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A Small and Passing Thing  by Lindelea


Chapter 9. Of Pig Slops and Milk Toast

The coach travelled slowly down the Great East Road. Teatime found them at the place where a road ran southwards from the Great Road, towards Hardbottle in South Farthing. There was the same small cluster of dilapidated buildings, looking perhaps a little shabbier than they had been near the end of September, when Freddy’s rebels had spent the night in the field across the road from the houses.

The Travellers had ridden ahead to Waymeet to work out some sort of accommodations for the Bolgers and to find a healer to attend Fredegar overnight. The good citizens of Michel Delving had packed provisions for those leaving for home that morning, and the Bolgers ate as they rode. Odo and Rosamunda took turns coaxing Freddy to take an occasional mouthful of food or drink, but it was a slow and frustrating process, requiring much patience. Now seeing the ramshackle dwellings ahead with smoke rising homily from the chimneys, Odovacar poked his head out the window to call up to his brother Rudivacar, driving the coach. ‘Let us stop here!’ he called. ‘Perhaps we can get a warm drink for Freddy!’ Rudi nodded. Frodo had described this place to him before they'd left Michel Delving and suggested as much. He waved his whip in acknowledgment and pulled the ponies down to a walk, turning into the yard.

A farmer came from the byre, shading his eyes from the light of the westering sun. ‘May I help you gents?’ he said. It wasn’t often that gentlehobbits were seen in his yard; they usually travelled between Michel Delving and Waymeet without stopping.

Rudivacar hopped down from the driver’s seat, bowing to the farmer. ‘If you please,’ he said, ‘we were hoping for some sort of warm drink. We’ve a sick hobbit in the coach, and he’s—‘

The farmer’s wife came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Tea’s just on!’ she called. ‘Come on in, and welcome!’

’We couldn’t impose,’ Rudi began diffidently, but the farmer snorted.

’Them Travellers come through earlier, told us you was a-comin’ and that you might be all the better for a cup of tea,’ he said hospitably. ‘They left off a pack pony loaded with supplies, so there’s no dearth of food.’ Rudi grinned as he remembered Frodo, Merry and Samwise each leading several pack-ponies fully loaded with supplies gathered by the ruffians and stored in Michel Delving.

Merry had laughed when Odovacar had raised his eyebrows at seeing them. ‘Did a little shopping in the storeholes,’ he’d said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘We picked up a few things that might come in handy.’

Rudi and one of the farmers carried Freddy between them into the homey kitchen of the largest dwelling, propping him in a well-cushioned chair drawn up by the hearth. One of the farmers’ daughters pulled up a stool to rest his feet, and then they swaddled him in blankets like a babe.

’They said he’d need to be kept warm,’ the farmer’s wife said. ‘We warmed the blankets while we were waiting on you.’ She smiled at Rosamunda. ‘Fern’s the name,’ she said.

’I’m Rosamunda,’ Freddy’s mother said.

The farm family sat down to their tea along with Odo and Rudi, while Rosamunda stayed with Freddy by the hearth and coaxed him to take sips of tea with plenty of milk and sweetening, for he refused any food.

One of the younger lads rose from the table at his father’s prompting and went over to throw another log on the fire. Rosamunda thanked him and he bowed courteously and said, ‘You’re welcome, Mistress.’

Freddy, who’d been staring blankly at nothing, suddenly seemed to see the lad. ‘Pig slops,’ he said softly.

’What was that, Freddy?’ his mother said in astonishment.

The lad, however, turned and ran to his father, whispering in his ear. His father asked, ‘Are you sure?’ and the lad nodded excitedly. ‘Go!’ the farmer said, and out the door the lad ran, shouting, while the guests sat mystified.

Soon the other two farmers arrived with their sons, crowding about the hearth. The gentlehobbits followed and then the wives and daughters of the farmers, until there was quite a gathering about Freddy and Rosamunda. ‘Is he one of the rebels?’ the eldest asked gruffly. ‘That last bunch that came through, last summer?’

’Pig slops,’ Freddy said again, and smiled.

’That’s right,’ one of the farmers murmured, and explained to the visiting gentlehobbits how the ruffians had marched the score of exhausted rebels into the yard near sunset that oven-hot day, allowing them to scoop handfuls of stale water from the bottom of the trough.

’We always kept it full after that,’ another muttered. ‘Fresh and cool, just to be ready...’

Taking turns, the farmers and their families proceeded to tell how the ruffians had sat the rebels down in the dust, not a cloak or blanket between them despite the fact that the air would cool rapidly after the Sun sought her bed. Once their charges were lying quietly on the hard, dusty ground, the ruffians had sat down themselves to eat a meal.

