Chapter 31. A Night to Remember

The origins of Remembering Day are lost in the mists of days long past, but in the Shire it is generally acknowledged that the custom was first observed by the Tooks, and taken up in turn by the Tooklanders, and brought from there to Buckland by a Took who married into the Brandybuck family. It is somewhat curious that the Tooks would use boats for any purpose, but that is the centerpiece of the Remembering Day observance: to carve a small boat, make a hollow, fix a candle wick within, and pour in melted wax. Some would carve the name of a departed loved one – lost since the previous Remembering Day – into the sides of the boat; others might paint or ink the name there. At sunset, the candle-boat would be lit and set upon moving water, to be carried away.

Some have said, uncharitably, that it has something to do with the Tooks’ faerie ancestor, and certainly not in a complimentary sense. Legends of faeries paint these as mischievous beings (a hobbit might say “tricksy”), capable of doing good, but also to be blamed for many ills, such as souring milk, laming animals, and withering crops. Then there are those cousins of the faeries, the Will-o’-the-wisps, who with their little, ephemeral candles are inclined to lead an unwary traveller off of safe paths, to become lost; or even from solid onto boggy, perilous ground.

The flickering of a few small lights in a brook, or many candles, floating down a river or stream in the autumn darkness, calls forth differing emotions among Shire-folk. A Took or Tooklander grieves, remembering those who have gone before. Young hobbits who are out when they ought to be in bed know a sense of wonder and delight in the beauty of the moving light. Older hobbits, those who are not Tooklanders or Bucklanders, will shudder with superstitious dread, thinking of the faerie lights that are said to lead to enchantment or death, and hurry home as quickly as possible. Spirits have long been said to wander on this night of nights, and no sensible hobbit cares to be haunted by such.

For those who are Remembering on this night, a memorial feast follows, with all the favourite foods of the departed hobbit or hobbits, filled with story and song. Not only the recently departed, but also those long gone, but never forgotten, are remembered at the feast. Missed and not-so-missed hobbits are celebrated, remembered and honoured, and then the next day, it is time to put away grief and take up the necessary tasks of life once more.

On this early November day, Bilbo and Isen wandered the windswept Hilltop above Bagshot Row. If Isen was a little subdued, the younger hobbit was excited by the gusts of wind, the bowing of the trees below, the swirling of the birds in the skies. The wind portended a change in the weather, Belladonna had said, and sent the lads out to fill themselves with sunshine and fresh air. Once the autumn rains set in, they might find themselves indoors for days at a time, or in danger of catching their deaths if they went out in the damp cold, whether soaking hard rain or bone-chilling drizzle.

Bilbo held out his arms, with his face to the sky, feeling the wind tugging at him. ‘I could almost fly!’ he shouted to his uncle.

Just then a particularly violent gust roared over them, and Isen ran a few steps (luckily he had stayed close to Bilbo) and grabbed at his nephew, holding tight, as the wind filled the lad’s jacket as if he were a ship with sails, and propelled him across the hilltop. ‘You nearly did!’ he shouted in reply. ‘Come, ‘Bo, let us seek shelter before the wind carries us both away!’

Bilbo protested, but Isen prevailed, and soon the Overhill road took them down towards Bagshot Row, in the lea of the hillside, out of the worst effect of the gusts. ‘O but that was glorious!’ Bilbo enthused. ‘It really felt as if I could fly on the wind to far countries, to see mountains and oceans…’

‘Wind’s coming from the wrong quarter for oceans,’ Isen said. ‘Mountains and forests, perhaps, though I’ve not been to that part of the world.’

‘We could go together!’ Bilbo said, still excited.

Isen chuckled and shook his head. ‘You’re as bad as your mother ever was,’ he said.

‘My mother?’ Bilbo was astonished.

‘She and I used to…’ Isen said, but then he shook himself. ‘But perhaps she wouldn’t like that tale told…’

‘Then tell another!’ Bilbo insisted. Somehow the wildness of the wind was stirring the Tookish part of his blood, and he felt uncharacteristically reckless.

