WHOLESOME TALES

THE SAWGUH OF THE GREAT LORD AND LEADER

Once upon a time there was a truly gifted child, his name being Eldorion. Oh how fair he was at birth (but not ever vain!) and his intelligence, even as a babe in his Mother's arms (it's said) was stupendous, but held his Wisdom Close and Meekly, for he wasn't vain at all (as indeed it is already known he wasn't, and we never thought he was, because Lord Great Eldorion is Benevolent and never Violent and people will never disappear, He being the very Liberal).

One day - when Blesséd Eldorion, was walking along the road from Bywater to Needlehole, he saw a poor pathetic joyfully subservient creature by name Odo Banks. He was whipping his workers who were indolent and lazy and unrespectable in manifold ways.

"My son, Odo," sayeth Lord Great Almighty Hobbit, Eldorion the Just, "Why do you whip your servants in such a thorough fashion?"

"Oh Lord, they are lazy, and one of them said that she thought Petty Tyrant the Depraved (and Deposed) was quite a nice old Codger."

"Well, stop it. Have I not talked many times about Free Speech in Forumshire? And whipping people is NOt Allowed in Forumshire?"

"Yes, indeed, oh Fantastic Manifestation of All Things Hobbity!"

"And give them lots of sweets, and potatoes, and kisses."

"I will do so, and at the run!" Odo said Respectfully and Enthusiastically.

"Oh, Odo Banks," Wonderful Flamboyant God-Hobbit Eldorion said, "You were always a most Amendable Hobbit, keen to please, and personally quickly changeable to suit whatever selfishly beneficial circumstance is at hand.""

"Oh thank you, Lord. Let me kiss your feet."

"Ït wasn't a compliment."

"Anything you say to me is a compliment, oh Great One!"

" ----------------- Oh well. Where is that sneaky slimey pompous Orwell, may I ask?"
......
"I think he has gone out a'searching for people with troubled minds, My Illustrious Lord..."

"You mean, those Free Speaking Folk of Forumshire whose opinions, no matter how diverse, are held with respect or at least toleration?"

"Yes, that sort. He's planning their Reception at Forochel, and all..."

"What!!! Well, go and stop him, IMMEDIATELY!"

"Yes sir! Shall I give them sweets and potatoes and kisses too?"

"Yep."

And the Truly Amazing Hobbit of the World, Lord Sweethearted Eldorion the Magnificent went on his way.

And Odo was glad, very Glad indeed, for he loved giving sweets and potatoes and kisses.

And Forumshire was at Peace.

The Lord Eldo made it so.

Thanks Be to Forumshire's Topmost-Servant, Eldorion the Blesséd.

Lesbo Proudfoot,
Emancipated Equal-of-Men-if-not-Better
The Archet Bugle
Lore Tower

All's well that ends well, that's what I say. {{{Thank Goodness you're back, Eldo. Petty was trying to take over. I did try to stop him, but you know how he is when he's really fueled up on buckie and not just cruisingly-everyday-buckie-fueled }}}.

All's well that ends better, if the Bugle is singing my praises now.

THE SAWGUH OF THE ASPIRATIONAL BUT DELICATE YOUNG LADY

Once there was a sweet girl, Ally,
Petite, perty, petulant and quite smelly

(of roses and clover and cinnamon buns
and perfumes from exotic lands in the sun!)

Sadly this girl was quite short of money,
So one day she said to her Mummy,

"Oh Mother dear, my education is stymied,
It's so expensive nowadays to get learnéd.

'What should I do? Should I remain a poor crofter?
I'm aiming to be something very much lofter."

"Now sweetie dear," said her wise old Mother,
"You must go out and find a rich lover,

Someone quite old, to have and to hold,
Until you see the ink on your BA in gold."

"Oh Mother, I'm far too nice to do that!
I'm pure, I'm prudish - maybe a liitle too fat."

"Then you must accept things as they stand,
And not have aspirations unnaturally grand,

Stay at home with me, my little impostor,
Oh how Moral it is to be a poor crofter!"


"CROFTER OR COURTESAN by Louis XIV - a modern translation for English speaking Welsh folk.

