We knelt on the wooden bridge and peered into the reeds. Something was in there, but what? At first the consensus was that some coots were foraging through the vegetation; then we heard a chewing sound and watched as reeds were pulled into the watery undergrowth and munched. A scurry, a splash, and at last the water vole revealed itself. The round ball of deep-brown fur stood on the bank for a moment then, streamlining itself into a long, thin fur boat, swam beneath us. Its eyes shone like blackberries as it doggy-paddled by. Kenneth Grahame would have been heartbroken to know that a century after publication of The Wind in the Willows, the numbers of this wonderful rodent, the inspiration for his boatman Ratty, would plummet by 95 per cent. But he would have found great hope in the Londo