‘Well, there was the time we…’ Isen said, and stopped himself again. ‘But then she swore me to silence…’

‘Swore you to silence!’ Bilbo said, his eyes dancing. ‘Sounds…’ and he said a word that was seldom said in polite society, ‘adventurous!’

‘It was,’ Isen said, but he lost his smile. ‘Bella, Hildifons and I… but no, lad, that’s not a tale for the telling, at least not this day.’

And Bilbo could get no more out of him on the topic of adventure, as they walked back down the Hill to Bag End. No, but Isen insisted on speculating about what might be for tea that day, whether it might be seedcake, which the both of them dearly loved, and rued that it was only baked twice a week, or whether it would be Bungo’s favourite dried-cherry scones.

They met Erling Pott, who carried the Shire Post in the Hobbiton area, coming from Bag End. ‘Hoi there, Mr Pott!’ Bilbo said in greeting. ‘To day is not your usual day…!’

‘No, it is not, young hobbit,’ that worthy said in reply. ‘How ever, special deliveries may be made on any day of the week, and this was one of those, if you take my meaning.’

‘Special delivery!’ Bilbo said in excitement. ‘To Bag End, I hope? I wonder what it might be?’ Off the top of his head, he could not think of any birthdays, not even those of any twelve-mile cousins this day. Bungo would receive sheafs of paper to do with business, but these almost always arrived by regular Post.

‘That would be telling,’ the Post hobbit said with a tip of his cap to Isen. Hobbits who carried the Post might enjoy gathering details and gossip, but they knew better than to spread their knowledge abroad, lest a complaint come to the Mayor’s ears and they’d be out of a job. Erling knew very well where he had delivered the package, and the young, inquisitive hobbit (and inquisitiveness was a thing frowned upon by sensible folk) would find out soon enough, after all.

In any event, the package had not been addressed to young Bilbo, and so it was none of his business.

When Bilbo and Isen swept into Bag End on a sudden, rogue gust of wind, there was no package sitting on the table in the hall, and Bilbo felt a shock of disappointment. He so loved surprises. It seemed likely, however, that the package had gone to a neighbour, especially as his parents said nothing as the family sat down to tea.

A variety of tea sandwiches and scones fresh and warm from the oven, it was that day, with cream and sweet butter and strawberry preserves. Something delicious was roasting slowly in the kitchen, but that was to be “for later” as Belladonna said. Between them Isen and Bilbo (and Bungo, it must be said, though his only exercise thus far that day had been moving papers around on his desk, making entries in his account-books, and writing a few letters) were able to put away an astonishing amount of food. Though Bella was unusually reserved, she did smile to see all three of her lads eating with such good appetite.

In point of fact, she got up more than once to bring out more food, and to freshen the teapot, and laughed once to hear Bungo liken them all to squirrels, putting away their winter store and fattening themselves for the cold weather to come.

‘Cold weather is to come, and sooner than later,’ she said with a little shiver, though it was pleasantly warm in the parlour, with the bright sun shining in at the windows, belying the strong wind that blew the leaves about.

At last the platters were reduced to crumbs, and only a small scraping of strawberry preserves remained, and Bungo poured out the last of the tea, distributing it evenly amongst the four cups. And then he rose from his chair, motioning to the others to keep their seats. ‘Please excuse me for a moment only,’ he said. ‘I shall return shortly, before the tea is cold in the cups.’

He left the room and was as good as his word, returning with a fair sized paper-wrapped parcel in his hands.

Bilbo punched Isen in the arm in his excitement. Erling’s special delivery had been to Bag End after all!

He was only a little disappointed when his father laid the package gently on the table before his uncle. ‘Isen,’ Bungo said. ‘This is for you.’

‘From the Great Smials?’ Isen said. ‘My mother has sent me somewhat? Not my father, surely…’

‘No,’ Bungo said, ‘no, this package is from myself, and your sister.’

