Jeffrey, I love this... the subject of Toad and Graeme's books, your responses to the books then and now, and that delightful Larkin poem, which is great fun to read aloud because of its alliterative words. You have a talent for weaving in your reflections and thus enriching your posts with those looks back at yourself. The Graeme books were among my favorites, too, and I passed them onto my son, often reading them aloud until he could read alone.
Love the idea of a children's book as a lens to look through our lives. So many people love that book, also Winnie the Pooh, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Charlotte's Web. We carry those stories forever.
Thanks, Deirdre. Yes, we do carry them forever, don't we? There are plenty of stories I read as child whose names I have long forgotten but which flicker in my mind from time to time.
Oops sorry! I love his writing in general - I have an old copy of “Dream Days” that belonged to my beloved aunt. Toad embodies the incoming “modern era” I suppose and like you, I wish I had gone on an escape, although I tried to once or twice and failed. Did you know Kenneth Grahame ended up working in the boring old Bank of England? He must have had such yearnings, too!
I guess a boring job would lend itself to yearnings and day dreams. I can imagine him staring out of a grubby window in Threadneedle street and wishing he was on the river...
I was so intrigued where you was going with this as you started discussing the deep meaning behind Toad’s ‘need for speed’. Unsurprisingly, I relate to Toad’s desire for speed — I have tried many times, but it feels almost impossible, to capture what it is I love so much about going down a big hill on my skateboard. There is some element of another world to it, experiencing more than the mundane tones of everyday life. And, I guess, these dreams we have for ourselves often hold that same allure, but I imagine part of that allure would actually wear off if we pursued them, in that they would soon become our everyday reality.
I’m not entirely sure what the point of my little rant is, but either way, I really enjoyed your piece. :)
Thank you, Michael! I guess for me Toad's "need for speed" is partly personal – like your going downhill on a skateboard – partly social – breaking away from social conventions – and partly an indicator of something much bigger than him, the growing human impatience to go further faster. We're still living that impatience.
Absolutely adored this tongue-in-cheek almost Jungian overview of Toad! I loved Wind in the Willows as well and was always especially touched by how Toad's friends tolerated his brashness because underneath it all, they still loved their friend. (True story: my eldest brother is always desperate to show his latest gadget / car/ ridiculous purchase upon my arrival at his huge home and I have fondly called him 'Toad of Toad Hall' for years, behind his back!)
And, like Ratty et al, I still love him of course!
Happy to know the Larkin poems as well. I enjoy learning new things and you present them in such an interesting, lyrical way. Thank you again Jeffrey!
Delightful essay. You never fail to weave together wildly disparate sources into your own tale of becoming. Now when can I purchase some teak from you?
One of the more unanticipated destinations among your broad, not narrow, country-lane literary rambles. We are of a time in life to pay it visits, are we not?
This was a delight. I have always loved Toad's addiction to speed, and it's fun to read your take -- especially as you connect it backward to earlier, painterly depictions of speed when the steam engine-powered train blew people away. Passenger trains of the 1830s went at a whopping 30 mph – absolutely nothing to us, but dizzyingly fast for those who rode them. By the mid 19th century, trains were going as fast as a car today would on a highway, and people were acclimated. But that initial discovery of speed was heartstopping, and not entirely pleasurable – "railway madness" was the name given to the deeply unsettling, sensory overload of sitting in a moving train at speed. There was motion sickness, and there was real difficulty processing the way the landscape would pass by in a blur outside the window, while one sat still. We think nothing of it today, but it was a very real human adjustment. I've always thought of Toad's manic driving in the context of that longer history – his wild ride is also a kind of madness, one grounded in a nervous system that finds speed intoxicatingly new.
Thank you for adding that broader perspective, Erin. It makes me think that perhaps what Toad was after was not just speed but agency - he wanted to control the speed. A form of madness perhaps, as you suggest.
Thank you for sharing that Larkin poem, Mary. "Immense sickening ache" is a powerful phrase and seems to launch something I hadn't noticed before - an epic simile: "As when, thawing, the rigid landscape weeps." Larkin sardonically channelling the Homer or Virgil he would have read at school, perhaps?
Thanks for this, Jeffrey. I remember reading Wind in the Willows as a class at Maiden Beech School in Crewkerne. Our teacher was Mr Liddell, a Kiwi. I read passages to my children when they were growing up: it's very Edwardian middle-class, but entertaining nonetheless.
As to wanderers, have you read the 'Just William' books? There's one where he meets a 'knight of the road,' and wants to ditch everything to become one: much to his father's consternation.
Thank you, James. The prose is certainly very rich and he could describe a dramatic scene very well. I read a few "Just William" books but don't recall the scene you mention. The word "knight" makes me think of Don Quixote. His goals were loftier than the hedonistic Toad, but both were, in their own way... well, quixotic.
