Hello! Well my Lord's been doing really well. He's done well in the joust,
he's done well in the foot combat. And now it's time for a parade so I've got my work cut out.
The blacksmith's got his harness, he's knocking the dings out of it. Which reminds me... I heard
a great story about a blacksmith and a miller. Make yourself comfortable, this won't take long
So, once in a village not far from here, there lived a miller. Huge, great,
hulking giant of a fellow he was. Now this was because he spent his day in the mill, carrying in
great big sacks full of grain, grinding them up to make flour, and then putting them into sacks again
and taking the flour out to give to bakers to bake bread. Well, you can imagine, his clothing
and his apron were white and wherever he went he sort of left a trail of flour dust behind him.
His best friend in the village was the blacksmith.
Now the blacksmith couldn't have been more different. The blacksmith was small and wiry,
there wasn't an ounce of fat on him, he was all muscle. And that's because he spent his day
at the forge, pumping away at the bellows to get the fire to the right temperature
and then hammering away at pieces of iron to make useful things like nails and horseshoes.
His apron, and his clothing, well... they were all black because he spent all his time
stood next to a fire and he was forever getting singed and burnt by the embers.
Now, it was generally held in the village that these two - the blacksmith and the miller - were
the most incorrigible rogues they had ever met. And if anything ever went missing in the village,
the blame was always put at the door of either the miller, or the blacksmith, or both.
One evening, the miller and the blacksmith were enjoying a few cups of ales
and, as they always did, they talked about their exploits.
Talking soon turned to boasting, boasting then turned to bragging,
and in the end the two of them were arguing about which one of them was the best thief.
Well the miller couldn't take it anymore. He leapt to his feet. "Right! There is only one way we can
settle this my friend - a contest. We must have a contest to see which of us is the greatest thief."
"Very well" said the blacksmith, "I accept, and may the best man - me - win."
The miller thought to himself for a moment
and then he smiled. "You know that farmer that had the big orchard of walnut trees, the one who
loved walnuts, the one who died a few days ago and we buried this morning. The one who insisted
that at his burial he was buried with a bag of his favourite walnuts. Well, I am going to go
to his walnut orchard tonight and I'm going to take a sack with me and steal all his walnuts."
"Ha!" said the blacksmith. "That's nothing... I'm going to go to the field of the farmer
who's forever boasting about having the finest sheep in the whole county
and I'm going to steal away his prize, fat ewe. Now I suggest that once we've
committed our crimes we meet somewhere quiet, somewhere where nobody will see us..."
"Ah!" said the miller, "what about the porch of the church?"
"Excellent!" said the blacksmith, "then we will meet there.
And then we can go back to the mill and enjoy some walnuts and roast mutton." And with that the two
of them - the miller and the blacksmith - snuck off into the darkness to commit their crimes...
Well, truth be told, the miller's job was the easier of the two for all he had to do
was walk down to the farmer's orchard, find himself a ladder, prop it up against a tree,
climb into the tree, empty as many of the walnuts as he could
into the great big sack that he brought with him from the mill and then move on to the next tree.
So he went from tree to tree to tree. It didn't take him long until the sack was completely full.
Very quietly he dragged the sack up, up to the church yard, opened the gate to the churchyard,
walked up the path and sat himself down in the porch.
By now it was quiet late in the evening and he was quite hungry. And he couldn't resist it. So he
put his hand into the sack of walnuts, started taking them out, crushing them
in his great big paws and then he sat there munching away.
By now it would have been about nine o'clock in the evening.
The sexton... now the sexton is a servant of the parish priest. And his jobs are to keep the
churchyard and church neat and tidy, to dig graves as required, but also at around about the hour of
nine to go up to the churchyard to ring the curfew bell. And this is the bell they rung every night
just to let everybody know that it's time they were in their bed, going to sleep, and not causing
any mischief. This was the part of his job he really hated. He wrapped himself up in a big,
black cloak to keep himself warm and now he made his way up to the churchyard to ring the bell.
Well you can imagine his surprise when looking up from the gate of the church
towards the porch he could see a figure. Something white and luminous.
Even more frightening, as he looked at the figure, it was putting its hand into a great
big sack and taking out something, cracking it and eating the contents.
"Lord preserve us" said the sexton, "it's that poor man that we buried this morning.
The man who loved walnuts. His ghost has come back to haunt us!"
Well, with that, the sexton ran for all he was worth, he ran back to his house. Now,
the sexton's house mate was a poor, sick man. And his sickness meant he was lame
and couldn't move his legs, so when the sexton got back and woke him up in a great big panic,
this man was a little bit aggravated. "What do you want?" he cried out.
"Quick, you must come with me! Something terrible has happened! You know that fellow we buried this
morning, the farmer who loved walnuts? His ghost has come back. He's sat in the church porch with
his bag of walnuts and he's eating away. You must come with me, we must find out what this means!"
Well, his house mate was not best pleased to have been woken up in the middle of the night.
"Are you sure?" he said.
