Aladdin's Cave Newcastle Weekend 2005 Funnies Index
Post Weekend Report by Rosemary Threadgold


An epic tale of how
Hobbits played their part
in defeating the ’Awks

 

Once upon a time in a quiet corner of Middle England, there was a green and pleasant county known simply as the Shire.  Its inhabitants were simple folk, fond of good beer, friendly banter and the occasional argument about the finer points of refereeing. 

In the heart of the Shire, at a point where many roads meet, was Sixways, spiritual home of the Hobbits. 

            For many years all was peaceful, but the day came when the tranquillity of this gentle place was threatened. After years hidden in the obscurity of Middle England, the lost kings of the Premiership had revealed their identity and were claiming their rightful place amongst the elite.  It was not a simple task; they had to fight for their inheritance. 

Against them stood the might of the Ring-fencers and a menagerie of fierce creatures: Tigers, Sharks, Wasps and Falcons. 

As soon as their claims were known, the Warrior-kings of the Shire had faced fierce battles but, despite some defeats, their loyalty and skills were turning the tide in their favour.

In time, their exploits caught the eye of Sauron and his court, high in the Tower of Twickenham, hidden from mortal eyes by the Smoke surrounding them.  These powerful lords had refused to believe reports of magical happenings in the Shire.  Now, the Ring-fencers might have left things too late.

            The Warrior-kings  were about to face a new threat.  Could the Warriors take the battle into the frozen heart of enemy country and win?  Upon this battle, the future freedom of the Shire would depend.

So it was that the Warrior army of dwarves and elves set off from Sixways.  They were led by their Captain: Sanderson, son of Arathorn, known as Strider. 

At his side was James Legolas Brown (few escaped his deadly shooting), Ben Faramir Hinshelwood, heir to the Stuarts of Gondor, and Gimli Windo, son of Gloin, with his band of axe-wielding dwarves. 

Also amongst the Fellowship were Frodo Keast with his loyal henchman, Samwise Richards and, protecting and guiding them all, the mighty Wizard, Gandalf the Brain.

            The Hobbit folk saw their Warrior-kings making ready and were determined not be left out.  Despite their lack of battle-experience and weaponry, they were sure that they could be of help to their heroes. 

Thus, on a bitter morning in April, many dozen Hobbits came together at Sixways and, organised and exhorted by Merry Cummings and Pippin Philips, set off on their great adventure.

  In the beginning their spirits were high.  They passed by the glass towers and red-brick walls of the Mid-Lands and prepared to cross the wild, uninhabited moors of the North.

Before they embarked on such a perilous undertaking, they paused for rest and sustenance at “Weatherby”.  Many found ale-houses, though they sought in vain for Barleyman Butterbur and the friendly welcome at The Prancing Pony. 

            As they left “Weatherby”, they seemed beset by ill-fortune.  Messages came from afar, bringing news of great victories in the South. 

Their enemies were growing stronger and those that had seemed allies were weak in their resistance.  The Black Riders of Doubt and Despair attacked the happy Hobbits and they were haunted by the Spectres of Defeat.

When, finally, they arrived at their northern destination, the weather seemed to match their mood.  There were glowering clouds and a bitter North wind which whipped up the spray on an iron-grey sea.

In contrast, to the conditions outside, the lights were welcoming in the Last Homely House in the North East and a banquet had been prepared to revive the weary travellers. 

As usual with Hobbits, good food, good beer and good company soon lifted their spirits.  An elven magician astonished them with clever illusions and the cheerful words of Elrond Morrison encouraged them. 

Finally, Hobbit bards sang traditional ballads and there was laughter and dancing till late into the night.  It was a weary but happy band of Hobbits who staggered their way to bed in the small hours of the morning.

            The next day dawned bright and fair.  It was perfect battle weather, except for a deceptive, swirling wind.  Over breakfast, the Hobbits drew up their plans and some practised rusty battle moves on the beach in case their skills were needed. 

Horns were tuned and polished; banners were unfurled.  Everyone sported the gold and blue of the Warrior-kings.  It might have been enemy territory, but the Hobbits were going to make it feel like home.

Mid-day came and went.  Two mighty forces lined up to face each other.  From his shelter, Grima Andrews (known as Worm Tongue) instructed his ’Awks, while Gandalf and Frodo trusted their Warriors to do their best.

            The battle raged for 94 long minutes and both sides suffered casualties.  Warrior Ents, Gillies and Hickey suffered repeated attempts to chop them down.  In the centre of the field, battering rams in the shape of Dale and Thomas kept knocking down their opponents. 

When a goose-stepping Taione arrived to shore up the ’Awk army, our Warriors threw themselves in his path, regardless of injury from flying feet.  Even though they missed the Horsman of Rohan, Gimli Windo and his doughty compatriots grunted, shoved and burrowed their way into the opposition, carrying on despite injury and exhaustion. 

The speed and skill of elves such as Giscard, Matt and Thinus ensured that the opposition could not rest and Legolas Brown fired volley after dangerous volley at their lines.

And what of the Hobbits during this dangerous time?  Were they cowering in the shelter of the caves behind the battle field? No! Despite being sick with anxiety, they played their part.  Their trumpets could be heard resounding around the field, intimidating the enemy. 

Their united chanting filled the air, suggesting a far greater army than their meagre numbers.  As the enemy pressed close to the Warriors’ front line, the Hobbits’ battle cries filled the air, lifting our heroes’ courage and determination to new heights.

            Finally, it  was over.  Gandalf lifted Frodo off his feet in sheer delight and exhausted Warriors, almost too weary to stand, saluted their Hobbit supporters who had contributed so much to a famous victory.

            Spare a thought now for the defeated ’Awks, whose black clothes now denoted mourning rather than menace.  Their followers were gracious in defeat, offering the cup of friendship to the valiant Hobbits and vowing to meet again in noble rivalry next year.

  That night there was feasting and celebration in the Halls of the Hobbits. 

The bards sung their songs and raised their glasses high to toast the Warrior-kings.

“Oh I’d rather be a Warrior than a Quin!” rang in the rafters, joined by a new refrain:

“Oh I’d rather be a Warrior than an ’Awk”.

            And so the intrepid Hobbits returned in triumph to Sixways, ready to face the final trials needed to secure the Premiership crown for their gallant Warrior-kings.

Hobbits all Unite Once More!

Swat the Wasps and Draw Their Sting!

Hit them with a “Warriors” Roar

Let’s record another Win!