mouth but when he did it was like he didn’t have a clue what
he was saying!”
Rat nodded as Toad waddled up to them. “What do you say, then, chaps? Badger gave
me a bit of a turn when he showed up, but it turns out he was as clueless as they come.
I reckon I’ve got it in the bag!” And then, with a merry cry of “Votes, glorious votes!”
he wandered into the night, singing as he went:
Those corrupt chaps of Labour
Claimed more than they was owed
But not one of them claimed half as much
As Rapacious Mister Toad!

The Queen and her maids in waiting

Drove past a huge abode
They all asked ‘Whose house is that?’
The answer? MP Toad!

The saucy young receptionist

With sexy curves bestowed
Was very quickly making out
With powerful minister Toad!

The corridors of power

With wealth and influence flowed
And soon controlling all of this
Will be Prime Minister Toad!

“Come on, Mole”, said Rat. “Let’s go home.”

*****
Polling day was over and the sky to the west was brilliant with the rich reds and golds
of sunset. Bobbing down the river a small flotilla of flyers and rosettes discarded by
the Green Party candidate drifted slowly out to sea whilst Mole and Rat sat looking
out onto the Rat’s veranda sharing a pot of tea and some hot, buttered crumpets.
“So, Moley”, said the Rat. “You never did say who you’d decided to vote for; Toad,
the Chief Weasel, or Badger?”
“Oh!”, said Mole, brightly. “I didn’t vote for any of them. I voted for Otter.”
“Otter? I didn’t even know he was standing!”
“Oh, yes. He was representing the Riverbank National Party.”
Rat gave a sharp choking noise and the piece of crumpet he had been chewing on flew
across the room and hit the wall. “What?”, he said.
“Oh, yes. I had a good long chat with him after the debate, and he said some very
interesting things. Did you know”, asked Mole, with a concerned expression, “that
foreign grey squirrels are coming over here and taking nuts that should rightly belong
to our native red squirrels? Or that ever since the Riverbank joined British Waterways
mink have been stealing all the ducks eggs?” He picked up a biscuit and started
munching it. “If that’s not a disgrace, I don’t know what is.”
“Mole”, said Rat in a slow, careful way. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
“Why, what difference should that make?”
“Because…well…” Rat searched for the words. He indicated the ebon, velvet fur
which covered Mole’s body. “You aren’t exactly…um…’White British’ yourself, you
know. “
Mole looked shocked. “Will that make a difference? Otter said that-“
He was cut off as a halfbrick broke through the pane of the French window and rolled
across the carpet. Looking through the glass revealed a small crowd of ferrets and
stoats carrying placards bearing slogans like “Mowels Owtt!!” and “Ain’t no mole in
the riverbank hole”, and even “Any Mole’s a Goal.”
“Have I done something stupid, Rat?” asked the Mole.
“Not more than usual, Mole”, replied the Rat wearily. “Come on. I’ll hide you in my
cellar until 2015.”