Shropshire, my natal county, is situated close to the border with North Wales. Towards that border, there are hills and ridges, but the rest of the county is a broad plain. And in the middle of that plain is a mountain (only just, it's just over 2000 feet) called the Wrekin. Imagine: a solitary mountain in the middle of a flat plain! How did it get there? If you are sitting comfortably, I will tell you. Many many years ago, there was a nasty Giant who lived in the Welsh mountains. He made the good burghers of Shrewsbury (the county town of Shropshire) pay him tributes. He was so demanding that finally, the burghers had had enough, and decided to stop paying him. The Giant was furious. He took his spade and dug up a huge pile of earth, and set off for Shrewsbury with the intention of burying it.
(Stay with me. It gets better)
On his way to the town, which seemed an awful long way to the GIant, he met a cobbler coming the other way with a sack of shoes to be mended over his shoulder.
"How far is it to Shrewsbury?" growled the grumpy Giant.
The cobbler, seeing the spadeful of earth and guessing the Giant's wicked intention, replied:
"Look, Your Honour, I have worn out all these pairs of shoes just getting this far!"
The Giant, discouraged, grunted. dumped the earth on the ground and returned to his Welsh mountain fastness. And that pile of earth was the Wrekin.
(Don't give up. It gets even better)
Many many years later, I had work to do in what is now the Czech Republic. On a free afternoon, I was taken to the town of Melnik, which overlooks the plain where the Laba and Vltava rivers meet (You might know them as the Elbe and the Moldau). And in the middle of the plain was an isolated mountain, called Rip (you need to put a little cup on the r, as in Dvorak). The Czech who was with me explained how Rip came to be there. It turns out that there was a Giant living in the mountains who forced the good burghers of Prague to pay him tributes. When they refused, he picked up a pile of earth and set out to bury the city. On his way, he met a cobbler .............well, you can guess the rest. My hand to God, it was the selfsame story.
Tell me this: how can it be that the exact same story is told about two similar mountains so far apart? I found it quite spooky.
2 comments:
Hello Old Scrote - where are you? No postings for some time. I hope you are well. I wanted to ask you about Margaret Benbow who you mention from time to time. In my childhood I used to play at Benbow's farm. Mrs Benbow used to give me stamps from Mexico and some weird chewing gum. It still intrigues me - what was a Benbow girl doing in Mexico?
I got off topic there. I wanted to add that the tale that I was told was that if you dug into the Wrekin that you would be able to find the Giant's shovel. Also that on his journey he tired, so he shed some of his load which became the Lawrence, further on he shed some more, which is the Ercall, then of course he dumped the whole lot to become the Wrekin. I may not be correct about the Lawrence. As you know, the Houses at the Grammar School were Wrekin, Ercall and Lawrence which led me to believe that the Lawrence was a hill, but I have no idea where it is, which makes me think that it isn't a hill at all. I'm sure you know the answer.
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