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Meetings in the Fox-hole



Of all the things to come of this Age, the invention of paper is the most welcome development. To see the hobbits make use of this, you would think ink and paper have always been a part of the Shire’s culture. Certainly, only the wealthier hobbits have the time to learn letters, but the ones that do make use of it almost every day. The paper fibre is pressed here in Nobottle from flax grown in Tighfield, which I believe has made the role of postmaster here an important one to this region of the Shire.

I arrived at the village looking for Hubo Clayhanger, a bookkeeper of sorts whom I had been told spent some of the day at the local inn. I had followed the course of the river down from Gamwich south through the forest to Nobottle. Here where the forest of Arassien comes to a sudden end, to be replaced with cleared farmland. The hobbits can hardly be blamed for this, the clearing took place in the time of the Men of Arthedain. In spite of Elendil’s decree of protection.

 

And then of course you might say my own endeavours at the forest’s other end would not be so different. But I believe in the end that will come to more good than ill. For surely it is better to have an agreement decided between dwarves, hobbits and elves on the care of the groves than to leave them abandoned and forgotten.

 

Nobottle is somewhat larger than Tighfield or Gamwich, although still a small village. Being closer to the hills than the forests, some of the homes are the infamous ‘hobbit-holes’. These are not buildings of wood or brick but burrowed into the hillside in the manner of the dwarves. It is likely a tradition formed from those times the hobbits hid themselves from the world, and kept more for aesthetic reasons.

 

Outside the largest of these delvings there was an equally large gathering of villagers who had convened to discuss some new emergency. At first, I was concerned that the troubles at the edges of the Shire may have spread as far as here. But after hearing several long and inconsistent accounts of recent events from the townsfolk I could gather that the danger consisted only of a small company of bureaucratic officials come from down south. Either that, or an army of dwarves were preparing to invade from a place called Needlehole.

 

For certain, some group of important-seeming hobbits had arrived this morning to ask loudly about unsettling news that had come down to the rest of the Shire. The people of Nobottle were quite confident this was all wild rumour spread by their neighbours, and had said as much to their visitors. And if they had any further questions about the Yonder-watch they had best take them up with the Reeve of Long Cleeve. This seemed to the inhabitants of Nobottle to underscore the importance of having a Reeve, for most complaints from the ‘Hithershire’ could be directed north where most enquirers would choose to return home than take the steep hilly climb. At any rate, it kept such problems out of Nobottle. What had them anxious were other rumours of demands to institute an ‘acting shirrif’ for the Yondershire. The villagers were undecided on whether this was the purpose of the new arrivals, if a new shirrif would be a good or bad thing for the village, and what part outsiders such as dwarves (and now elves) had in all of it.

 

One such dwarf emerged from the large hobbit-hole, carrying a large barrel. He soon found himself the centre of the crowd’s attention, with inquisitive hobbits wanting to know what the dwarf was carrying and who he had spoken to.
‘Why all the commotion? This is hardly the first time I have come to fetch some ale’
‘I fear the townfolk may have come to suspect your part in the great conspiracy to subvert the village by-laws. Well met, I am Tegilboron of the Farathlorn havens’
‘Herluf, of, well I suppose the Shire for now, also well met.’ And for the sake of the others he added ‘I don’t know what hobbit-business the little folk had, I’m only here to ensure they get south in one piece along with these barrels.’
He thumped the keg’s side.
‘Every company heads right past this end of the Shire to stop at that piece of marshland. And then they always ask where the ale is at! They’re lucky I have an arrangement with the inn here.’
‘That hole is the village inn?’
‘Oh yes, the Fox and the Fiddle. I recommend it well. Nobottle here is where the beer is brewed for these parts, so it’s where the hobbits stock their finest. The best way to truly experience the Shire is through the local inns, I say. Now make way, all of you, I have more barrels to load before the day ends’

 

Now, here I must remind you that when visiting the Shire it is custom to keep a distance from the little folk and their dwellings for they are not used to dealing with larger peoples. Another reason, as I soon discovered, is that however big their buildings may seem from outside, they are not built to accommodate those of taller height. The Fox and the Fiddle was even more crowded inside than it was without, which naturally made it yet more difficult to move around. I did manage to overhear Mr Clayhanger at a table engaged in the same discussion as the rest of the townsfolk.

 

‘The question’ he was saying, ‘is not about if a new shirrif should be appointed. It is about whether one can be appointed. The old Rules the Tooks set specifically place the Yonder-watch outside of the jurisdiction of the Hithershire’
‘But in that case can’t we just let the Reeve worry about that?’ asked one of his companions.  ‘Surely such Tookish squabbles are best left to the North-Tooks’
 ‘Yes, the differences between Hithershire and Yondershire are indeed intertwined with those differences of Took and North-Took. But to call the matter “just a Tookish squabble” would still be quite wrong. Hither and Yonder can be traced back to the very beginnings of the Shire, when Marcho was content to settle but Blanco preferred to continue wandering west in lands yet untamed. The Yondershire is a home to all hobbits who dream of “going just a bit yonder” and should be preserved as such. No I don’t think – why there’s an elf caught in the rafters’
 
I had gotten a sleeve stuck on the edge of an overhanging beam, and thanked my newly assembled rescuers profusely as they liberated it.
‘My apologies for coming in like this.
Am I right in thinking you are Hubo Clayhanger?’
‘Quite right, a book collector and aspiring book writer. And won’t this be something to write about, one of the elves come to ask about me. You wouldn’t happen to have read anything of mine? ’
‘I would not say that exactly. Can we speak outside?’

 

Intrigued, he began to lead me free of the hobbit-hole. On a whim, I decided to ask him about these ‘shirrifs’.
‘The office of Shirrif, I gather from the name that it was once something like a Reeve?’
‘Yes, the original term is Shire-reeve. Not that many would remember, mind you’.
‘Then, it is unlikely your Reeve will agree to such a proposal’.
‘It would undermine her own position, certainly. Having a Reeve and Shirrif at the same time, how would the Yonder-watch decide what to do?’

 

On the walk to his home he strongly recommended to me a copy of ‘The Travelers Guide to the Inns of the Shire’ so that I might be more familiar with such establishments in future. To which I acquiesced, if only so that I might never have to enter one in person again.