Wisey Banks

THE SAWGUH OF THE SEASIDE ASYLUM FOR THE AGE

Once upon a time there was a seaside Asylum for the Aged, run by the nuns of Our Lady of the Anklelength Frock. It was NOT one of those Homes where the aged are looked after by dedicated underpaid careworkers who get a huge workload and no thanks, overseen by self-promoting careerist dishonest Owners and Managers, it was the other sort that the State sends anyone they don't want littering the streets so respectable people don't have to see them -- which, come to think, is not all that different to the Former kind of Home. Anyhow, if you have ever read a serious novelistic (some say brilliant) treatment of this subject matter, then you best not read this one...

In the Asylum for the Aged (AFTA) there worked a studious intelligent hobbit from Scotshobbiton, by name Pettius Petunia, an unusual name, true, even for Scotshobbiton, and some may wonder why his Mother would even give him a name like that. The question is quite pointless, because his Father made it up. Actually, even the "AFTA" has a quirky aspect, come to think, for among the staff it was a running joke that anyone put in the Home was surely soon for the AFTA-life. A good one that, really, if you like gallows humour, and I know you do.

Now, so as not to test the short attention spans of my readers (yes, I'm well aware of who my readers are!) I will take a pastiche approach to the kinds of residents living at AFTA.

Petty TYrant: who thought he was important, a God in fact, giving out his thoughts, and subscribing to "The Bigger Badder Worser Thread Newspaper" or some such nonsense, as if he had something worthwhile to say, his ideas largely being ideological and delusional, though he would deny it, as all ideologues would; also, he was Scottish, which explains why he was put away there.

Then there was Kafria. She had a huge tattoo on her body, from top to bottom, and she was very popular with the other people there, very popular, and she never wore clothes neither. At night the pitiful creature could be heard abed, crying out in her sleep, :"Oh Orwell, Orwell, sexy crumpety Orwell, where for art though, Orwell?" Or something like that. Mad she was mad, mas as they come, but mad with love, which makes her tale all the sadder, for what with everyone loving Orwell, well, it was not like he could ever even meet her until at least 2014.

And there was a lass called Leelee. She believed in God.

And of course there was Eldorion, a bright young lad, too bright some have said, so bright he was stupid, but in a nice way, if stupidity can be nice, and I guess it can. He had an imaginary girlfriend called Baingil - who, herself, had an imaginary boyfriend, called Eldorion. They were both mad, of course.

There was a young girl (she thought of herself as a teenager) by name Squatch. Due to her insistence on spelling her name "Squach" the authorities finally had her institutionalized. As Odo Banks, of the AFTA Committee, was heard to say, "I always knew something would come bad of that girl's poor spelling." And he was right, and he made sure of that. Little Squatch spent her days doing quite artful computer-arty things, so not all was lost. The best thing was, she was out of public view and hearing, which is what should happen to all teenagers, don't you agree?

Another girl, a young woman, having recently turned 18, was Ally. Oh how everyone loved Ally. She was cool, or so it's said, and she liked the Beatles, Syd Barret and the Mighty Boosh, which shows how fine a young woman she was. Odo Bank's view was, though, that she ought not have become addicted to jelly and sequins, for those things always lead to a sojourn in AFTA, at least in Forumshire it does.

There was another young lady there too, she thought she was Luthien Tinuviel {{{ }}}.

And there was a curious creature they kept secured in the cellar. A Wobbit. Yep, and you thought they didn't exist, but they did. Avaricious, greedy, money making creature, he was - not that I'm saying ALL Wobbits are like that. What is a Wobbit --- well, they're something like a Hobbit to all extents and purposes, but of such extreme charicature that many see them as a mere parody of real Hobbits; and as Forumshire was a serious kind of land, anything funny, including creatures, were always locked away. He spent his days knitting, and was content.

There were no Bankses in AFTA, in case you were wondering, though Porgy Bunk-Banks often brought flowers to Petty Tyrant, them being old friends, apparently, and Petty Tyrant liking flowers and all, him being bisexual it's said; perhaps more gay than not. (It's also said Petty gave up sexual favours for those flowers which, if you know anything about his views of sexual transactions, would make him something of a hypocrite in my opinion).

Now, one day, there was a party held for the residents, (it was Kafria's 63rd I believe). It was held on the second floor, and there were streamers, and balloons, and a great big birthday cake (just big enough to fit all the candles on). It was a smashing party! Sadly, Tinuviel, on giving a Queenly speech, made a grand gesture with her delicate hand, and knocked several lit candles off the cake, and only the residents on the ground floor survived the subsequent inferno.

