Farmer Giles of Ham

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Farmer Giles of Ham
J.R.R. Tolkien
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Foreword
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OF the history of the Little Kingdom few fragments have
survived; but by chance an account of its origin has been
preserved: a legend, perhaps, rather than an account; f?r
it is evidently a late compilation, full of marvels,, derived
not from sober annals, but from the popular lays to which
its author frequently refers. For him the events that he
records lay already in a distant past; but he seems, none-
theless, to have lived himself in the lands of the Little
Kingdom. Such geographical knowledge as he shows (it is
not his strong point) is of that country, while of regions
outside it, north or west, he is plainly ignorant.
An excuse for presenting a translation of this curious
tale, out of its very insular Latin into the modern tongue
of the United Kingdom, may be found in the glimpse that
it affords of life in a dark period of the history of Britain,
not to mention the light that it throws on the origin of
some difficult place-names. Some may find the character
and adventures of its hero attractive in themselves.
The boundaries of the Little Kingdom, either in time or
space, are not easy to determine from the scanty evidence.
Since Brutus came to Britain many kings and realms have
come and gone. The partition under Locrin, Camber, and
Albanac, was only the first of many shifting divisions.
What with the love of petty independence on the one hand,
and on the other the greed of kings for wider realms, the
years were filled with swift alternations of war and peace,
of mirth and woe, as historians of the reign of Arthur tell
us: a time of unsettled frontiers, when men might rise or
fall suddenly, and songwriters had abundant material and
eager audiences. Somewhere in those long years, after the
days of King Coel maybe, but before Arthur or the Seven
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Kingdoms of the English, we must place the events here
related; and their scene is the valley of the Thames, with
an excursion north-west to the walls of Wales.
The capital of the Little Kingdom was evidently, as is
ours, in its south-east corner, but its confines are vague. It
seems never to have reached far up the Thames into the
West, nor beyond Otmoor to the North; its eastern borders
are dubious. There are indications in a fragmentary legend
of Georgius son of Giles and his page Suovetaurilius (Suet)
that at one time an outpost against the Middle Kingdom
was maintained at Farthingho. But that situation does not
concern this story, which is now presented without
alteration or further comment, though the original grandiose
title has bear suitably reduced to Farmer Giles of Ham.
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Farmer Giles of Ham
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AEGIDIUS DE HAMMO was a man who lived in the
midmost parts of the Island of Britain. In full his name was
Ngidius Ahenobarbus Julius Agricola de Hammo; for
people were richly endowed with names in those days,
now long ago, when this island was still happily divided into
many kingdoms. There was more time then, and folly were
fewer, so that most men were distinguished. However,
those days are now over, so I will in what follows give the
man his name shortly, and in the vulgar form: he was
Farmer Giles of Ham, and he had a red beard. Ham was
only a village, but villages were proud and independent still
in those days.
Farmer Giles had a dog. The dog's name was Garm. Dogs
had to be content with short names in the vernacular: the
Book-Latin was reserved for their betters. Garm could not
talk even dog-Latin; but he could use the vulgar tongue (as
could most dogs of his day) either to bully or to brag or to
wheedle in. Bullying was for beggars and trespassers,
bragging for other dogs, and wheedling for his
master. Garm was both proud and afraid of Giles, who
could bully and brag better than he could.
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The time was not one of hurry or bustle. But bustle has
very little to do with business. Men did their work without
it; and they got through a deal both of work and of talk.
There was plenty to talk about, for memorable events
occurred very frequently. -But at the moment when this
tale begins nothing memorable had, in fact, happened in
Ham for quite a long time. Which suited Farmer Giles
down to the ground: he was a slow sort of fellow, rather
set in his ways, and taken up with his own affairs. He had
his hands full (he said) keeping the wolf from the door
that is, keeping himself as fat and comfortable as his father
before him. The dog was busy helping him. Neither of
them gave much thought to the Wide World outside their
fields, the village, and the nearest market.
But the Wide World was there. The forest was not far off,
and away west and north were the Wild Hills, and the
dubious marches of the mountain-country. And among
other things still at large there were giants: rude and
uncultured folk, and troublesome at times. There was one
giant in particular, larger and more stupid than his fellows.
7 find no mention of his name in the histories, but it does
not matter. He was very large, his walking-stick was like a
tree, and his tread was heavy. He brushed elms aside like
tall grasses; and he was the ruin of roads and the
desolation of gardens, for his great feet made holes in them as deep
as wells; if he stumbled into a house, that was the end of it.
