Harry Hippo sat in his own bit of mud disconsolate. This was his mud, a place where he could lock the world outside and wallow... his space. The trouble was that he wasn't really enjoying his wallow. The trouble, he sighed, with wallowing on your own is that you lock out all the smiling that friends might do, but remember all the bruises that are a natural part of being a hippo and tending to have rather large, clumsy friends. Those memories kind of came into the loneliness with you and hung around when you'd really rather they'd head off to the pub with someone else. So Harry sat there, feeling a bit bruised, lonely and generally sinking deeper into the mud.
The bruising had been going on for a while now. Somehow, over the last few months Growth Club had just not been scratching where Harry was itching. The trouble was, he thought, that focusing entirely on growing, when you were already a pretty substantial hippo was a little bit like going round in circles. Harry couldn't help but feel that this wasn't getting anywhere. But the problem was he couldn't put his discomfort into words. Hippos are notoriously inarticulate, you know. And every time he tried to explain to Roger and Elinor, it just came out as though he was doubting the truth of growth and they would rehearse all the reasons for growing that he'd once found so compelling. Sometimes the conversations had become arguments and then the arguments had become accusations and then the accusations had become an angry turning and stomping away. (boy, when you have sturdy legs like Harry, Roger and Elinor you can really stomp!)
So Harry sat, wallowed and ruminated in a bruised, grumbly sort of a way. He wondered if this was how Polly had felt all those years ago. He wondered where Polly was; he hadn't seen her in ages. He wondered if he had hurt Polly as much as he was feeling hurt today. His wallow moved from being grumbly to being angry. All the answers that he couldn't think off when arguing with Elinor and Roger came flooding to mind. "That would have stumped them, that would have shown them, that would have got them off my case!" But, of course, thinking like that didn't make Harry feel any happier. Indeed, it made him feel worse because he began to realise that it wasn't just his friend who had hurt him, but he was pretty certain that he had hurt them. So Harry wallowed there and thought the day couldn't get much worse.
Just then, it did. Around the corner of the mud bath, Harry's mud bath, came Augustine Hippo. Augustine had never really been Harry's sort of hippo. In fact he'd never really fitted into Growth Club, even though he had been impressively large (with spectacularly sturdy legs). Harry remembered that Augustine had frequently allowed birds and other small animals to ride on his back - an action considered most inappropriate in Growth Club, where you were supposed to associate only with large and growing animals. No, Augustine Hippo just wasn't the sort of person to hang around with. Odd, there was no other word for it. As he came closer, Augustine called out "Hi there" and Harry replied in his best, mock jaunty, voice. Augustine stopped, raised an eyebrow - a very strange sight in a hippo - and asked "are you ok?" "Oh yes, I'm just fine" said Harry "just thinking and planning what to do next". Augustine, dropped his head slightly, as if uncertain, "mind if I join you?" he smiled as he waded into the mud. "ah, this is good stuff" he sighed as he sank in.
Augustine didn't say anything for quite a while. Harry found it strangely comforting. Company without a debate or argument. Company without having to explain. The two hippos wallowed peacefully together for several hours. "I've been learning to fly" mused Augustine absently... "what?!?" said Harry, "Hippos can't fly". "yes they can" said Augustine, "I've recently joined the Flying Club" . Harry's concern was on the way to becoming foreboding but was worryingly mixed with interest. The Flying Club was often the object of scorn and disapproval at Growth Club... not true believers in growth was the generally help opinion. Harry repeated "Hippos can't fly"
"Yes they can," said Augustine again "Well, we do have to borrow some large wings - called a hang-glider, but if you get sorted out with a pair of wings, then you can fly. It's wonderful, exhilarating, joyous..." Harry was amazed to hear such words. He realised that he hadn't used words like that since those games he Roger, Elinor and Polly had played as kids. "Joyous" he mused almost to himself in a dreamy sort of way. "you should come along," Augustine suggested. and just before a sensible voice could say anything different, Harry blurted out "yes, that might be an idea" He had reason to reconsider this folly the next moment, when Augustine told him that the club training was held in Northumbria... Harry's geography was just good enough to make him aware that it would be cold there and that there would be a shortage of warm mud baths...
"oh, what have I let myself in for" Harry moaned to himself...
Still, the next Saturday he joined Augustine at the top of the Cheviot hills and was fitted with a large set of wings. There was loads of smiling and laughter, especially when people saw Harry's face on being introduced to his flying coach, a mouse. "Oh, my goodness, what would the Growth club think?" thought Harry. Harry and Mo - the mouse's name - were harnessed together, and it has to be said they did look an odd couple. Mo explained that the art of flying was not to think about it too much and trust in his wings... it was the wings that did the flying, you just had to hang on, go with the flow and ride the updrafts... (Harry wasn't sure about drafts ... he had never felt a draft in his mud hole and the drafts that he had met in Northumbria were distinctly cold and unpleasant). His flying lesson was about to begin.
Harry walked to the cliff edge and, feeling certain that plummeting 120 metres to his death was possibly not a great way to escape his problems with the Growth Club, blindly he charged off as he was instructed to do. He waited for his appointment with the ground below... but it didn't come. Instead he felt a strange, very strange, rather chilly, but.... yes, undeniably wonderful feeling of air rushing below his tum... he dared to open his eyes... there was the ground not 120 metres below him but 200 metres below him... he and Mo were soaring... the shriek of delight had escaped his mouth before he could organise himself to 'play it cool' .... wheeeeeee... followed by whooooaaaa.... and yeeeeeehaaahhhh came shortly afterwards. The lesson lasted for 3 hours and included several flights with Harry taking more control each time.
Now you must fly on your own, the wonderful Mo said... Harry blanched... no! no! I couldn't fly without you Mo.... strange how this odd little mouse had become so important to Harry. "no," Mo said, looking quite serious "flying is something you must do on your own... you must learn to fly on your wings. You must learn to trust the wings not an instructor or your friends... flying is between you and your wings.... Harry understood but, he had to confess, understanding didn't diminish his fear. But it was too late now, he and his wings were going to take their first flight alone together. Harry suspected that his launch technique, which involved closing his eyes and then charging - he thought that Roger would have been better at that - was not elegant. But a moment or two later, there he was flying. He wasn't nearly as good at is as Mo. His movements were jerky, so that his ride was bumpy... I can't get the hang of this he thought... but a while later, early into his third solo flight, it all came together... it was as if he and his wings merged into one, as if he could trust his wings with his life, which is exactly what he was doing. He relaxed and, of course, in relaxing he flew better.
He found himself smiling for no other reason than ... he wanted to smile. He started to look around. there were other people flying nearby and one caught his eye... a strangely familiar python... "Polly?" gasped Harry.. no surely not. Pythons can't fly.
Wise man have their mouths in their hearts, fools have their hearts in their mouths.
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