Oh yes, Pettius Pettunia fortunately survived, as, luckilly, he was out the back having a cigarette.

THE END

The author seems to have sacrificed any real plot or tale here for the sake of character description!

Now Saradoc, is it not true that characters ARE always the story? I must say, this latest sawguh from the Bugle sounds spookily realistic. I should never like to spend time in a Home like that...

The ending is, ummm, sorry about the cake! (even though i didn't really do it... still, I feel guilt ) At least I'm finally in one of these stories!

I hope you don't mind me asking, Tinuviel, but do you really want to be in one of these stories? I am surprised in a way that there were no Banks folk there. It seems just the kind of place I would expect to find them. (Just joking! )

THE SAWGUH OF THE TWO YOUNG LADIES

Once upon a time, in the Forumshire backwoods, there lived two young ladies, who we'll call Tinpan and Annie*. They were great friends, and their imaginations were larger than the plains of Nevada, but not as large as Texas. They lived in a small town, one in Gunshooter's Saloon (Tinpan) and one in the local Whorehouse (Annie). Their parents', of course, owned those reputable Houses of Fair Trade. (This was back in the days when guns and alcohol and sex were not objectionable).

One day Annie went to Gunshooter's Saloon, and straight on past all the Scotshobbit Pioneers, and then up to Tinpan's top storey bedroom.

"What game shall we play today?" Tinpan asked excitedly, for their games were nearly always vigorous and fun.

"Let's play at showgirlies," Annie said with a giggle.

And so they stripped down to their shifts and pantaloons, put on rouge and lippy, and jumped on Tinpan's bed; Annie with a ukulele and Tinpan with a banjo. And they played all the great songs of the day as they sang and danced and pranced about, sometimes unable to get the words out for giggling.

About ten pm Tinpan's Daddy, Hipshooter Balderdash, burst into the room and cried. "Why, you have stirred up the hobbity clientele with your twanging and your sanging, me girls. So much so that they're calling for a show in the laneway."

And so the two now quite shy and bashful girls, after putting on their dresses, the ones with the frilly hems, but not too frilly, were made to climb down the stairs and went out into the laneway (an alley really) where seats had been put everywhere and a rowdy crowd awaited. At the end of the laneway (alley), behind the butchers, two great big boxes (which now contained two dismantled artillery pieces which the towns folk had recently used to eradicate the local Indians) had been set up, like small stages. And the two girls were made to sing and dance and frolic all the day long night. They were shy at first but soon their skirt hems were flying and the crowd got fleeting glimpses of their white ankles, and sometimes their kneepads. Oh the applause! It was deafening!

And that's how Tinpan Annie** got started. Not many people know this. Did you? This, of course, was back in the days of the Wild West, a few years before Billy the Kid was shot in the back, and about the time Gandalf was fighting the Balrog.


The Archet Bugle
Sponsored by Odo Banks, esquire
and the
Scotshobbitty Buckie Company,
and,
The Trained Killer Blunderbuss Association.


*In some versions of this story "Ally".

**Later Tinpan Alley. Americans always get these things muddled up.

'in some versions'

You mean to tell me that this isn't an original Archet Bugle tale?

"Scotshobbitty Buckie Company"

Well good to see the Bugle has a proper sponsor at last, even if the papers contents are as suspect as ever.

Well, as far as local Needlehole tradition tells it, the Tinpan Annie story is every bit as true and accurate as "THE SAWGUH OF THE SEASIDE ASYLUM FOR THE AGE." Are you telling me "Seaside" is not factual too, Mr Smarty Tyrant?

THE WHOLESOME TALE OF GAYCOBB GIMPATPOLO

Once upon a time there was a scatterish rogue by name Gaycobb Gimpatpolo. His first name (and who knows how these things happen?) was coined by his father, who was a notoriously "gay" hobbit (from Skattykatzenfjord), this before the family migrated to Usahobbitland - during the Great Herring Famine of '27 - where he met a lady hobbit called Bradee. (Gaycobb's father managed to remain gay, even though he was married to a woman - which is surprising as everyone knows a woman and a man's happiness rarely go together. His very close Fjordianlandian comrades, mind, kept him pleasantly satisfied, at least on those occasions when Bradee let him out of their hobbit hole). Gaycobb's mother, apparently, was the Great Grand Daughter of Shelob, whence comes the "cobb" bit of his first name. As to Gaycobb's surname, "Gimpatpolo", well, apparently, when he was growing up in Usahobbitland, he played polo, and badly.

