T H E G R O U S E A N D T H E M O L E
A winter's tale, based on a true story
by Philip Legge, from an idea by K.T. and F.S.
One day in winter, a snowgrouse was strolling around in her garden, her usual
cheerful "pot-pot-pot" reduced to a mere mournful cackle. The sun had taken its
usual retreat and shone dimly without warmth, snow covered the earth, and ice
had formed a lid over the nearby lakes. With no flowers in bloom, it was thin
pickings for the grouse. The regal cat of the neighbourhood, Sir Albert, had
confusedly shaken his head at the grouse's winter peregrinations, even
dislodging his coronet, before going indoors to find a warm hearth.
In truth the grouse was sad for more reasons than the inability to enjoy her
garden; if winter denied her favourite pastimes to her, then she longed instead
to see the famous raven, a fabulous bird whose roguish charm had enraptured her
from afar for many a season. True he had grown old, and where once he had been
a proud, virile bird with shiny black feathers, his plumage was now somewhat
hoarier. The grouse's admiration for the raven was undiminished and she sadly
reflected, what chance would she have of ever meeting him, when it was said he
never came by her way?
The grouse mused on the raven idly and wandered a little way from her garden,
when she noticed in the distance something which could only be a very large
daisy, standing alone near some tall trees. She looked away a couple of times
to be sure it remained there when she turned to see it again. The daisy was
still there, so she excitedly pot-potted and hopped along the ground to see it.
When she reached it, she was slightly disappointed to find the daisy was a
wooden sign - however it was the daisiest un-daisy she had ever seen, and it
bore an inscription: "Mr. F. Moley". After a minute she remembered that Sir
Albert had once mentioned a mole establishing itself just on the edge of his
territory. The grouse was about to leave again when she heard a faint musical
humming coming from around her. Even with her keen hearing she couldn't
establish where the noise was coming from, and looked around a minute before
finding the source was a hole in the ground. She looked in the hole and saw a
small wooden door; she realised it must be the mole joyfully humming!
Suddenly the grouse was intensely curious about knowing what the mole could be
doing that made him so happy - she imagined Sir Albert would be proud of such a
display of feline inquisitiveness from her. She ventured into the hole and as
she approached the door, the humming grew louder. She found it was slightly
ajar, and peering through the gap, she saw the most beautiful creature she had
ever seen pottering around inside. The mole's black fur looked incredibly soft
and velvety, and he had a rapt expression on his little round face as he
removed a sweet-smelling pie from an oven and began to happily munch away at
it, sitting in a chair in his cosy little hole, humming all the while.
The grouse was completely smitten by the little mole, and feeling as if
stricken by some strange fever, instantly ran from the hole and flew back to
her garden, where she madly hopped around in circles without being able to
stop, except when claimed by exhaustion; with a final, desperate "phooot!" she
thumped against the snow under a large tree.
* * * * *
The mole was not so unaware that he failed to noticed someone hovering by his
front door, but being so shy he tried to go about his set routine amongst his
cosy things, not wanting to acknowledge the visitor's presence. The moment he
noticed the flash of feathers turning from the door he quietly leapt from his
chair and managed to see the departing tail feathers of a grouse. He knew from
his rare trips to the surface that a grouse lived in the nearby garden, and he
wondered what had brought her to his door.
The mole tried to return to the delicious leek and cheese pie he had baked, but
his stomach was suddenly all mixed up from seeing the grouse; he was a poor shy
mole, afraid of the light, and had to confine himself to his little hole whilst
the grouse was wild and carefree, free to nurture and enjoy the fruits of her
garden. He hadn't realised until that very minute that putting a signpost
outside his hole might attract the beautiful wise grouse to his door; whose
life seemed so much more interesting than that of a mole, and who would surely
enjoy the company of other birds more than his own. Was it not foolishness to
love an unobtainable grouse?
* * * * *
The season slowly passed by, but both the grouse and mole quietly burned with
love, until one day the grouse couldn't bear the pain in her heart anymore. For
what seemed like half of the year she had to endure the desolate cold of winter
snow, when the mole was perfectly happy and snug in his little hole all year
round. What was she to do? Gathering all her courage, she decided she had to
introduce herself to the mole, but what would she say when she got there? She
found the mole's hole by way of the daisy-like signpost again, but his door was
shut fast and she could hear no evidence of happy humming. Blushing a little,
but valiantly trying to hide it, she braced herself and rang the mole's door
bell.