And all this damage he did wherever he went, for his
head was far above the roofs of houses and left his feet to
look after themselves. He was near-sighted and also rather
deaf. Fortunately he lived far off in the Wild, and seldom -
visited the lands inhabited by men, at least not on purpose.
He had a great tumbledown house away up in the
mountains; but he had very few friends owing to his
deafness and his stupidity, and the scarcity of giants. He
used to go out walking in the Wild Hills and in the empty
regions at -the feet of the mountains, all by himself.
One fine summer's day this giant went out for a walls, and
wandered aimlessly along, doing a great deal of damage in
the woods. Suddenly he noticed that the sun was setting,
and felt that his supper-time was drawing near; but he
discovered that he was in a part of the country that he did
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not know at all and had lost his way. Making a wrong
guess at the right direction he walked and he walked until it
was dark night. Then he sat down and waited for the moon
to rise. Then he walked and walked in the moonlight,
striding out with a will, for he was anxious to get home. He
had left his best copper pot on the fire, and feared that the
bottom would be burned. But his back was to the mountains, and he
was already in the lands inhabited by men. He was, indeed,
now drawing near to the farm of Aegidius Ahenobarbus Julius Agricola
and the village called (in the vulgar tongue) Ham.
It was a fine night. The cows were in the fields, and
Farmer Giles's dog had got out and gone for a walk on his
own account. He had a fancy for moonshine, and rabbits.
He had no idea, of course, that a giant was also out for a
walk. That would have given him a good reason for going
out without leave, but a still better reason for staying quiet
in the kitchen. At about two o'clock the giant arrived in
Farmer Giles's fields, broke the hedges, trampled on the
crops, and flattened the mowing-grass. In five minutes he
had done more damage than the royal fox-hunt could have
done in five days.
Garm heard a thump-thump coming along the riverbank,
and he ran to the west side of the low hill on which the
farmhouse stood, just to see what was happening.
Suddenly he saw the giant stride right across the river and
tread upon Galathea, the farmer's favourite cow, squashing
the poor beast as flat as the farmer could have squashed a
blackbeetle.
That was more than enough for Garm. He gave a yelp of
fright and bolted home. Quite forgetting that he was out
without leave, he came and barked and yammered
underneath his master's bedroom window. There was no answer for
a long time. Farmer Giles was not easily wakened.
`Help! help! help!' cried Garm.
The window opened suddenly and a well-aimed bottle
came flying out.
`Ow I 'said the dog, jumping aside with practised skill.
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'Help! help! help!'
Out popped the farmer's head. `Drat you, dog! What be
you a-doing?' said he.
`Nothing,' said the dog.
`I'll give you nothing! I'll flay the skin off you in the
morning,' said the farmer, slamming the window.
`Help! help! help! cried the dog.
Out came Giles's head again. `I'll kill you, if you make
another sound,' he said. `What's come to you, you fool?'
`Nothing,' said the dog; `but something's come to yon.'
`What d'you mean?' said Giles, startled- in the midst of his
rage. Never before had Garm answered him saucily.
`There's a giant in your fields, an enormous giant; and he's
coming this way,' said the dog. `Help! help! He is
trampling on your sheep. He has stamped on poor
Galathea, and she's as flat as a doormat. Help l help! He's
bursting all your hedges, and he's crushing all your crops.
You must be bold and quick, master, or you will soon have
nothing left. Help!' Garm began to howl.
`Shut up! said the farmer, and he shut the window. `Lord-a-
mercy!' he said to himself; and though the night was warm,
he shivered and shook.
`Get back to bed and don't be a fool!' said his wife. `And
drown that dog in the morning. There is no call to
believe what a dog says; they'll tell any tale, when caught
truant or thieving.'
`May be, Agatha,' said he, `and may be not. But there's
something going on in my fields, or Garm's a rabbit. That
dog was frightened. And why should he come yammering
in the night when he could sneak in at the back door with
the milk in the morning?
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`Don't stand there arguing!' said she. `If you believe the
dog, then take his advice: be bold and quick!'
'Easier said than done,' answered Giles; for, indeed, he
believed quite half of Garm's tale. In the small hours of the
night giants seem less unlikely,.
