Stephen Foulk - stephen.foulk@yahoo.co.

uk Chapter One

One 

 
The late afternoon sun streamed in through a small square window painting
a bright block of golden light on the bar beside Hulbert as he sat alone in
‘The Peddler’s Ditch’ nursing a mug of nut-brown ale and staring into space.

“Well Hulbert my dear, you do look glum.” Annie Banks had swept in
from the parlour her petticoats a-swirl. Annie was the type of barmaid most
usually said to be ‘worth her weight in gold’, comely, even-tempered with a
twinkle in her eye and a no nonsense ability to deal with the rowdy, bawdy
and difficult. Not that Hulbert fell into any of these categories; he was always
a perfect gentlehobbit, and never overstepped the bounds of what Annie
considered acceptable behaviour, either in the amount he drank, the volume
he used when expressing opinions or the amount or tone of his flirting. He
looked at her and gave a wan smile, “How long have you known me Annie?”
He paused to allow her to reply although it was clear he already knew the
answer.

“I don’t know my dear, fifteen years or so?”

“I first came through the doors of this esteemed establishment twenty

three years ago Annie. For most nights in the past twenty-three years I’ve sat
at this bar for at least an hour and usually longer. I believe I’ve spent nigh
on two years of my life sitting at this bar.”

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“Well Hulbert, best not start totting up how much it’s cost you else you
really will get depressed”

Hulbert look at her to see if she was teasing him about a reputation, a
most unfair and egregious reputation that he was preoccupied with money.
He decided that she was not. Not that anyone would call Hulbert mean; he
always stood his round, and bought many a drink for the staff which they
took in copper, so that over the years he had bought Annie any number of
petticoats, and at least two pretty bonnets. It was simply that nothing
pleased Hulbert better than the chance to earn money. Nor was it that he
didn’t give freely of his time when he was needed, no one gave more happily
if the bounders needed to raise a host to deal with some hullabaloo that had
the country up in arms, (although he was less easily found if a barn needed
painting or a fence needed mending).

“Anyway my dear, I can think of worse places to spend your time.” Annie
clearly was in no mood to encourage anything maudlin at four o’clock in the
afternoon.

“That’s just it Annie I like coming in here, but think how many years I’ve
spent stuck behind a desk with my head bent over some parchment? How
many months have I spent filling ink-pots?”

“Well Hubert, we all have to earn our living, I’m doing what I’m good at
behind this bar and you’re doing what your good at with your maps and…
your… pens…”

Her voice trailed off as she had little idea what Hubert actually did, she
knew he was a scribe, although she didn’t know what that might entail
beyond the fact that it required the use of pens but she did know that
Hulbert was famous throughout the Shire for his maps.

“And never mind ‘behind a desk,” she continued, “I see you out a-
tramping the countryside with your… maps, not to mention the number of
big houses you’re welcomed into so you can draw them out nice.”

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“And do you know to what use they put my plans of their houses to
Annie?”

“Well to be honest no I can’t say I do, I mean it would have to be a girt big
place to need a map to find your way around.” She laughed a deep laugh
that never failed to enthral Hubert with its hint of worldliness.

“Annie, I’ll tell you what they do, they put them in a frame and hang them
on the wall to proclaim to all their visitors, ‘Here is my house, here is my
land, look at how vast it is and look how I’ve tamed it, tamed it and flattened
and shrank it so that I can hold it in the palm of my hand’”.

Annie furrowed her brow, “Well you can be a deep one Hulbert
Brockburrow, too deep for me. But I don’t know why it’s such a bad thing;
it’s like being an artist. Besides I’m sure you gets well paid for shrinking it to
their liking.”

There it was again, a reference to money and the thought irked him but
he was getting to his point and so he pressed on. “But it’s so un-hobbit like
Annie, it’s like something the big folk would do. A map should be useful not
just for decoration or to show off with.” He instantly felt foolish, to have
sounded so passionate. Annie was clearly not impressed, and gave him an
arch look that spoke volumes.