‘You hardly need to send me packages through the Post,’ Isen said with a quizzical smile. ‘I am right here, and hand-to-hand seems a bit… handier… way to do things. You needn’t stand on formalities or ceremony with me, brother!’

‘It was a special commission,’ Bungo said. ‘I arranged for it, for it was not something I could manage on my own, and I thought it might be important to you, and while your hand is improving, I knew you might not be able to manage it yourself…’

‘You’re talking in riddles,’ Isen said, a frown of puzzlement creasing his brow before he smiled once more. ‘I know that you Bagginses love your riddles, but really, brother, this is…’

‘Open it? Please?’ Belladonna said. Despite the smile she wore, it was clear that she was anxious in a worried kind of way, rather than pleasant anticipation, as if she was not quite sure of Isen’s response to what ever was concealed in the wrappings.

‘Very well, sister,’ Isen said gently. He lifted his lame hand with a little grimace, using it to steady the package, and touched the paper with his good hand, looking to his sister. Of a wonder, Belladonna did not urge him to tear the paper with just as much noise and bustle as he possibly could. He pursed his lips in thought, and looked down to the paper wrappings once more. Gently, carefully, he loosened the paper (Bungo had already cut away the string that had tied it all up securely for transport) and eased it away.

Seeing what lay within, he stopped, staring, his face marked with strong emotion that Bilbo could not name. Belladonna’s eyes filled with tears that spilled over, watching her brother, and Bungo was very sober.

Bilbo found himself holding his breath for a long moment as Isen stared – it was something carved of wood, the lad could see, but what it was, he couldn’t quite tell, half-obscured as it was. Then Isen seemed to return to life from his frozen state, and pulled the rest of the paper away.

A ship, it was, tall masted though the carven sails were furled, with a number of wicks standing up from the wax-filled centre. It looked just like a ship in one of Bilbo’s picture books. He wasn’t sure how they’d come by the book; it was from Belladonna’s childhood and quite possibly of Elvish origin, with its pictures of a ship on the Sea and later sailing in the sky, a bright star shining from the Captain’s brow, and other pictures of warriors in bright armour. Bilbo found the pictures fascinating to peruse, though the writing itself was in a language he could not read, nor could (by their own admission) his mother or father.

‘I had it carved by a gaffer I know, in Bywater,’ Bungo said. ‘He’s a master at carving – I showed him a picture in a book,’ (and Bilbo was suddenly certain, which book), ‘and he was able to do the rest, though he’s never seen a ship in the life, of course.’ He drew a deep breath and let it out again. ‘I hope it wasn’t an impertinence on my part. I only wanted…’

But Isen was scarcely listening. He traced the letters carved into the side of the exquisite little ship. ‘Gull,’ he breathed, and his breathing hitched as if he were about to weep.

After a long moment, he looked up, to meet Bungo’s worried gaze. ‘Not an impertinence at all, dear brother,’ he said, and drew a shuddering breath of his own. ‘Not at all.’

‘We’ll take it – her,’ Bungo said, remembering the proper term of address for a ship, ‘down to the Water,’ he continued, ‘for the dusk will be falling soon, and the wind will still as the darkness comes down, and that would be a good thing, that the candles might not go out as she makes her way to the Sea, and beyond…’

‘Aye,’ Isen breathed. ‘It is something I would do, to remember the Captain, and the Third Mate, and the Bosun, and the rest. They’d never have let me, the Tooks,’ he said, blinking away his tears. ‘To remember how I shamed them, as I did?’

Bilbo stared from face to face in bewilderment. He was no better informed when Bungo placed a gentle hand on Isen’s hand, resting on the carven wonder, and his father said, ‘It is never a shame to follow your heart, or it ought not to be.’

Belladonna gulped back a sob, and Bungo reached his other hand to his wife, taking her hand and squeezing it gently as he smiled into her eyes. ‘Though your family made it as difficult as possible, in my case,’ he said, ‘I followed my heart as well.’