Still, property is property; and Farmer Giles had a short
way with 'trespassers that few could outface. So he pulled
on his breeches, and went down into the kitchen and took
his blunderbuss from the wall. Some may well ask what a
blunderbuss was. Indeed, this very question, it is said, was
put to the Four Wise Clerks of Oxenford, and after thought
they replied: `A blunderbuss is a short gun with a large
bore firing many balls or slugs, and capable of doing
execution within a limited range without exact aim. (Now
superseded in civilised countries by other firearms.)'
However, Farmer Giles's blunderbuss had a wide mouth
that opened like a horn, and it did not fire balls or slugs, but
anything that he could spare to stuff in. And it did not do
execution, because he seldom loaded it, and never let it off.
The sight of it was usually enough for his purpose. And
this country was not yet civilised, for the blunderbuss was
not superseded: it was indeed the only kind of gun that
there was, and rare at that. People preferred bows and
arrows and used gunpowder mostly for fireworks.
Well then, Farmer Giles took down the blunderbuss, and he
put in a good charge of powder, just in case extreme
measures should be required; and into the wide mouth he
stuffed old nails and bits of wire, pieces of broken pot,
bones and stones and other rubbish. The he drew on his
top-boots and his overcoat, and he went out through the
kitchen garden.
The moon was low behind him, and he could see nothing
worse than the long black shadows of bushes and true; but
he could hear a dreadful stamping-stumping coming up the
side of the hill. He did not feel either bold or quick,
whatever Agatha might say; but he was more anxious
about his property than his skid. So, , feeling a bit loose
about the belt, he walked towards the brow of the hill.
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Suddenly up over the edge of it the giant's face appeared,
pale in the moonlight, which glittered in his large round
eyes. His feet were still far below, making holes in the
fields. The moon dazzled the giant and he did not see the
farmer; but Farmer Giles saw him and was scared out of
his wits: He pulled the trigger without thinking, and the
blunderbuss went off with a staggering bang. By luck it
was pointed more or less at the giant's large ugly face. Out
flew the rubbish, and the stones and the bones, and the bits
of crock and wire, and-half a dozes nails. And
since the range was indeed limited, by chance and no
choice of the farmer's. many of these things struck the
giant: a piece of pot went in his eye, and a large nail stuck
in his nose.
`Blast!' said the giant in his vulgar fashion. `I'm stung!' The
noise had made no impression on him (he was rather deaf),
but he did not like the nail. It was a long time since he had
met any insect fierce enough to pierce his thick skin; but
he had heard tell that away East, in the Fens, there were
dragonflies that could bite like hot pincers. He thought that
he must have run into something of the kind.
`Nasty unhealthy parts, evidently,' said he. `I shan't go any
further this way tonight:
So he picked up a couple of sheep off the hill-side, to eat
when he got home, and went back over the river, making
off about nor-nor-west at a great pace. He .found his way
home again in the end, for he was at last going in the right
direction; but the bottom was burned off his copper. pot.
As for Farmer Giles, when the blunderbuss went off it
knocked him over flat on his back; and there he lay looking
at the sky and wondering if the giant's feet would miss him
as they passed by. But nothing happened, and the
stamping-stumping died away in the distance. So he got up,
rubbed his shoulder, and picked up the blunderbuss. Then
suddenly he heard the sound of people cheering.
Most of the people of Ham had been looking out of their
windows; a few had put on their clothes and come out
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(after the giant had gone away). Some were now running
up the hill shouting.
The villagers had heard the horrible thump-thump of the
giant's feet, and most of them had immediately got under
the bed-clothes; some had got under the beds. But Garm
was both proud and frightened of his master. He thought
him terrible and splendid, when he was angry; and he
naturally thought that any giant would think the same. So,
as soon as he saw Giles come out with the blunderbuss (a
sign of great wrath as a rule), he rushed off to the village,
barking and crying:
`Come out! Come out! Come out! Get up! Get up! Come
and see my great master I He is bold and quick. He is
going to shoot a giant for trespassing. Come-out!'
The top of the hill could be seen from most of the houses.
When the people and the dog saw the giant's face rise
above it, they quailed and held their breath, and all but the
dog among them thought that this would prove a matter too
big for Giles to deal with. Then the blunderbuss went bang,
and the giant turned suddenly and went away, and in their
amazement and their joy they clapped and cheered, and
Garm nearly barked his head off.