The pair lapsed into silence though not an uncomfortable one as Annie
was busying herself getting the bar ready for crowds that would turn up later
and Hulbert found he had enough to occupy him in feeling sorry for himself.

It was Annie who spoke first and clearly her preparations had not
prevented her from mulling over the conversation. “Anyway Hulbert, what’s
this I hear about you going off into the wilds away north, to the lake?”

It was true; Hulbert had gone north as far as Lake Evendim, which was
perhaps sixty miles north from Bywater, at the edge of the Shire. Such a trip
was seen as the reckless behaviour of the addled, and Hulbert knew that he
was getting something of a reputation. “Aye Annie, it’s true I was up there

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but it was a commission, to map the land away north.” Seeing Annie’s
sceptical look he added by way of explanation, “For a Dwarf and his
colleagues for some business they have there.”

Annie didn’t seem overly impressed and as she left, heading for the
parlour again he clearly heard her mutter, as if to herself, “Some folks will do
anything for money and that’s a fact.”

“What’s that Annie?” Bergamon Proudfoot, the Landlord passed the

barmaid in the passage tying an apron around his ample middle, “Oh hello
there Hulbert my lad, how are you today?”

“He’s worried that his maps are shrinking the world or some such.”
Annie’s voice came from the parlour causing Bergamon to frown a little.

“Now then Hulbert what’s this about? You haven’t been a dealing with
magic or some such mischief have you? No good’ll come of you mixing with
those Dwarves o’ yourn.”

“Annie’s joking Mr Proudfoot my dear, I was just thinking what a boring

pointless life I lead.”

“Bless my soul Hulbert how can you be talking such rubbish, you a fine
upstanding businesshobbit? A scribe no less, and then you having that
talent o’ yourn to put places down onto paper so that you can hold a whole
house right in your hand. And I’ll not mention that you’ll not be short of a
coin or two.” He winked at Hulbert who tutted quietly and traced his finger
through some beer on the bar.

“I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m so well off or bothered about
money.”

Bergamon didn’t hear but catching sight of Hulbert making marks on the
bar top continued, “Now Hulbert, I hope you aren’t a going to charge me for
that drawing there o’ yourn, the ‘ditch is to poor to pay what you’ll be

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asking.” He chuckled and called through to the parlour, “Annie I say, Annie,
the ‘ditch is too poor to pay Mr Brockburrow’s rates eh? Ha ha ha.”

Hulbert spent most of the evening in The Peddler’s Ditch demonstrating

that he was probably being conservative with his ‘two-year’ estimate. When
he’d drank his fill and dined upon a good beefsteak pie with all of the
‘trimmings’ he walked home in company of Fedick Marber, who’s family were
originally from Dwaling away to the north east on the North Farthing.
Dwaling is exactly where Hulbert was born and where his parents still lived;
as such both hobbits felt they were certainly cousins although this branch of
the Marbers had lived in Bywater these two hundred years and more.

“Cousin Fedick, I believe I speak the truth when I say that you rarely
venture beyond the town walls?”

“Yes indeed cousin, you do speak the truth, barring the journey up to
Hobbiton, for a change of scenery like, I never leave the town gates if I can
help it and even then I don’t like to be between the gates after dark.”
‘Between the gates’ referred to the stretch of road, about a mile or so,
between Hobbiton and Bywater. “Why Hulbert lad, when I hear that you’ve
gone aways to places even beyond the bounds I feel quite weak at the knees.
I tell you it makes me fair glad that my work doesn’t take me out and
aways.”

. “You know Dick , at one time hobbits travelled quite far, I don’t mean the
famous hobbits neither, just ordinary everyday hobbits used to roam the
Shire at will, walking for pleasure.”

“Aye cousin I know it, but the big folk weren’t so many nor so close in
them days.” Fedick looked sideways at Hulbert, “Have you ever seen any o’
the big folk on your travels?”