"Yes!" said the sexton, "I'm quite sure. I saw him clearly!"
"Urgh, I can't come with you" said the poor man. "To start off with, look at me - I've got
my night shirt on. I'm not going to get dressed. Secondly, you forget I am sick, I cannot walk."
"That does not matter!" said the sexton. "I will carry you my friend". And with that,
he hoisted the man up on to his back and carried him in the direction of the church.
The miller was getting bored. He had been in the porch for quite a while now and was looking about
when... in the distance what did he see... he saw a dark figure with something white on its back.
'The blacksmith has done it then' thought the miller, 'he's got the sheep...excellent!'
And with that, the miller whispered in the darkness...
"I see you have him. Looks juicy! Let's take it home and roast it!"
Well, the sexton on hearing these words wasn't sure what it meant but he was
absolutely terrified to be addressed by a ghost. So,
he carefully took his friend off his shoulders and threw him on the ground and cried out
"Take him, take him! Only spare me, spare me!" and with that, he ran.
Now, his friend, in mortal fear for his life suddenly discovered that he did have
some use of his legs. So he started to crawl away as quickly as he could. Well, from where
the miller was, he could see a figure in black shouting and something on all fours moving away,
so he thought the blacksmith must have been caught in the act by the constable and he was now
crying out 'spare me, spare me...only take him' referring to the miller, trying to get the miller
to take the blame. Well the miller was having none of it. He took up his sack
of walnuts and by a fairly circuitous back route he made his way back to the mill.
The sexton ran all the way to the priest's house. He hammered on the door.
"Oh Father, thank goodness" he cried, "you must come with me as quickly as possible,
something terrible has happened. That man that we buried this morning, the farmer who loved walnuts,
his ghost has come back and is sat in the porch of the church with his bag of walnuts
and is crying out that he's going to take us off to hell and eat us and roast us!"
At first the priest refused to believe the sexton, but the sexton was clearly terrified.
So the priest got his bag and put into his bag his crucifix, a vial of holy water, his prayer book,
and then he put on his white stoll and made his way with the sexton back up towards the church.
So the blacksmith had come back. He looked up at the church porch, he couldn't see
the miller there, but when he got closer and had a look around he could see all
over the floor there were fragments of walnut shell so clearly the miller had been there.
'Ah' the blacksmith thought, 'the miller
must have got bored with waiting and he's gone back to the mill to stoke up a good fire
for when we roast [grunt] this great big fat sheep that I've been carrying on my back'.
Well, the blacksmith set off down the path from the church porch back down towards the gate.
Looking out into the darkness, he could see figures moving around. As he got to the gate, the
sheep on his back suddenly wriggled and struggled in trying to get free. So the blacksmith cried out
"Oh no you don't, my friend. You're not getting away. You're coming with me for the fire!"
Well, when the priest and the sexton who were lurking in the shadows heard that,
the priest assumed in the darkness that what he was looking at was the devil carrying the ghost
of the poor farmer who loved walnuts who had died, and dragging him off to hell. So the priest ran.
Well, when the sexton saw the priest run, naturally he ran too.
So the blacksmith looking out into the darkness saw a figure in white running, and then a dark
figure running along behind. 'Ah' thought the blacksmith, 'that must be the miller, but it
looks like he's being pursued by the constable. I better follow on to see what's going on.'
And so the blacksmith set off down the street through the village towards the
mill, the same direction in which the priest and the sexton were running in their terror.
When they saw behind them the dark figure with something white on its back following them,
they threw themselves into a deep, dark, stinking ditch and tried to hide.
Now the ditch just happened to be right next to the mill.
So the blacksmith walked down the street until he got to the door of the mill,
he hammered on the door and cried out
"I have him! A good fat one. He'll make excellent eating.
I have the strength to go back for more. Will you join me?"
When the priest and the sexton heard that, they thought the devil
was out on the hunt for more souls and they were both terrified. The priest
tried to get up out of the ditch to run away but as he did, he fell backwards and his head
struck the bottom of the ditch and got covered in filth and he got stuck. So he started screaming
"Help! Help! Bring a rope! Bring a rope!"
When the blacksmith heard somebody crying out for help and 'bring a rope', he thought to himself
'That must be the constable. Perhaps he's already apprehended the miller and
now I'm here he's calling for a rope so that he can hang the pair of us.'
Well, with that, the blacksmith very quickly took the sheep from his back
and undid the cord from around its legs, and the blacksmith ran. The sexton ran as well.
The priest dragged himself out of the mire in which he was stuck and he ran. And the miller,
hearing all this commotion outside, peered out through the window, saw all these figures running
around, so he went to the back door... he ran as well, leaving behind a rather confused sheep.
The miller and the blacksmith? Never seen again.
And that's my story. And the moral of the story is, because all stories I
suppose should have some sort of a moral, is that ... when you are out and about
of an evening, and you see something in the dark and you're not sure what it is
Stop. Take a deep breath, for it is a fool who believes their imagination in the darkness.
Right, I better crack on with this.
Have a good day.