Chapter 1                                    FIRST MEETING

            Dampha was a River Rat. No ordinary River Rat, you understand, but one of life’s special creations, whose memory is sure to live on in the annals of rat-lore, and probably fish-lore and bird-lore, as well!

                Dampha was, you might say, his own rat. It had to be admitted that he was, well…different, having been born in the year of the great drought, when the water level in his mother’s home river had been many feet lower than was normal. As a result, he hadn’t learnt to swim at birth, as do most of his genre, but rather, had developed a penchant for lying on the warm, sandy river bed, with only the occasional dip in a shallow pool, the water warmed by the hot summer sun. I mean, he could swim, but it wasn’t an obsession with him. In fact, given the option of swimming or flying, the latter would have won hands down, but we all have impossible dreams, don’t we?

                This relatively dry start in life was evident in several aspects of his day to day life, not the least of which was his actual home, but more of that later! Most other river rats make nests in the mud at the end of tunnels in river banks, but  Dampha, who had never seen “Wildlife on One”, knew nothing of this. Of one thing, however, he was certain; tunnels in the mud were definitely NOT for him. He could remember peeking from the entrance to his parents’ home with his brothers and sisters, watching as the roaring river rushed past, carrying everything in its dizzy, turbulent flight downstream. At those times he had envied the birds in their nests, well above the flooding which threatened the lowland animals each time the autumn rains came sweeping down the valley.

                As a ratlet, D had been fascinated by birds; the way they could simply spread their wings and fly up into the sky. He had discussed birds, and their way of life, at some length with his grandfather, who was himself, a lateral rat. The two of them had spent numerous afternoons in the sun, on the river bank, often sharing the odd delicacy. They had discussed so many things; things that would return to Dampha in the years ahead.

                So when the time came, as it does to us all, for Dampha to leave the family nest and set out on his own to make his way in life, he made a conscious decision to do things his way; to be innovative where possible; to adopt the ways of other peoples and cultures when suitable; to walk with any being travelling the same road, even if to the beat of a different drum.

                And so, one fine spring morning, Dampha had bade farewell to his Mum and Dad, his three younger brothers and his two sisters, and had set off along the river bank, with a strange mixture of nostalgia and excited anticipation in his heart. Moving upstream, and keeping the morning sun on his back, (one should never travel east in the morning, Sacha!), Dampha gradually left behind those areas of the river in which he had grown up, and moved into what was, for him, an uncharted land. He wandered happily along, enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of the riverbank.

                By mid-morning Dampha was feeling a little peckish, and so sat down on a soft looking patch of rushes, a few feet from the water’s edge. He undid the knapsack his Mum had given him, and selected a fresh, crusty baguette, a wedge of Brie and a small, (though thoughtfully chosen), bottle of Chablis, which latter he stood in the pebbles where the gently flowing water could reduce its temperature somewhat.

                Dampha really enjoyed his brunch. He finished the baguette, most of the Brie and about two thirds of the bottle of Chablis, and then, brushing a few crumbs from his fur, he lay back on his couch of rushes, and, gazing up into the clear, blue sky, reflected on how good life could be.

                It wasn’t long before the combined effects of the fine wine on the inside and the warm sun on the outside started to weave their magic spell…......the eyelids gently fluttered, and came to rest on the lower lids, as Dampha drifted into that twilight state, somewhere between “dozing” and “comatose”!

                A small, brown, furry field vole cautiously approached the remains of D’s riverside picnic, carefully checking to make sure that the latter was soundly asleep. Assured of this, and noticing the last of the wine, his courage knew no bounds, and he swiftly knocked back the remaining third of the bottle, hiccupped and fell on his back next to D, his little nose pointing to the sky, eyes closed, legs akimbo.

                Two Mallard ducks, or rather, a duck and a drake, had come ashore and temporarily abandoned their nest-making. They had settled on the shore, end to end, with their respective beaks tucked under their respective wings, eyes almost closed. The whole world seemed to be asleep.

                Suddenly, from some little distance away, just beyond a group of willow trees, there was a loud splash and a muffled squawk, followed by the sound of large wings beating the surface of the water. Instinct, coupled with a strong sense of self-preservation, returned Dampha to the real world, and he opened one eye, just in time to catch sight of a furry little vole tripping over his empty (EMPTY?) wine bottle. The vole scrambled to his feet just as Dampha reached him, and together they scampered to the willows, and peered round. There was a bend in the river, and a small oxbow lake had been formed. They both burst out laughing, with relief as much as amusement. A large, and very wet, heron was wading towards the bank, the telltale pieces of duckweed on his head and back testifying to the fact that the whole world HAD, in fact, fallen asleep!

                Embarrassment got the better of the heron; he stood tall and straight, his beak pointing to the sky, and shook his head vigorously, the movement initiating sympathetic ripples down the length of his white neck. Duckweed, water and feathers flew in all directions. The short down on the top of his wet head stood up, giving him a startled, comical appearance. He muttered something unintelligible and peered into the water, from whence his reflection peered back. He gave a little hop back, probably with shock, squawked for the second time in as many minutes, spread his great wings and literally beat his retreat into the sky, leaving his embarrassment showered over the assembled, if uninvited, audience.

                Dampha and the vole sauntered back to the picnic site, where the latter looked up rather sheepishly.

                “Sorry about the wine. I should have asked….....”

                “Not at all,” Dampha smiled, “I think I’d had more than enough for a brunch-time session, anyway.” He gestured vaguely away from the river, across the meadow that rose gently towards a distant hedgerow, and asked, “Do you come from this neighbourhood?”

                “I do indeed.” The vole seemed relieved that the wine incident had passed without causing him too much embarrassment, and he went on hurriedly, “I live beyond that hedge, and across another field, at the edge of a small copse. The ground is higher there, and we don’t get flooded when the river bursts its banks, as it sometimes does in the autumn. I can’t swim, you see, so I only come down to the river in the spring and summer, when it’s safe.”

                He cast a quick, worried look at the sky, and added, “I mean, of course, safe from the water; I still have to keep a wary eye out for sparrow-hawks. I’m so small that there’s always something bigger than me out there, and worse still, it’s always hungry, and I’m always on the menu.” For a moment, a wistful expression crossed his little face, before being replaced by a bright smile.

                “So you see, I have to be pretty damned cunning to even reach the river, never mind finishing off someone else’s Chablis! I DO like Chablis.”

Dampha burst out laughing. How could anyone be angry with this cheeky little vole?

                It was the beginning of a friendship that was to last for many years, following the two of them through the kaleidoscope of emotions and events that life is made of. They chattered on, as the sun passed it’s zenith, and neither of them seemed to notice the changing light until some far distant beech trees, belonging to that, as yet undiscovered, stretch of river, presented themselves in the amber frame of the setting sun.