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“No dear, I don’t believe I have, not in the Shire anyways for we’re still
protected by the rule of the King you know and besides the Brandywine and
the plashings 1 are good enough barriers.”

In point of fact it was the Old Forest that marked the eastern edge of the
Shire as given to the hobbits as theirs alone by King Ellessar and protected
by all incursions by the King’s law enforced by men of Gondor. Early in the
Fourth Age the land between the Brandywine River and the Old Forest,
Buckland as it was ever known, had been abandoned to act as a buffer
between the hobbits and Breeland. Town walls were started in those
debatable days between the coming of the King and the last of the wicked
folks fleeing his judgement.

“Imagine the Shire then Dick, orcs at large in the woods, kine taken,
houses raided.”

“I don’t want to imagine it cousin, I used to have nightmares when I was a

nipper thinking on it.”

It was during the unsettled time at the beginning of the Fourth Age that
the nature of the Shire changed forever. Of course, in the long months at the
end of the Third Age there had been the devastations caused by Sauruman
and the countryside being swamped by ruffians and it was the heroes
returning from the wars put an end to Saruman and his gang. Nonetheless
for years afterwards rogue bands of fugitives from the King’s Justice found
themselves crossing through the Shire, causing death, devastation and
above all fear. By the year 1611 in Shire Reckoning, (Year 10 of the Younger
Age), just about every town throughout the Shire was surrounded by walls of
earth and wood and every farm had become fortified or else was abandoned.
It was now 1838 by Shire Reckoning and there had been no sighting of an
orc in the Shire for two hundred years or so. Nevertheless hobbits seemed to

1
The plashings refers to an extensive programme of forestation around the circumference of the Shire. It
consisted of a wide band of rough forest with brambles and other tangling undergrowth being introduced when
the woodland was mature enough to survive it. At places the inner wall of the forest had branches woven to form
a rough fence. All of this we intended as a barrier to keep out interlopers. In latter ages it became two miles wide
in places and was of such a density that the Shire almost vanished from memory and men thought it simply a
vast intractable forest.

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getting shyer than ever and the walls remained and were tended, and even
extended. There were also watchtowers all along the west bank of the
Brandywine River from above of Dwaling in the north way down to the
Overbourne Marshes in the south, and at other places around the Bounds.
Being a Bounder was something most Hobbits did for at least part of the
year, a kind of citizen militia it was led by permanent officers and sheriffs.

As it was still quite early, with the twilight just closing in, Hulbert invited
his cousin in to sample a little fortified wine and fill up the cracks with
cheese, an invitation that Fedick readily accepted as he liked his cousin,
(despite the distinct chance that he was somewhat cracked), and he liked his
wine cellar equally well.

Ensconced in the little parlour with good cheese and a bottle of rich sweet
wine before them the conversation flowed easily, yet there was little meeting
of minds between the two hobbits, Fedick insisted that he had not the
slightest interest in events outside the local area, to him even Frogmorton,
some twenty miles away, was almost another country and therefore of no
importance.

The conversation wound itself around local issues, and eventually to the
problems of commerce in a virtually enclosed community, a topic dear to
Fedick’s heart.

“I’ll not deny cousin that although I don’t wish to travel far I dearly wish
my pots would! It’s a delicate business, I sell what I make but I spend less
time making than I used to and more time growing vegetables in my little
garden. It’s the same for other fellows too.”

“I’ll give you this,” he gestured towards Hulbert with the stem of a pipe he
was filling and then offered the pouch to Hulbert, “you travel far and wide
and you’re doing pretty well for yourself whereas those of us who stay put
aren’t getting rich.”

Lighting his pipe Hulbert looked over at Fedick with what some folks call
an old-fashioned look raising his eyebrows as if to say ‘well, why don’t you

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do something about it?’ But it was clear that Fedick felt that it was the
world that was wrong and not he. And so the conversation continued in a
convivial light-hearted way, as it will with Hobbits, who are a blithe folk by
nature, especially when so well fed and watered and with a good bowl of pipe
weed to puff at.