I often made toad in the hole, up until recent years; one of those quick and easy, hearty meals. I think I will put it back on the menu, now that I'm reminded!
Thank you for your essay! I dont know your whole life story, but I can relate to wondering about the forking paths and if I made the right decision or not. And every experience or job teaches us something, every task we undertake. I do enjoy reading your Substack, and wind in the willows is one of my favorite books of all time, so this essay really touched me, so please keep writing :-)
“Glancing back, they saw a small cloud of dust, with a dark centre of energy, advancing on them at incredible speed, while from out the dust a faint "Poop-poop!" wailed like an uneasy animal in pain.”
I don’t know, Jeffrey, if you chose a “safe” path. That’s for you to decide. (Teak farmer? Hmmm.) It seems to me that living and working in many parts of the world, to the enrichment of others and of yourself, is an adventure. To grow up is to cast off a small cloud of dust from a center of energy.
I’ve always believed that children’s stories, especially the ones we return to, are our truest stories, helping us understand our life choices.
Apologies for the fanciful take. I blame the full moon.
Jeffrey, I love this... the subject of Toad and Graeme's books, your responses to the books then and now, and that delightful Larkin poem, which is great fun to read aloud because of its alliterative words. You have a talent for weaving in your reflections and thus enriching your posts with those looks back at yourself. The Graeme books were among my favorites, too, and I passed them onto my son, often reading them aloud until he could read alone.
Thank you, Maureen! It was fun to revisit this book. It's the kind that stays with you forever. I hope other generations will enjoy it too.
The alliteration works well here, deosn't it? I think it allows Larkin to inject a bit of toad-like venom into the poem.
Love the idea of a children's book as a lens to look through our lives. So many people love that book, also Winnie the Pooh, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Charlotte's Web. We carry those stories forever.
Thanks, Deirdre. Yes, we do carry them forever, don't we? There are plenty of stories I read as child whose names I have long forgotten but which flicker in my mind from time to time.
Where I live, the symphony of toads and frogs and insects whose names I don't know, is playing outside my bedroom window every night.
The mountain, the sunset,
The starry sky to look upon.
Swelling murmur of firs.
Not a bad place to be.
And it suits me just fine.
😊😊😊
That's lovely Yi, and I'm glad it suits you just fine!
Oops sorry! I love his writing in general - I have an old copy of “Dream Days” that belonged to my beloved aunt. Toad embodies the incoming “modern era” I suppose and like you, I wish I had gone on an escape, although I tried to once or twice and failed. Did you know Kenneth Grahame ended up working in the boring old Bank of England? He must have had such yearnings, too!
I guess a boring job would lend itself to yearnings and day dreams. I can imagine him staring out of a grubby window in Threadneedle street and wishing he was on the river...
Yes - exactly!
Wow, Jeffrey. What an honest ending.
I was so intrigued where you was going with this as you started discussing the deep meaning behind Toad’s ‘need for speed’. Unsurprisingly, I relate to Toad’s desire for speed — I have tried many times, but it feels almost impossible, to capture what it is I love so much about going down a big hill on my skateboard. There is some element of another world to it, experiencing more than the mundane tones of everyday life. And, I guess, these dreams we have for ourselves often hold that same allure, but I imagine part of that allure would actually wear off if we pursued them, in that they would soon become our everyday reality.
I’m not entirely sure what the point of my little rant is, but either way, I really enjoyed your piece. :)
Thank you, Michael! I guess for me Toad's "need for speed" is partly personal – like your going downhill on a skateboard – partly social – breaking away from social conventions – and partly an indicator of something much bigger than him, the growing human impatience to go further faster. We're still living that impatience.
Well said, Jeffrey. And again, great essay. :)
Absolutely adored this tongue-in-cheek almost Jungian overview of Toad! I loved Wind in the Willows as well and was always especially touched by how Toad's friends tolerated his brashness because underneath it all, they still loved their friend. (True story: my eldest brother is always desperate to show his latest gadget / car/ ridiculous purchase upon my arrival at his huge home and I have fondly called him 'Toad of Toad Hall' for years, behind his back!)
And, like Ratty et al, I still love him of course!
Happy to know the Larkin poems as well. I enjoy learning new things and you present them in such an interesting, lyrical way. Thank you again Jeffrey!
Thank you, Sue. Your comment about your brother made me laugh!
What a wonderful set of reflections, Jeffrey. I will share with my brother, who is a big WITW fan.
Thank you, Deborah!
Delightful essay. You never fail to weave together wildly disparate sources into your own tale of becoming. Now when can I purchase some teak from you?
If you can wait 20 years or so, you’ll be my first customer! 😊🌳
One of the more unanticipated destinations among your broad, not narrow, country-lane literary rambles. We are of a time in life to pay it visits, are we not?
