Chapter 90. Celebrations
The days run into one another, blurring in my memory but for bright flashes here and there that stand out against the backdrop of our relatively uneventful existence since the ruffians' departure – my little flower's birthday, for example, when she burst through the stable doorway as the day was dawning, a good two or three hours before the first of that morning's riding lessons. Bert followed in her train bearing a large and obviously heavy basket, its heaped contents covered with a cloth.
'Birthday mathoms!' she carolled to all and sundry. 'I've birthday mathoms for everyone!' The two cousins proceeded from one stall to the next, stopping at each to allow Violet to hold out something on her flat palm to the occupant. When my turn came, I whuffled at the unfamiliar smell of the flat yet carrot-shaped object she held out to me, and she giggled, such a delightful sound, it distracted me a moment from the treat in her hand.
'All's well, Poppet!' she cried, stroking my nose with her other hand. 'It's a ginger biscuit, made specially for four-footed creatures just so Bert' – and here she glanced askance at her older cousin – 'won't be tempted to eat 'em all himself!'
So... not quite everyone, I should think. Nearly all of the stable workers have but two feet, excepting Fetch the dog and Kerfuffle the cat whose jobs have little to do with cleaning stalls, grooming, or distributing hay and grain, but more to do with security, keeping the stables safe from intruders of all sorts, including rogue Men (though there are none to be found these days inside the Hedge and Dyke, it seems), as well as rats and mice that would make havoc of the grain stores if it were not for the vigilant watchers.
As I delicately took the biscuit-carrot from her hand, she told me how the tinsmith had formed a carrot-shaped biscuit cutter and hadn't even charged a fee when he heard that my little flower would be baking the biscuits for me!
As I crunched the treat between my teeth, more crunching was to be heard from Bert, his eyes dancing with mischief as he mumbled, hampered by a full mouth, What's good for the 'orse is good for the ostler!
I nodded and whickered a laugh. My little flower laughed too, not at all put out at Bert's daring. 'All my poppets have had their mathoms, and now the grooms may have their share!' she said at last, withdrawing a bone-shaped biscuit and a small, oilcloth-wrapped packet from the basket and giving Bert a gentle push.
Even as the grooms gathered round to feast on the spicy biscuits, I watched my flower cross to where Fetch sat watching from his bed of straw, Ham having ordered him to stay for the time being, while Fuffle lounged on the beam above, ready for a nap after a night's hunting. The dog's tail thumped at Violet's approach. As I watched, Violet held the bone-biscuit aloft with a soft-voiced command, and Fetch sat up on his hindquarters to say please and thank you!...and then he neatly caught the treat when Violet tossed it in the air.
For a moment, I thought Fuffle would remain on her beam, out of reach of inconvenient, nap-interrupting hugs and cuddles. But when my flower unwrapped the cloth and held up a lump-shaped biscuit as high as she could reach, the cat must have smelt something-or-other, for she jumped down from her high place and twined around the child's knees and ankles, tail held high like a banner, and I could hear her purring from where I stood in my stall. Once she had secured the treat in her jaws, she jumped up onto a barrel and from there onto her high beam again, a prodigious leap, and proceeded to lie down on her perch high above our heads, where she contentedly gnawed at the lump she held between her front claws, purring all the while.
An unusual level of noise outside the heavy stable door this morning recalls me from my remembering. I move to the half-door of my stall, thrust my head over, and prick my ears towards the entrance. Perhaps today will depart from our usual, mundane activities of riding lessons followed by grazing in the meadow?
I hope our students will not be too dreadfully disappointed if this is so. They meet us faithfully each day at the paddock-turned-riding enclosure outside the main cluster of buildings but before the grazing fields and gardens start. There, my dam and I and a few more ponies boarded with Butterbur are helping them learn to ride kindly and properly. They must take turns, o' course, for there are many more children than ponies. When all have had a chance to ride under Bert's and sometimes this-Bob's instruction, they escort us to our stables for lessons in grooming and pony care before they are dismissed to their various chores and pursuits, whereupon Tall Bob escorts us to the pasture for an afternoon of grazing and rolling, drowsing and playing.
But no! They are here – here at the stables at the break of day!
I do hope this departure from our usual schedule does not mean we are to miss our breakfast!
Thankfully, breakfast proceeds as usual despite the crowd of visitors – adults as well as children – that have descended upon us. A laughing, jolly crowd it is, too. For all their jollity, they retain enough respect so as to move slowly and speak quietly upon entering our stalls.
Today must be some sort of celebration, as on the day this-Bob returned to us, and the stable workers groomed us within an inch of our lives and then braided our manes and tails and bedecked us with ribbons. But today, even as we are finishing our morning grain, Men and Hobbits enter the stables bearing buckets overflowing with flowers; they set down the buckets outside our stalls and join the stable workers in grooming us so that much is accomplished in a short time. Children and mums and maidens accompany them. A crowd of cheerful workers surrounds each stable beast, and in what seems like no time at all, I and all my companions are brushed and braided, gleaming and garnished with flowers from head to tail.