`Hooray!' they shouted. `That will learn him! Master
Aegidius has given him what for. Now he will go home
and die, and serve him right and proper.' Then they all
cheered again together. But even as they cheered, they
took note for their own profit that after all this blunderbuss
could really be fired. There had been some debate in the
village inns on that point; but now the matter was settled.
Farmer Giles had little trouble with trespassers after that.
When all seemed safe some of the bolder folk came right
up he hill and shook hands with Farmer Giles. A few - the
parson, and the blacksmith, and the miller, and one or two
other persons of importance - slapped him on the
back: That did not please him (his shoulder was very sore),
but he felt obliged to invite them into his house. They sat
round in the kitchen drinking his health and loudly praising
him. He made no effort to hide his yawns, but as long as
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the drink lasted they took no notice. By the time they had
all had one or two (and the farmer two or three), he began
to feel quite bold; when they had all had two or three (and.
he himmseelf five or six), he felt as bold as his dog thought
him. They parted good friends; and he slapped their backs
heartily. His hands were large, red, and thick; so he had his
revenge.
Next day he found that the news had grown in the telling,
and he had become an important local figure. By the
middle of the next week the news had spread to all the
villages within twenty miles. He had become the Hero of
the Countryside. Very pleasant he found it. Nest market
day he got enough free drink to float a boat: that is to say,
he nearly had his fill, and came home singing old heroic
songs.
At last even the King got to hear of it. The capital of that
realm, the Middle Kingdom of the island in those happy
days, was some twenty leagues distant from Hams and
they paid little heed at court, as a rule, to the doings
of rustics in the provinces. But so prompt an expulsion of a
giant so injurious seemed worthy of note and of some little
courtesy. So in due course - that is, in about three months,
and on the feast of St Michael - the King sent a
magnificent letter. It was written in red upon white
parchment, and expressed the royal approbation of `our
loyal subject and well-beloved Egidius Ahenobarbus Julius
Agricola de Hammo.'
The letter was signed with a red blot; but the court scribe
had added: Ego Augustus Bonifacius Ambrosius
Aurelianus Antontus Pius et Magnificus, dux, rex, tyrannus,
et basileus Mediterranearum Parfium,and a large red seal
was attached. So the document was plainly genuine., it
afforded great pleasure to Giles, and was much admired,
especially when it was discovered that one could get a seat
and a drink by the farmer's fire by asking to look at it.
Better than the testimonial was the accompanying gift. The
King sent a belt and a long sword. To tell the truth
the King had never used the sword himself. It belonged to
the family and had been hanging in his armoury time out of
mind. The armourer could not say how it came there, or
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what might be the use of it. Plain heavy swords of that kind
were, out of fashion at court, just then, so the King thought
it the very thing for a present to a rustic. But Farmer Giles
was delighted, and his local reputation became enormous.
Giles much enjoyed the turn of events. So did his dog. He
never got his promised whipping. Giles was a just man
according to his lights; in his heart he gave a fair share of
the credit to Garm, though he never went so far as to
mention it. He continued to throw hard words and hard
things at the dog when he felt inclined, but he winked at many
little outings. Garm took to walking far afield. The farm
went about with a high step, and luck smiled on him. The
autumn and early winter work went well. All seemed set
fair - until the dragon came.
In those days dragons were already getting scarce in the
island. None had been seen in the midland realm of
Augustus Bonifacius for many a year. There were, of
course, the dubious marches and the uninhabited
mountains, westward and northward, but they were a long
way off. In those parts once upon a time there had dwelt a
number of dragons of one kind and another, and they had
made raids far and wide. But the Middle Kingdom was in
those days famous for the daring of the King's knights, and
so many stray dragons had been killed, or had returned
with grave damage, that the others gave up going that way.
It was still the custom for Dragon's Tail to be served up at
the King's Christmas Feast; and each year a knight was
chosen for the duty of hunting. He was supposed to set out
upon. St Nicholas' Day and come home with a dragon's
tail not later than the eve of the feast. But for many years now
the Royal Cook had made a marvellous confection, a Mock
Dragon's Tail of cake and almond-paste, with cunning scales of
hard icing-sugar. The chosen knight then carried this into the
hall on Christmas Eve, while the fiddles played and the trumpets
rang. The Mock Dragon's Tail was eaten after dinner on
Christmas Day, and everybody said (to please the cook) that it
tasted much better than Real Tail.
That was the situation when a real dragon turned up again. The
giant was largely to blame. After his adventure he used to go
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