It happens that the growth and development of the Seven Barrows community is exceptionally well recorded, since among its members were several scribes from Avebury, and former library aides. With time on their paws through that long winter it is no wonder that they scribed down their experiences, and frequent reference is made to Fieldfare, “the first one among us whom all respect and love’.
*
What emerges is that after her experience amongst the Stones on the surface near Seven Barrows Fieldfare seems to have become rather more than simply a kind, nurturing mole. The light of destiny had touched her and put a fire into her spirit which warmed the hope of all that community.
*
From Prudele of Yenton’s text
A Winter Chronicle
.
As the account by Balyf of Ock puts it, “In those dark days of doubt and despair, when most of us had times of gloom, there was one mole to whom all could turn and did so: our beloved Fieldfare. She was a mole a little past her prime, whose body showed the signs of a busy life and a well-pupped one, softened by her liking for the fat worm and juicy mushroom. But there was something in her spirit so young, so alive, so full of faith that all would turn out right, that she was the very heart of our hope. Beyond which she knew much of tales and communal pleasures, and all the history of Duncton Wood from where she came, and a howling winter night was not the same if a part of it was not filled by her gentle and confident voice talking to one or other of us.’
**
**
The scribemole Balyf was responsible not only for
Fugitive to Silence
, the autobiography from which this quotation comes, but also for
Fieldfare’s Book of Duncton
, his verbatim record of her conversation and tales.
It is quite clear that the moles in Seven Barrows were well informed of the intentions of the Newborns, and the real purpose of the Convocation at Caer Caradoc. At what point Fieldfare and the others began to consider what their role might be once winter had fled and the Newborns began their Crusade nomole can say, but they must early on have” decided to improve their defences, for by spring a sophisticated system of redoubts and interlocking tunnels was in place. Moles interested in such matters who have surveyed the site since report that the dispositions of tunnels and trenches were similar to those used at Duncton against the moles of the Word, and it may be that Fieldfare knew these well enough to pass on information to the delvers at Seven Barrows.
At the same time Noakes appears to have gathered about him a number of young, trusty and venturesome moles in the expectation that they would be useful as spies and watchers of Newborn activity. In short, the fugitives at Seven Barrows were not idle, but readied themselves as best they could for the coming struggle.
Then, as March came, they found they had something more than their own lives and liberty to fight for. Among their number were three females who found a mate and wished to get with pup.
“Best possible thing!” declared Fieldfare. “There’s nothing like having pups to make a group of moles become a community, and to strengthen their resolve to defend what’s right!”
Until now the only source of interest and gossip apart from this were the doings of Noakes, always up and off on some foray or another; Spurling was perhaps too ready to grumble and advise caution.
“Anyway, my dear,” said Fieldfare wisely, “you’re never going to stop a mole like Noakes from doing what he wants to. He’s a brave mole and does all followers credit!”
“You are right, of course,” responded the elderly Spurling warmly, “but I’ve never been one to take risks if I can avoid it, nor encourage others to do so!”
“Take risks! Why, Spurling, since the Newborns forced you out of Avebury you’ve done nothing but take risks. You take a risk being here!”
There was more than warmth in exchanges such as these – there was respect, and liking, and fond familiarity too. So much so that few at Seven Barrows doubted that now a decent interval had elapsed since the death of Spurling’s mate Peach, these two friends would soon get together and inhabit adjacent burrows, if not the same one.
Spurling was far too discreet a mole even to mention such thoughts to anymole-else, but from the look in his eyes when Fieldfare was about (a look which lingered after she had gone off on other business) there was little doubt that he had hopes. However, it must be said that Fieldfare herself had given him no encouragement, having said from time to time that there could never be another mole like Chater, and he could not be replaced.
“And in any case, my dear,” said Spurling to Fieldfare, to whom he had in his gallant and proper way made quite clear his feelings about how good and sensible it would be if they shared a life together, “we cannot be entirely sure —”
“Oh – he’s dead,” she replied clearly and calmly, “I know it as sure as I know I’m alive. I would like to know how he died, and that he had fulfilled his task of warning Privet, and that he was with friends when he went to the Silence. I do not like to think he was alone, or in pain, though I would prefer to know than not know, whatever the truth is.”
“For your sake I hope you are mistaken.”
“I know you do, Spurling, and I know that though you have affection for me —”
“More than affection, Fieldfare, far more than that!” he rejoined passionately, his wrinkled eyes and thin gaunt face lighting up with the emotion he felt.
“Well then,
more
than affection. I know that if Chater did come back you would be happy for me.”
“Of course, my love for you —”
“No, Spurling, don’t use that word. Not yet... No!” replied Fieldfare, her snout turning quite red, and her kind eyes moist, as she stopped Spurling going too far too fast – though she was happy, and reassured, that such a mole as he might love her in
that
way. “Not yet,” she breathed, thinking too that flattered though she was, and distantly tempted, perhaps after all Spurling was not
quite
her type.
“Oh Chater,” she would whisper later in the privacy of her burrow, “how I miss you! There’ll never be another like you, and though I know you’d not want me to be alone, because you know I’m not happy if there’s not a mole to love, and nurture and fret about, well those days are done, and I’m content to live on memories.” And if, at such moments, tears came to her eyes, they were not truly unhappy tears, for she never forgot for a moment that it was a blessing to have been loved as she had been, and to have lived as she had.
“Yet I miss another’s touch, my dear...” she dared to whisper to herself, sniffing and snuffling and easing her comely body into sleep.
Now Noakes had returned yet again, and this time with news of a massacre at a place called Wildenhope, and rumours that the lives of Whillan and Rooster had been lost, and Privet’s as well perhaps.