Gaycobb was rotten through and through. Everyone in his small village knew it. No one had any evidence to prove it, of course. And no one knew what the manner of his rotteness was, nor if he had ever done anything naughty or bad, but it was assumed, which is always evidence enough, at least in a small village it is.

One day Gaycobb woke up and said, "I'm tired of being abused in the street and having rotten tomatoes tossed at me for no explained reason. I'm off to Forumshire where, it's said, all manner of freaks are accepted."

And so Gaycobb scuttled out on his eight quasi-hobbit feet, and sailed across the Mishymashy Sea in hope of reaching the shores of Forumshire. Sadly, an ill wind blew illy and the ship - a three master - was blown off course; and was eventually wrecked on the Hebridean Coast. He survived while the rest of the crew - all stout hobbits of Dorset - were drownded. (The ship, the Doomed Ship of Carlyle, it's said, was doomed from the day it was built, having been cursed by several witches and constructed of holey wood from the Holy Land).

Not far from the ragged shore, there was a village. Gaycobb, clad in seaweed, as his clothes had been washed away in the chill waters of Hockthaherryho Bay, made his way toward the village, over sharp black rocks, red pebbles, and piles of coarse driftwood. He then passed through a windblown, twisted forset of Scotshobbit Fir and McTyrant Uglypoisonbush and McBanks Prettyflowershrub. At last, weary, cold, and smelling of seaweed, Gaycobb found his way to the Village Square (which was actually an elongated rectangle, with one corner abutting a semi-circular pigsty wall).

The Scotshobbits of the village hurried out in their kilts (except the members of the McBanks family, who wore trousers, them being respectable folk - though Fanny McBanks wore tartan hotpants, her being an actress, it's said, and a singer, it's said, and never a prostitute, it's said).

"Och the nelly noo," said one sturdy Scotshobbit with a great jar of buckie in his hands, as he stood on unsteady feet with his kilt all windswept and disturbing. "Ooh be this lubbardy loon lookin' as if he be a sprockballyboo from the Bay, or a foreigner with seaweed for britches - them being barely a covering?"

"My name is Gaycobb Gimpatpolo," says Gaycobb, standing proudly before the villagers - or as proudly as you can clad only in seaweed. "I have come seeking freedom from unfair oppression."

The villages broke out in riotous laughter. "What the nelly noo?" says the Scotshobbit who had already spoken, and appeared to be a Headhobbit of some kind. "Do he thinks himself to be a'plyin' in the fair and freaky lund of Forumshire? Ock the noo me jillykins!" And the Scotshobbits gathered there continued to laugh, some of it gay laughter, but some of it cruel, callous and/or cynical.

"If this not be the Fair Land of Forumshire, where am I?" Gaycob said in a poncy voice.

"You be in Scotshobbiton-near-the-Bay," says the Scotshobbits in unison, and they laughed all the more.

Just then, a Scotshobbit of McBanksian demeanour and good looks, stepped forth from the milling kilt-folk. He wore trousers, and was clearly a great Leader of Hobbits. "Now, young hobbit drenched by sea, I am Seamus McBanks, of the Erin-hobbit line," says this obviously high personage, "and I feel it is my duty to inform you that you stand here now among the worst group of horrid, ghastly, kilt-wearing Scotshobbits in all the Hebridean Coast!"

"Ock! 'Tis but the truth - only the truth, Seamus," the Scotshobbits agreed, and how could they not?

"Silence," Seamus said in a lovely firm commanding masculine tone. "My advice to you, young hobbit, would be to flee back to the Bay immediately, dive henceforth into it's frigid waters, and swim away like the clackers. Either that, or purchase a kilt, for I can see your nobbly bits protruding amidst your seaweed and they surely do aggrieve me!"

And Gaycobb, being in some ways sensible, went off with one the villagers to purchase a kilt - after "paying with the body" as goes the local saying, the poor lad having no money on him. Shortly after, he got a job at the "Friendly Folk Hostelry", the haunt of Fjordianlandian Herring-netters, lonely fisher-folk far from home. No one knows how, but Gaycobb became rich and famous.