’No food for the hobbits,’ one lad said resentfully. ‘The Men smacked their lips over their fare and dropped crumbs on the ground and laughed, but there was no food for the hobbits.’

The families had sent out bread baked for their own dinners, and the ruffians had taken the bread for themselves, telling the families that if they had any leavings after slopping their pigs, that they might share these with the rebels.

The gentlehobbits listened to the tale, feeling sick at heart. They’d known Freddy and the others had endured suffering and humiliation, from their appearance after coming out of the Lockholes and the little bit they’d cared to tell. The details supplied by the farm families breathed life into the tale.

’Then Tad had a bright idea,’ one of the older boys said, ruffling the hair of the little lad who’d added the log to the fire. ‘We all agreed, and scraped our own dinners into pails, and topped them off with potato peelings and cabbage leaves and stale bread to make it look as if the buckets were full of pig slops! That old ruffian chief, he checked every bucket but he didn’t dig down to find the food!’ He slapped his hip triumphantly.

’They might have hauled the lot of you off to the Lockholes for that,’ Odovacar said soberly. ‘We owe you a great deal.’

’I wish it could have been more,’ the eldest farmer said, shaking his head sadly. ‘I only wish...’

’Freddy?’ Rosamunda said. Her son's hand had tightened on hers. She looked up and around the faces surrounding them. ‘I think he has something he wishes to say.’

Freddy smiled, blinking, finally focusing on little Tad. ‘Lad,’ he whispered. ‘My thanks.’ He drew a great breath. ‘Saved my life,’ he finished.

’Bless you,’ Fern said, laying a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’d a-done more had we thought of anything.’ She too looked about the circle. ‘Go on back to your tea,’ she said. ‘Let the hobbit eat in peace.’ Nodding and smiling, the farmers and their families returned to their interrupted meal while Fern still stood frowning absently at the plate Rosamunda held.

’Has either of you eaten?’ she asked.

 Rosamunda shook her head. ‘I’ve been trying to get Freddy to take a bite but all he seems to want is tea. Come, Freddy, wouldn’t you like a taste of this lovely pudding?’ He turned his face away.

Fern patted Rosamunda on the shoulder. ‘I’ll make up some nice milk toast with the fresh milk from this afternoon,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he’ll eat that.’ She bustled away, coming back with a small pot of milk that she placed near the fire to warm. ‘It’ll just be three shakes,’ she told Rosamunda now, and hurried back to the table where the others were eating and talking quietly. She took some toast from the rack and buttered it well, sprinkled it with cinnamon-sugar, and broke it into pieces in a bowl. Returning to the fire, she took up the pot and poured the warmed milk over. ‘Here Mistress,’ she said. ‘See if he can get some of this down.’

’Thank you,’ Rosamunda replied as Fern handed her the bowl and spoon.

’Not at all!’ Fern said cheerily. ‘I make it for my own little ones when they’re poorly. Here you go, lad,’ she said. ‘Eat hearty, now. I’ve gone to all sorts of trouble to make this for you, and I don’t intend to feed it to the cats, d’you hear?’’

In her jolly, kind voice, Freddy heard an echo of the mocking ruffians. “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to bring you this lovely soup!” the Man would sneer, shoving the cold, greasy, rancid-smelling, unappetising mess at him. “You’re not going to turn your nose up at it, now, are you?” More menacingly, he’d add, “I would drink it right up, if I were you.”

Meekly he took a few spoonfuls as Rosamunda lifted them to his mouth, to be rewarded by Fern’s pleased, ‘There now, that was what was needed!’

’Thank you,’ Rosamunda repeated with relief.

’You can thank me by eating up your own portion!’ Fern said firmly. ‘It’s too good to go to waste, after all. Those Travellers gave us better than we’ve eaten in months!’

’I’d like to get a bit more into my son if I may. Freddy?’ Rosamunda said, but Freddy had closed his eyes, seeming asleep. His mother sighed and picked up her own fork.

All too soon Odovacar decreed that they must be going on, as arrangements had been made for them in Waymeet and Frodo and Merry would worry if they should be delayed. Flannel-wrapped stones, warmed by the fire, were tucked in amongst Freddy’s cushions in the coach, and fresh coals were put into the footwarmers. They carried Freddy out to the coach and tucked him up snug once again. Odo and Rosamunda climbed in with their son, and Rudi jumped up onto the driver’s seat. Amidst a chorus of good-byes the coach turned out of the yard and onto the road to Waymeet.





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