We certainly are, Jay.
This was a delight. I have always loved Toad's addiction to speed, and it's fun to read your take -- especially as you connect it backward to earlier, painterly depictions of speed when the steam engine-powered train blew people away. Passenger trains of the 1830s went at a whopping 30 mph – absolutely nothing to us, but dizzyingly fast for those who rode them. By the mid 19th century, trains were going as fast as a car today would on a highway, and people were acclimated. But that initial discovery of speed was heartstopping, and not entirely pleasurable – "railway madness" was the name given to the deeply unsettling, sensory overload of sitting in a moving train at speed. There was motion sickness, and there was real difficulty processing the way the landscape would pass by in a blur outside the window, while one sat still. We think nothing of it today, but it was a very real human adjustment. I've always thought of Toad's manic driving in the context of that longer history – his wild ride is also a kind of madness, one grounded in a nervous system that finds speed intoxicatingly new.
Thank you for adding that broader perspective, Erin. It makes me think that perhaps what Toad was after was not just speed but agency - he wanted to control the speed. A form of madness perhaps, as you suggest.
A children's book started my project and, of course, Larking is a favorite--here's another to build, perhaps on what you've so movingly done here:
Slowly the women file to where he stands
Upright in rimless glasses, silver hair,
Dark suit, white collar. Stewards tirelessly
Persuade them onwards to his voice and hands,
Within whose warm spring rain of loving care
Each dwells some twenty seconds. Now , dear child,
What’s wrong, the deep American voice demands
And, scarcely pausing, goes into a prayer
Directing God about this eye, that knee.
Their heads are clasped abruptly; then exiled.
Like losing thoughts, they go in silence; some
Sheepishly stray, not back into their lives
Just yet; but some stay still, twitching and loud
With deep hoarse tears, as if a kind of dumb
And idiot child within them still survives
To re-awake at kindness, thinking a voice
At last call them alone, that hands have come
To lift and lighten; and such joy arrives
Their thick tongues blort, their eyes squeeze grief, a crowd
Of huge unheard answers jam and rejoice –
What’s wrong! Moustached in flowered frocks they shake:
By now, all’s wrong. In everyone there sleeps
A sense of life lived according to love.
To some it means the difference they could make
By loving others, but across most it sweeps
As all they might have done had they been loved.
That nothing cures. An immense sickening ache,
As when, thawing, the rigid landscape weeps,
Spreads slowly through them – that, and the voice above
Saying Dear child, and all time has disproved.
—Phillip Larkin “Faith Healing”
xx ~Mary
Thank you for sharing that Larkin poem, Mary. "Immense sickening ache" is a powerful phrase and seems to launch something I hadn't noticed before - an epic simile: "As when, thawing, the rigid landscape weeps." Larkin sardonically channelling the Homer or Virgil he would have read at school, perhaps?
Thanks for this, Jeffrey. I remember reading Wind in the Willows as a class at Maiden Beech School in Crewkerne. Our teacher was Mr Liddell, a Kiwi. I read passages to my children when they were growing up: it's very Edwardian middle-class, but entertaining nonetheless.
As to wanderers, have you read the 'Just William' books? There's one where he meets a 'knight of the road,' and wants to ditch everything to become one: much to his father's consternation.
Thank you, James. The prose is certainly very rich and he could describe a dramatic scene very well. I read a few "Just William" books but don't recall the scene you mention. The word "knight" makes me think of Don Quixote. His goals were loftier than the hedonistic Toad, but both were, in their own way... well, quixotic.
Toad in the Hole! We loved that as children (with a sausage inside of course) - I wonder if it is still eaten n the UK
I often made toad in the hole, up until recent years; one of those quick and easy, hearty meals. I think I will put it back on the menu, now that I'm reminded!
Good idea!
Yes.
I am glad to hear!
Love this, Jeffrey!
Thank you!
What an essay Jeffrey, I love it!
Thank you, Molly!
Thank you for your essay! I dont know your whole life story, but I can relate to wondering about the forking paths and if I made the right decision or not. And every experience or job teaches us something, every task we undertake. I do enjoy reading your Substack, and wind in the willows is one of my favorite books of all time, so this essay really touched me, so please keep writing :-)
“Glancing back, they saw a small cloud of dust, with a dark centre of energy, advancing on them at incredible speed, while from out the dust a faint "Poop-poop!" wailed like an uneasy animal in pain.”
I don’t know, Jeffrey, if you chose a “safe” path. That’s for you to decide. (Teak farmer? Hmmm.) It seems to me that living and working in many parts of the world, to the enrichment of others and of yourself, is an adventure. To grow up is to cast off a small cloud of dust from a center of energy.
I’ve always believed that children’s stories, especially the ones we return to, are our truest stories, helping us understand our life choices.
Apologies for the fanciful take. I blame the full moon.