Anyhow, it's said Gaycobb lived happily ever after, for the Scotshobbits never learned that he was rotten through and through.

I have checked up the "Banksian Red Book of Truth and Other Novelties" (kindly provided by Odo) and discovered some interesting facts.

(1) Did you know, Ringo, that Shelob and Gollum had children? One of whom married a hobbit. Hardly believable and certainly not Respectable! "Bradee" was from that line. Amazing, don't you think?

(2) I suspect (strongly) that this "Gaycobb Gimpatpolo" (or something similar) is a name used by our own Lord Ladedah Eldorion.

Work it out, friends, work it out!

Not suggesting he's a eight-legged descendant of a spider or anything, mind, nor am I saying he's not - you guys be the judge.

{{{Ha! That'll teach him for slighting me, Ringo! You know how much I hate being slighted! And thank you, Odo, your eye for unrespectability is impeccable! }}}

Typical Wholesame Tales, not sure if that's more offense to Eldo or Scotshobbits!

It would be a fair and equal distribution, methinks, my friend.

THE SAWGUH OF THE GIRL-WOMAN WITHOUT A SURNAME

Once there was a girl of Llooneylooneyllan (which has many spellings, it's said, none of which anyone can spell, nor hardly pronounce), and she was a fair and comely wench, if somewhat esoteric of tone at times, and sharp of tongue when she wanted to be, and often facetious to old respectable (it's said) Uncle types, like Odo Banks, who nonetheless adored her while having a poor view of girls like Baingil and Squatch, though never of Goddesses like the Lady Tinuviel who is like a Goddess to Mr Banks...

This girl had one first name, which no one remembers now, which we shall name "Ally", which is a good solid Whelsh name (it's said). Ally was one of those feminine folk ("girly folk" according to the vernacular) who has turned eighteen but still maintains a certain girlish charm, and so is referred to as a girl-woman, which I know you'll think a slightly irreverent term, but true nonetheless. Now, it's said, Ally was gorgeous, inside and out, nearly everyone in Forumshire said so, except, of course, Orwell, who was wiser than anyone else - a fact he was too humble to deny. (It's said that the famous Odo Banks was so besotted with her charming inane banter, and her sensuous mouth, that he never could have made anything like a rational judgment on her character, but that's another story altogether {{{silly old bugger}}}).

But Ally did not have a surname! And so this sawguh.

Why on earth (middle) her Mother and Father had neglected to give her a surname no one but her parents could say, but as you can imagine, when Ally grew up a bit ,and was old enough to realise she didn't have one (this just after her eighteenth birthday), she set out to obtain one.

She began by attending "Orwell's Kangaroo and Platypus Pie Shop and Emporium" in South Llooneyllooneylan. Orwell was an attractive and virile Ozhobbit, somewhat older than average in Forumshire terms. He had only recently emigrated to Whales - around the time of this story, in fact - and any rumours about tax abuse, shonky get-rich schemes, incompleted Time Machines that were fully financed by poor people, phone hacking, Kafria-corresponding, fierce womanizing, wishful thinking, or wife-fleeing, is purely conjectural.

"Ooo hullo, Mr Orwell, my name is Ally," Ally began to circumolute, "and a girl, like me perhaps, one who would have attained a certain age of adulthood, and entered your tasty smelling pie shop, being still a girl and not a full grown woman after a manner, would perhaps be asking why she doesn't have a name at the back of her first name?"

"A surname you mean?"

"That is the kind of thing a girl, me for instance, might be asking if she was to ask."

"You know, Ally, I don't think that's genuine circumlocution you're doing..." "well, I guess it could be.... at a pinch... Anyway, as to your lack of a surname, I think it best you go see Odo Banks, of Pettifoggy Road, Rushock Bog... That's below Needlehole..."

"Him? But why?"

"He told me to send you there if ever you came asking about your surname."

"Oh dear, I hope it wouldn't be fair to say he is my real Father! "

"No, I'm not saying that. He just likes you a lot - doesn't everyone? - and says he would bend over backwards - in or out of trousers - to please you in any way he can."

"I don't think a girl of good habits and a sound mind would ever go to Odo Bankses house, unescorted!"

