(I read this poem at the 15th Green Dragon Anniversary Celebration)
The Great Green Dragon Tale-Telling Contest
It happened many years ago,
Here in this very inn,
A contest all might enter who
A perfect pie would win.
The innkeeper this challenge made,
Planning to draw a crowd,
The prize should go to who best told
A gripping tale, out loud.
That patron had a cunning plan,
More customers to get,
He asked young Master Peppy to
Put it in the Gazette.
News of this noble enterprise
Across the land did fly,
For all do love to hear a tale,
And everyone loves pie!
At last, the great day did arrive,
Folk came from far and wide,
The bar was packed, those who came late,
Could barely squeeze inside.
Ale and cider freely flowed,
The barmaid she complained,
No sooner had she filled it up,
A tankard would be drained.
The landlord stepped up proudly and
He loudly cleared his throat,
“Who wins will be decided by
A democratic vote.
“So, when you’ve heard each tale that’s told,
We’ll hear the noise you make,
And he who earns the most applause
This wondrous prize will take.”
Upon a table at the side,
Sat that prodigious pie,
It matched Pycella’s very best,
I cannot tell a lie!
At once a dwarf, most richly clad,
First throwing down his mug,
‘Khazad ai-menu!’ loudly cried,
Then stepped up on the rug.
He dealt in spices, wines, and silks,
Procured in distant lands.
To Gondor ventured, sailed the sea,
Then crossed the burning sands.
He told how once upon the road
Laden with merchandise
A band of cowardly highwaymen
Did take him by surprise.
‘Barad Khazad!’, his mighty axe,
To hand it swiftly flew,
And then, if he’s to be believed,
A hundred brigands slew!
Under strange stars he journeyed on
He dared to brave the haunts
Of savage tribes, exotic beasts,
Camels and oliphaunts.
Then he, arriving at the coast,
A ship for charter found.
Safe in her hold, his fine goods stowed,
He soon was homeward bound.
Halfway there and far from shore
A black sail did appear,
And as the black ship nearer drew
The crew were filled with fear.
The dwarf, his profits loath to lose,
A challenge boldly cried,
If you wish to test my blade
Sail closer to our side.
The corsairs soon hove to close by,
On to their deck he leapt.
The pirates, falling to his blows,
Into the waves were swept.
So ended this bold merchant’s tale,
All there did cheer and shout,
Of what he’d done and where he’d been,
No one there could doubt!
Though perhaps you should remember,
They’d been drinking for a while.
The little barmaid, Dora Grubb,
Just gave a knowing smile.
A captain, scarred, in armour clad,
With a loud battle shout,
With two fine swords hung at his belt,
To tell his tale strode out.
This man had fought with many foes,
He’d led a soldier’s life,
Performing many a valorous deed,
Well used to war and strife.
He wove a tale of battles fierce,
Of siege and ambuscade
How, boldly, he’d his comrades led
Through many an escapade.
The horror of war he did not hide,
Nor hid the grief it brings,
Yet sought such fame and glory as
That of which the minstrel sings.
The climax of his tale came when,
In face of full defeat,
He and his fellows were assigned
To cover the retreat.
In a narrow pass they took their stand
By night, in wait did lie,
And as the dawn broke there they saw
A thousand Uruk-Hai.
On seeing that vile and evil band
His fellows quaked with fear,
But with a rousing battle cry
Our captain brought them cheer.
With flashing blades he forward flew,
Outnumbered ten to one,
And inspired by his example,
His comrades followed on.
The field was bathed in black orc blood
On that most glorious day,
The remnants of the orcish horde
Fell back in disarray.
Upon the rug the soldier swayed,
He had drunk quite a lot,
“That’s how we beat two thousand orcs
And how these scars I got!”
Amazed, the crowd did loudly cheer,
To hear of this brave feat.
Young Dora hid an impish smile,
And helped him to his seat.
The rug stood empty, then there came
A flash, a puff of smoke.
There stood a wizard with his staff
And to the room he spoke:
“Silence! For I of magic speak
While I my tale do tell.”
With these grave words his staff was raised,
As if to cast a spell.
At that, a tiny tongue of flame
Did issue from its tip,
It seemed to twitch all by itself,
And from his hand did slip.
“Be still!” he cried, but up it rose,
And hovered quite close by,
But when he made a grab for it
It poked him in the eye!
It’s true he’d drunk a lot of wine,
The words he spoke were slurred.
This may go some way to explain
The mishaps that occurred.
A wizard’s staff out of control
It is a dangerous thing.
As his commands more unclear grew
More chaos did it bring.
At first it sped around the room
Upsetting many a jug,
Then clipped him soundly round the ears,
And tipped him on the rug.
Dazed and confused he thought to risk
An incantation dire,
The staff at once burst into flames,
The wizard’s robe caught fire.
Quick thinking, Dora grabbed a pail,
Suppressed a little laugh,
Threw water to put out the fire,
Secured the wayward staff.
Although he never told his tale
That wizard drew most cheers,
All there agreed they hadn’t laughed
So much for many years!
The ale now flowed faster still,
Some there could barely stand,
A hobbit lad stood up, then fell,
And on the rug did land.
This lad knew every watery stretch,
‘Twixt Hobbiton and Bree.
He’d travelled far to hunt his prey,
A fisherman was he.
He sat there on the rug and told
Of dace and perch and rudd.
In still and hidden pools he’d fished
And in the raging flood.
His tale at first seemed possible,
But this I’ll tell you straight,
Every fisherman I’ve known,
His story will inflate!
Well, this lad was no exception,
And he’d drunk a lot of ale,
By the time he reached the climax,
He did on the ocean sail.
There, he claimed, he cast his hook,
And soon he felt a yank,
The waters boiled and up there rose
A fearsome avanc.
The creature turned and towed them then
Far out into the sea,
His rod and line were strong and true,
He battled mightily.
At last, the monster seemed to tire,
The hobbit’s line went slack,
So straightaway he cut it off,
And to the shore sailed back.
,
The room fell quiet for what came next,
You couldn’t hear a peep.
‘Twas Dora who first realised
He’d fallen fast asleep.
She woke him gently, led him off,
The landlord did propose,
“After such outlandish tales
Our contest now must close.”
Before he could present the prize
Another voice was heard,
Young Dora Grubb stepped on the rug,
And bade them hear her words.
A modest curtsy she then gave,
And sat down near the fire,
Then told the tale of her own life,
Of doings in the Shire.
A vivid picture she did paint,
Of woods and fields and hills,
Of rivers in green countryside,
Of pastures, farms, and mills.
Her tale told of Bounders bold,
And what the shirriffs do,
The Quick Post and Lobelia,
And old Mayor Whitfoot too.
She spoke as well of rumours which
Like wildfire do spread,
Of who did what, and when, to who
And who will soon be wed.
With food and drink on lazy days,
Her time was spent with friends,
And so with music and a song,
Young Dora her tale ends.
A mighty cheer rang round the room,
None there could be in doubt.
But when the prize she did receive,
She said, “Let’s share it out.”
So let us all now show our thanks,
Let all here take a flagon,
And give a toast most heartily
To our very own Green Dragon!