When it was time to leave Hulbert saw his guest to the door and as he
watched Fedick walk off along Low Row he called after him in a shouted
whisper, “Hey cousin, look out for goblin’s that might have climbed the town
walls.” Fedick turned, pulled a face and shook his fist before going on his
way.

Back in the house Hulbert moved the few crocks they had used into his
kitchen but left the washing up, he refilled his pipe from a humidor of
pipeweed he kept in the kitchen then crossed through the dining room on
the other side of the house and out of a pair of half-glass doors onto a little
porch looking out over his garden. Hulbert’s cottage was only a hundred
years old or so and it had arched doors and windows rather than the
traditional round openings. As a matter of fact it was extremely difficult to
hang a round door and hardly any had been used for well over a hundred
years, the skill seemed to have been lost and replacements for old doors gave
their owners a lot of trouble. Neither did Hobbits any longer live in smials
burrowed into the ground, not unless they were among the great families
living in ancient dwellings. For one thing, to build a smial you needed a
hillside, and they had pretty much been used up in the busy parts of the
Shire. Some of the latest buildings had even had a low second story although
this was still so much of an oddity that people would come from far and wide
to look at (and criticise) them, even though they were modest enough
dwellings.

On many existing smials the owners had built extensions so that the old
front entrances became round archways in the middle of the house. Inside
all Hobbit houses though, the angles between walls and ceiling were rounded
to something approximating a tunnel, shape. Hulbert’s cottage was actually

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built above a row of tiny old smials two of which now formed cellars to his
house, as they did with his neighbours. Most of the windows of these little
dwelling had been blocked and covered with turfs but at the back of
Hulberts cottage an old front door and one of the windows were retained and
garden tools were kept in an old front parlour.

Settling into a well-worn chair, wooden but very comfortable, and with
his pipe full of some of the best leaf available Hulbert settled in to enjoy a
quiet half an hour to himself. Summer was passed and already the cool
evening breeze was rich with the smell of honeysuckle and although the sun
had set the sky retained some colour near the horizon, while up above his
head the stars were bright. Hulbert’s garden followed the shape of the old
smial-bank, which he kept as a small wild-flower meadow. At the bottom of
the bank a lawn surrounded by more formal plantings ended in a low hedge
which faced onto Shepherds’ Lane, (the old smials below the ‘new cottages’
had been the abode of shepherds in the days before the walls went up).
Beyond Shepherds’ Lane were the back gardens of some small cottages
occupied by many an old Hobbit.

It was a little way along this lane that Henry and Myrtle Sandheaver lived.
Henry kept Hulbert’s garden for him while his wife, the formidable Mrs.
Sandheaver ‘did’ for Hulbert three days a week. Although Henry was as
easy-going a Hobbit one could ever meet, his wife felt it behove her to try and
keep Hulbert on the straight and narrow and nagged him gently about
everything from the ash in his carpets to the condition of his clothes and the
company he kept. (“Really Mr Brockburrow, a gentlehobbit of standing
should not be seen abroad in daylight with such a disreputable waistcoat.
You know your own business no doubt, but Mr Brockburrow, Dwarves, I ask
you, Dwarves!”). However Hulbert did not doubt that if anyone else had
dared to criticise him within her hearing they would have been given very
short shrift indeed.

After about half an hour Hulbert decided to turn in for the night, he had
some work he needed to finish; a will left by Lawyer Baggins to copy out fair

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and it was work he hated, and he knew he would find himself any excuse to
become sidetracked and so he was determined to get up with the sun and
make a good start.

Hulbert transferred some coals from the kitchen range into a warming
pan to take the chill off his bed and then he put a huge copper of water onto
the range for his morning ablutions, (the banked-up range would have it
heated to a very pleasant temperature he knew from experience) These
things done he brushed his teeth, locked the doors and then quickly
changed into his nightshirt before jumping into bed.

Outside, a nightingale began its song sublime but Hulbert was already
asleep before the first notes drifted through his window.

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