Chapter 3 - She's Raring To Go!

The lines were drawn and the rules established. Captain Meriadoc and Captain Peregrin were to be pitted against Mayor Samwise Gamgee and his son, Frodo. Sam had reluctantly agreed to accept the challenge by popular demand, as he was unanimously acknowledged to be the best gardener in The Shire but, more importantly, because he knew, whatever the outcome, there would be no animosity between him and his friends.

The party field was to be mown three days hence, on the 17^th Forelithe starting at 7 o'clock sharp, with Merry and Pippin in their great engine cutting the grass to the South of the Mallorn tree and Sam and Frodo mowing the North.

Merry had shrewdly established that all tools and equipment could be laid out in position before the start of the competition and Sam had grudgingly allowed this. He had thought that carrying the few tools that he and Frodo-lad needed would give them a head-start over the cumbersome monster.

Merry and Pippin decided to run the engine into the field while it still had a good head of steam. So when Sam saw the engine trundle off to the field at an alarming speed of nigh-on twenty miles an hour he was glad he had agreed, as the engine would probably have reached the field while he and Frodo were still in the tool shed.

Nevertheless, Merry's foresight paid off in his favour when the five bar gate had to be removed from its hinges to allow the monster access, as this took a good half an hour.

Sam had made the rest of the rules and they had been set out in writing, fair and square with seven signatures in red ink. Merry and Pippin, confident of the machine's prowess, had barely glanced at them.

On the appointed morning, in spite of the early hour, a vast crowd had gathered, many hobbits travelling from as far away as Pincup and Frogmorton the day before. Most of the youngsters had clambered into the Mallorn tree itself – a fine vantage point and with the added bonus of being safely out of the way of great engine.

Sam and Frodo-lad had spent the previous day sharpening and oiling their scythes and shears and had gone to bed early with a substantial dinner in their bellies and woken up to a large breakfast of bacon, eggs and mushrooms. Rose had promised to bring them a good piece for second breakfast at 9 o'clock, to keep their strength up.

Merry and Pippin had spent the night in the Green Dragon and looked a little weary, partly because of the early hour but mostly on account of the hospitality of the pub. They had considered a sunrise start would be a piece of cake, but in truth, since the Quest, they had both grown rather too accustomed to late nights and rising, as Pippin put it, 'at the crack of lunch!'

"Morning Uncle Merry, Uncle Pippin!" Frodo-lad beamed at them. "How's your engine?"

"She's raring to go," Pippin declared, trying to sound as breezy as Frodo. "Soon have her fired up!"

Merry had already pulled back the oiled cloth covering the engine and was trying to light the ready-laid fire. The early morning dew had different ideas however and the coal was damp and unresponsive. "Grrrr…" Merry threw another burnt-out vesta away and tried again. "Where's Gandalf when you need him. I could really do with some of his magic flames right now."

"It wouldn't be allowed anyway," Frodo-lad pointed out. "Dad's rules state, 'no outside help over and above fetching and carrying', so that would be cheating."

"Well someone had better fetch me another box of matches," Merry grumbled. "These are all damp and the coal is too. How long to the start time Pip?"

"Ten minutes," Pippin consulted his pocket watch. "You could try rubbing two pieces of wood together."

"I'll rub you together in a minute!" The Master of Buckland's temper was getting a little frayed. "Even if I can get this darn fire going, it'll take a while to build up steam!"

"Calm down my dear Meriadoc," Pippin jumped down from the driver's perch. "We've plenty of time. Sam and Frodo-lad will be hacking away at that grass while we enjoy elevenses at the Green Dragon!"

Sam carefully laid out his gardening implements; the tall scythe, the medium scythe, two pairs of shears, several sacks and several mysterious and unexplained planks of wood. Then he wandered over to see how the opposition was faring.

"'Morning Merry, Pippin," he nodded to each in turn. "What seems to be the problem?"

"They can't get the fire to light Sam-dad," Frodo-lad chuckled, then pulled a serious face when he saw his father's eyebrow lift in warning. "We may have to call off the race I suppose."

"Here," Sam took his pipe out of his mouth tamping it slightly then taking another puff as he climbed up to peer over Merry's shoulder. "Let's have a look."

"No, Sam," Merry said firmly, "no outside help. If you get the fire going and we win, you'll call it an unfair contest."

"Well, I was just going to point out," Sam took his pipe out of his mouth again and looked at it thoughtfully, "if you were to empty a well-lit pipe into that there kindling and then cover it round and blow on it – just gently mind, you might have more luck."

With that Sam clambered back down and patted Pippin on the shoulder. "Best be off to the start," he smiled. "May the best hobbits win!"

Merry grimaced after Sam as he reached into his pocket to find his own pipe, begrudgingly remembering that, during the Quest, Frodo's gardener had done most of the fire lighting, sometimes under very difficult or damp conditions.

TBC