After a moment the mole answered the door and found himself looking at a
beautiful (if slightly reddened) grouse, who asked him, "Mr. Moley?" He
suddenly recognised her and began to blush terribly, needing to put his little
paws in front of his face, not knowing what else to do or say. The grouse
didn't know any better than he what to say next, but ventured, "I was wondering
if you could tell me, dear sir, if you know of the black raven - he's now a
little older these days?" The mole's reaction, having been asked a question,
was to stammer, "Ahh... the raven? Y-ye-yes?" and then his pink face began to
turn deep red from blushing. The grouse looked expectantly at him for more of
an answer, and the mole surprised himself immensely by continuing, "Would
you... would you like to come inside, for some tea?"
The mole was stunned by the grouse's beauty amidst his comfortable but somewhat
drab mole-hole furnishings, and set about making a pot of his favourite Assam
tea to conceal his agitation. "The raven, yes,..." he murmured as the tea
brewed, "and his rival, the dove." The grouse nodded, the dove being even more
famous than the raven in some ways. She made an appreciative pot-pot of
agreement which almost encouraged the mole out of his hesitancy. "It is strange
you should mention the raven..." He brought over the tea, still nervous and
apprehensive. "I heard... I believe they are coming to a clearing... it's some
way from here... tomorrow!" The snowgrouse flashed her eyes appreciatively and
uttered a quiet squawk of joy, but that seemed to be as much as he would
volunteer on the subject.
They sipped their tea in silence for long minutes, when suddenly he asked,
"Would... would you like to stay here... tonight, and we could... we can go to
see them tomorrow?" The mole was blushing from his toes to the tip of his
little pink nose. To his huge relief, the snowgrouse cooed happily and accepted
his offer to stay.
* * * * *
After dinner, the mole gave the grouse a place to nest in a spare room of his
hole, and she nestled snugly amidst a funny-looking quilt decorated with
cartoons. To her amusement, she found a drawn likeness of the dove hanging on
one wall. She couldn't help thinking of the mole, how his tiny black eyes had
been squeezed shut in joy earlier in the day, and when she finally fell asleep
she dreamt of his silky black neck, and how she wanted to kiss it.
The next morning, the grouse and mole awoke early to head off on their journey,
the grouse's friendly presence allowing the mole to overcome his innate dislike
for venturing outdoors during the day. A large number of friends and admirers
of the dove and the raven had a similar idea, and when they came upon the
clearing there already was a noisy crush of birds and animals vying to get a
glimpse of the famed avians. With them had come some others, a young red
pheasant and a blackbird who had made herself up to look very provocative.
However the mole and the grouse soon managed to get close to the dove, and the
grouse noticed what a beneficial effect his proximity had on the mole - was it
possible he was in love with him instead, the grouse wondered?
Later still the grouse managed to get a chance to talk to the raven, who still
had the wild look of youth in his eye, but was utterly charming and had brought
a pile of delectable mint leaves for everyone to share. The grouse nibbled one,
and then stashed away a few for the journey home. When she finally got her
chance to introduce herself to the raven, he amazed her by dropping adoringly
before her. The grouse was almost too embarrassed for sensible words to pour
from her, and the mole could hardly believe his eyes; when it was time for them
to leave and return home the old raven unfurled his wings and wrapped the
grouse in tight embrace, again reducing her to insensibility.
* * * * *
The journey home to the mole's hole was quiet, for the mole and grouse were
still wondering about everything they had seen; the mole for his part thought
more than ever that the grouse must be infatuated with the old raven, after his
unforced display of affection to her. When they were very nearly within reach
of the mole's hole, their attention was caught by the antics of two birds
playing high in the birch trees, an old buzzard and a young falcon, sporting
around as though they were chicks just having learnt to fly. The mole and
grouse stopped in their tracks, and sat down to watch for a minute. The birds
continued their joyful play, interrupting it for a moment to kiss one another,
and as they did, some strange instinct in the grouse made her want to nestle up
to the mole, and so she lay down in his lap.
The mole squeaked in surprise, but didn't shy away; with trembling paw he
reached down and stroked the grouse's lovely feathers, so smooth and fluffy.