A cheer goes up as Bert leads me from my stall – all around the central space, stall doors are opening and my companions are issuing forth, so grand that they cannot seem to keep from prancing and tossing their heads high. Nor can I contain my high spirits; why, I feel as if I could dance or even fly!
'Steady, my beauty,' Bert murmurs to me, laying a quieting hand alongside my neck, and some magic in his voice brings my feet back to the ground once more. It is just as well. I would not mar the day with an accident, such as treading my precious flower underfoot!
Beauty, I find myself musing. Surely no one has ever called me by such a name before.
But my Violet is skipping and dancing before me; she twirls and stops, facing me, and claps her hands together in joy. 'You look oh-so-fine, Poppet-mine!'
I arch my neck at her praise, and then I bow my head to meet her outstretched hand with my nose. She strokes me softly and whispers sweet nothings to me in a tone that echoes Bert's magic, anchoring my feet in place so that I stand before her, as quiet and calm as a stone or statue.
'O' course Lad and Lady will lead out.' It is the Woodman, the son of my Old Man, but I do not startle at unexpectedly hearing his voice, so suddenly standing by my side. 'Master Butterbur has said the Council are all in agreement that these brave ponies must walk at the head of the procession in remembrance of how they outraced the ruffians to bring aid to Archet when aid was desperately needed. 'Tis only fitting to celebrate all whose deeds have distinguished them since last year's Summerdays celebration!'
'O' course!' my flower answers, as if it is her place to respond for everyone who is here with us, as well as those who cannot be. The thought brings to mind some talk I heard between the innkeeper and old Ham, not long after the battle on the street outside the inn: ...poor Mat Heathertoes, and Rowlie Appledore, and little Tom Pickthorn from over the Hill; and Willie Banks from up-away, and one of the Underhills...
I lower my head at this sad memory, but raise my face once more at the sudden advent of weight upon my back, almost as light as thistledown, while I feel my Violet's legs cradle my sides between them. 'There's a good lad,' Bert says, all encouragement, and a soft rain of pats falls upon my neck from my little flower's hand.
As Bert leads us forth from the stables, a louder cheer arises from the townsfolk standing in the yard, Men and Hobbits, wives and maidens and children, all those who worked to shine and polish and bedeck us with flowers. Bright cloths are in their hands, waving in celebration. Incredibly, the cheers grow in volume and enthusiasm as Bert swings himself onto my dam's back. Together, heads and tails high, my dam and I step off together, prancing yet in perfect accord.
Jocko's voice rises above the noise of the crowd, and some of the townsfolk snap to attention, shouldering weapons – bows and clubs, pitchforks and long knives and other implements turned from peaceful labour to the defence of the town and surroundings. As my dam and I pass under the wide arch leading from the inn's courtyard to the street, I catch a glimpse of them falling in behind us, Men and Hobbits together, the former shortening their stride and the latter lengthening theirs that they may all march together in step.
More crowds than I have ever seen before line both sides of the Great East Road that winds through the heart of Bree-town, and I can only think that most of those living in Staddle and Combe and Archet have come to join the Bree-folk in celebrating. I say "most", for some must have remained to guard those places in these uncertain times. I've overheard talk of robbers hiding in the woods beyond Archet, and out in the wilds north-away, to which someone else invariably answers, It’s like a bit of the bad old times tales tell of, wouldn't you say? Stable workers and visitors alike have mentioned how it isn’t safe on the road and nobody goes far, and folk lock up early, and keeping watchers all round the fence and the need to put a lot of men on the gates at nights.
Still, it is difficult to hold onto such dark thoughts on this bright day, parading through the town under the smiling Sun to the sounds of song and rousing cheers as the people wave brightly coloured cloths and festive banners fly above.
Hooray! Hurrah! Praise be! Huzzah!
If only my hobbits were here to see this, to join in the celebration!
...but I am in danger of falling out of step with my dam. Putting all other thoughts aside, at least for the moment, I arch my neck and lift my feet higher, concentrating on keeping in step with my dam. My efforts are aided by the drums and horns following behind the marching guards. The lively music invites the tumultuous crowd to join in singing and shouting the chorus of a joyful song as we make our way.
All is well, Great-heart, my Voices whisper to me amidst the tumult. Mingling with their distant tones is the rushing whisper of a mighty gathering, as might be heard from far away: Praise them with great praise!
I toss my head to rid myself of the fancy. The song ends, and the cheering resumes.
Huzzah! Hurray! Hurrah!
All is well. Or, I think wistfully, as well as can be.
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Author's notes:
The Summerdays parade in Bree takes place on Mid-Year's Day. In Gondor, a royal wedding is happening on this day.
The ideas behind Violet's birthday mathoms came from the following websites:
Easy Horse and Dog Gingerbread Treats
People will also find these treats tasty. They are formulated without dairy or eggs. The recipe also omits nutmeg, which can be toxic to dogs.
Some phrases in this chapter reflect Barliman Butterbur's conversation with the returned Travellers in the chapter 'Homeward Bound' in The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. All credit goes to the original author, of course.
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