"Mmm... alright, I'll get the phone book out then... Let me see... How about 'Quest'? Or "Cution"? Perfectly good Forumshire names, methinks."

"One cannot, while a girl thinking on it can never be totally sure or, indeed, assured, that that would be a satisfactory way of obtaining a surname."

"Too right. In that case, why not go ask your Mother and Father? They'll know."

And Ally beamed like a lighthouse erected on the rocky Hebridean Coast near Scotshobbiton! Oh how happy she was. And she skipped out of the shop in her sequins and uggboots - never having bought even one Platypus Pie with sauce, mind! - and went to see her Mother and Father. And before long she was availed by her Mother and Father of what her surname was. The funny thing is, Ally had always had one. Funny, what! But she had never thought to ask. No, not until she was eighteen years old, on the cusp between girlhood and womanhood. Isn't that hard to believe! But it is often the case in Whales, apparently.

And Ally has lived happily ever since.

Oh my, the Bugle must really have nothing better to do, to go snooping around in family history just because some pompous windbag told them to.

Pompous? Windbag? How dare you!

{{{Odo... hello... is that you...? my palantir batteries must be flat... what?... no, I'm not ringing from India, you idiot... ... No, sorry, I dodn't say that, I said... you genius... I don't care what it SOUNDED like...! Hey, listen up! That young poor excuse for an Lahobbit... yep, the one... well, he said... Oh you heard... Well, that book of yours... could you perhaps have another look... Yes, I'll send money ... hey, that's a bit steep, you rogue ... oh alright... just make sure it's worth it... }}}{{{bloody rogue }}}

{{{

Orwell wrote:That young poor excuse for an Lahobbit...

I thought he was a Maryhobbit? }}}

{{{Shouldn't that be Marylandhobbit? Hey? He's more a Fairyhobbit, come to think.}}}

{{{An airyfairyhobbit? Mmm... I think there is something I read... ... Aha! Yep... }}}

THE WHOLESOME TALE OF THE AIRYFAIRYHOBBIT

In a land far away, not all that long ago, there lived an airyfairyhobbit. His name was El Boro Gimpatpolo, and, boy, was he boro....


{{{"How's that, Orwell?"
"Could be worse - keep going..." }}}


El Boro lived in Merryland in the Forumshire Colonies - this was before Forumshire threw it out of the Empire - where was I? Oh yes. This airyfairyhobbit lived in Merryland, and he was the seventh son of a seventh son...


{{{"That would make him Lucky, you fool. Make him the eighth son, Odo."

"Oh yes, sorry, I'll have to cross the seven out... hee hee... Mother Banks will be right aggrieved when she sees my scribbles."

"Do you know you stick out your tongue when you're concentrating?"

"Well, yes I do as a matter of fact!"

"Oh alright. Never mind then.. Keep going...

"Where was I? Oh here it is..."}}}


Now Ally was a vivacious young girl, quite fond of sequins, and bathing... Hey! Oh wrong page...


{{{"Oh here it is. How silly of me..."}}}


Now El Boro was, as you can imagine, the most boring person who ever lived in Merryland..."


{{{"Anywhere!"
"Where?"
"Anywhere, you dolt!
"Oh I see...}}}

He was the most boring person who ever lived anywhere in Merryland.


{{{ "}}}


He was so boring that...


{{{"Hey! Why did you just roll your eyes, Orwell?"


"Never mind."

"No, I want to know why you rolled your eyes?"

"I did it because you're an idiot!"

" "

"Well, you are. Get on with the story."

"Not until you tell me why you rolled your eyes and called me an idiot!"

"Oh you insufferable ponce. "

"There! You did it again!"

"Well, stop being an idiot then. "

"Take that back! I didn't come here to be insulted."

"So where do you usually go? "

"Well, Mr Pomp-arse, you go and take that back... "

"Ow!"

"Well, now apologise."

" If you hit me with that umbrella again, I'll blow your head off! I will you know!"

"Well, what If I poke you with it?"

"Ouch! Stop it! Ouuuch! "

"Hee hee hee. Poncey-boy! Take that! "

"Okay then... "

"Ooooh! Orwell! Oh don't...! Please put that gun down... Orwell.. surely.. Aaaaargh!"

"Come back you idiot... I'm gonna blow your stupid head off..... .... .... .... .... ....."}}}