After several moments which seemed to last forever, she lifted her head, and
looked into the mole's black eyes and gently laid her shaking beak on his round
pink nose. The mole sighed happily and wrapped his paws softly around the
grouse. Before either could exclaim "I love you!" they kissed one another, so
deeply and sensuously each thought they should die from pleasure right there
and then. High above them, the buzzard and the falcon paused their own play for
a moment to peer down at the spectacle below before returning to their own
merry sport.
* * * * *
It was a little while later, while snuggled underneath his quilt in the
grouse's soft feathery embrace, that the mole thought to himself, "I'm so, so
happy that the most beautiful bird in the garden, in all the upper world and
sky, has come to meet me and make me feel special, warm, and safe..." Curled
against her breast, his thoughts flew far beyond his little mossy den; he felt
both eternally released and embraced at the same time, soaring into the
endless, beckoning, welcoming blue sky as if he were a bird flying free, and so
warm and happy inside...
He gradually succumbed to sleep, and began dreaming of his beloved and himself,
holding each other tight as they kissed, and of the day when they might be
together for much longer; when they might finally share a question they both
hardly dared to whisper, breathlessly asking each other to be like this for the
rest of their days.
It was early the next morning when the little mole awoke, still holding his
lovely grouse's feathery wingtips tight, and he thought, "If only, if only she
would feel the same..." He would slowly come to realise that the wonderful
grouse had felt the same, all the while longing for that faraway day when they
might each find a ring of silver or gold beneath the garden, deep in the earthy
realm of the mole, with which to promise their love forever. He wiped away a
tear, and smiled, with just a tinge of sadness. "'If', he reflected, "they say
it is the most powerful word in the whole wide world!"
After they had shared a final gentle kiss, the grouse promised with a
passionate trill, "I'll return to visit you again as soon as I can, my love!".
The little mole said, "You make me feel so free, I always want to remind you of
happy times, and make a safe happy place for you to fly back to when the garden
gets too chilly!"
They crawled to the surface, and the mole waggled his little paw in a wave of
farewell as the grouse flew back to her garden. As she vanished out of sight in
the grey winter sky, he sadly turned away, scurried into his hole again, and
burrowed underneath his quilt, all tucked up and smiling blissfully at the
thought of the years of joy ahead. He thought of all the beautiful carefree
birds in the garden, but especially his beloved white grouse, whose fluffy
feathers he would always love to playfully ruffle, and in whose embrace he
would always feel warm and loved and safe.
When he awoke again, the mole yawned, rubbed his little squinty eyes, and
looked around his cramped bedroom, a well-pawed "Doctor Dove" book and a teacup
lying forgotten on the table beside his comfy bed. He was still alone, but
wonderfully warm and happy inside. He sighed to himself contentedly, "Well
since I must wait, I'll make some tea in the meantime."
F I N I S
_______________________________________________________________________
E P I L O G U E
Fiction of course must come to an end somewhere, whereas real life moves on
inexorably... in case the foregoing tale proved too symbolical to be
intelligible, Auntie Krizu and Cardinal Zorak nonetheless wished me to announce
to the newsgroup that the mystery of their respective engagements is not
shrouded in such impenetrable obscurity as you may have been led to believe!
Having fallen suddenly and madly in love with one another when Krizu came all
the way from Finland to stay with Zorak prior to attending Invasion 2001,
Auntie visited the Cardinal a second time this last month. It was then that the
grouse proposed the question to her little mole, one which happened to be on
both of their minds, followed by a last-minute exchange of rings before she had
to fly away again back to her grousenest.
If the story appears to be a history of their happy union when thus decoded,
rest assured that real life still has its surprises left, and likewise the
future promises blissful happiness aplenty for the grouse and the mole!
Love to Frank and Krizu, the real authors of this tale, from their willing
scribe, Phi1ip
D R A M A T I S P E R S O N Æ
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . The Lovers . . . . .
The Grouse . . . . Auntie Krizu
The Mole . . . Cardinal Zorak
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . The Supporting Cast . . .
The Raven . . . Anthony Ainley
The Dove . . . . Peter Davison
The Blackbird . . . Liz Sladen
The Pheasant . . Mark Strickson
The Buzzard . . Sylvester McCoy
The Falcon . . . . Paul McGann
. . . . . . . and . . . . . . .
Sir Albert . . . . . as himself