There are some moments in a community’s life, of received news, of crisis, of individual triumph or tragedy, which catch the season’s mood, and serve to crystallize it, and transmute it into action. The return of Noakes that June with news of the Wildenhope outrage was one such for Seven Barrows, as it was for so many systems in moledom at that time. Just as in far off and unknown Ashbourne Chase, Hibbott had stanced up and declared himself ready to be counted, and set off on his pilgrimage, so now the refugees of Seven Barrows searched out a way to do the same.
Collecting together as a community, with Spurling and Fieldfare in charge, they heard an account of all that was known of the Wildenhope massacre yet again, and then debated the many courses of action that suggested themselves – from attacking the Newborns in a body, to doing absolutely nothing. How that debate raged! How angry and distressed some moles became! But all listened and many spoke, until, it seemed, the ideas were all exhausted.
“What about you, then, eh Fieldfare? What do you think?” called out one of the younger moles at this juncture.
Fieldfare smiled and shook her head. She never minded expressing an opinion if she thought it might help, but on this subject she wasn’t sure what to think. In a few short sentences she said as much, suggesting she could see that several different points of view had their strengths, though she would not want to harm anymole, including Newborns, if there was a better way of protecting freedom – a comment that drew a consensual mutter from many of her listeners.
“Be that as it may,” she concluded, “there is one among us who’s seen and heard a lot more change and strife than most of us, and in his own time has used his paws to good effect, if all I’ve heard is true.” She was thinking of one of the oldest moles at Seven Barrows, named Raistow, who had bravely followed other refugees from the system of Buckland, aged though he was. He was rarely seen these days, being ill and infirm, but had roused himself from his burrow for this great debate, and had so far listened to all the arguments in silence.
“Aye,” continued Fieldfare, “I’m thinking about Raistow of Buckland who’s come up here today despite the fact his paws aren’t what they were. There’s a lot of us would like to hear what you’ve got to say, Raistow.”
This was greeted with a murmur of approval, especially among the older moles, who nodded at each other and peered round to where old Raistow was stanced. Some of the youngsters were less respectful, feeling that they did not want another mole rabbiting on and getting into arguments and they continued to chatter, until some “Sshh’s” quietened them. But it was the grave and dignified manner in which Raistow spoke that silenced them completely.
“I’ll say my piece,” he began, “because that’s what a mole should do if he feels he’s got something worth saying. “Stance up, speak up and then shut up!” That’s what my mother used to say. Mind, I was
going
to speak, but there was so much chattering, so much wrangling, that I was beginning to think it wasn’t worth it!”
He said this with good humour, though in a gently reproving tone, and several moles grinned ruefully, thinking it was they who were being admonished.
“But then, moles have got to express themselves and I don’t think there’s been a single mole’s spoken today who hasn’t had something useful to say!”
“Hear, hear!” cried out one.
“Now I don’t suppose an old mole like me will be around to see the outcome of this business with the Newborns, much as I’d like to. One thing’s sure though: moles can’t force others to their will for ever. Might for a bit, might even for a long time in some places, but sooner or later decent moles will not tolerate it any more! So the first thing to say is this: the Newborns are doomed.”
“Well said, mole!” said two or three voices as a stir of excitement and approval went among the listeners.
“In my young days I would have agreed with those brave moles here who want to be up and at’em! Quite right too! So I’m not saying they’re wrong in what they want, only in how they go about it. It’s no good starting a fight, or anything else, if you can’t finish it properly – which means successfully. When I got a bit of experience I found it best to plan things – find out as much as possible about a problem and only then try to sort it out. The fact is we don’t know much about what’s going on in moledom beyond these reports we’ve had about Newborn Crusades, and Wildenhope. We need to know more. Now that’s the first thing.
“The second is this. If my memory serves me right, and I know moles here like the learned Spurling of Avebury who worked in the library, and Fieldfare here who came from Duncton and has a head full of knowledge and history and all sorts of lore, will correct me... Like I say, if memory serves, one of the problems in the days of the evil Word was that the followers in different systems weren’t in touch with each other. Did not think to be, I suppose. So the disciples of the Word picked off one community after another without difficulty. Well now, we in our time better not make the same mistake. We best band together and find out what’s going on, and we better
act
together. That’s no easy thing, but it’s got to be done.”
“Aye, he’s right, what he says is true!” somemole said.
“Sshh! Hear him out,” said others.
“I’m not saying I’ve got the right answer,” continued Raistow, “nor an easy one, but let’s say it may be a good possibility. I’m saying to myself, “‘What will other moles like us be deciding now? What action will
they
take?’”
“You reckon there are other groups who want to resist like us?” asked one of the younger moles, one indeed who had initially been among the chatterers.
“Bound to be,” said Raistow reassuringly. “I’d wager my life on it that there’s a
lot
of others like us. And some will be asking the same question I’ve just asked, “What will the others be deciding?” Well, I’ll tell you my answer. They’ll be thinking of the old days of the Word, and the mistakes made then, and they’ll be remembering that at that time, when things were as dark as they’ve ever been, and darker than now, there was a system stanced its ground and produced moles who led us back to light again. I’m referring to Duncton Wood.
“We’re honoured to have a Duncton mole in our company in the comely shape of Fieldfare here...” Raistow allowed himself a wry and wrinkled grin as if to say, “the times may be past when I can go wooing a young female like her, but I’ve my own memories!’. Fieldfare’s snout glowed a pleasant shade of pink at the compliment. Then Raistow was serious once more.
“All I can say is that if she’s typical of Duncton moles today then that’s a system we can still rely on. I’ll not be the only mole saying that up and down moledom. No, there’ll be others who’ll be thinking, “If we’re going to find inspiration and support it’s to Duncton we should turn our snouts.”