Once upon a time at least, there were two brothers. One was called Nordy, and the other has gone down in legend as Slop. They were very rich brothers, on account of the amount of jewels and gold doubloons that they had punched out of unsuspecting travellers over the years and hidden away…
Nordy and Slop, you see, weren’t normal brothers – THEY WERE REALLY VERY UNPLEASANT GIANTS! Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, there were more than plenty giants roaming the countryside, the great grandchildren of the giant Albion and his chums. Some of them were as big as eleven houses placed on top of each other for no good reason.
Nordy was over fifty feet high, and his little brother Slop was more than sixty feet high. They lived on hills many miles apart in the county of Shropshire, halfway down the Welsh border, and bellowed to each other out over the valleys, long into the night, neither wanting to let the other brother have the last word. And kings and peasants alike found it almost impossible to get much sleep when all this was going on.
“WHERE’S MY FAVOURITE JUMPER?” Slop would boom from his fort perched high on Titterstone Clee Hill.
“I USED IT TO WASH THE COWS!” Nordy would bellow from his home out on Norton Camp.
“WHAT, THE ONE WITH THE BUMBLEBEES ON IT?” the reply would echo, for miles around.
“YEAH. IT’S COVERED IN MUCK,” Nordy’s off-hand admission would reverberate through forest and valley.
“YOU DUNG-GOBBLER!” Slop would yell, and so on, and so forth. For years on end.
***
But nobody would dare ever ask them to keep the noise down, or they would certainly be biffed, splotted and squished in a second by whichever brother fancied biffing, splotting and squishing them, and every penny the poor victim had would be stolen away by the brothers, and safely ensconced in their enormous oaken treasure chest, hidden in the bowels of Stokesay Castle.
Whenever Nordy or Slop wanted to count their ill-gotten loot (or just to bask in their precious gold as if the chest was an especially cold, hard, uncomfortable bath), they would take the single silver key that opened the chest, and stomp over to Stokesay. Then they would lift the entire Castle high up in the air, revealing the mighty treasure chest, and marvel at the riches inside.
***
That was until one day, roughly fifteen hundred and thirty-eight years, four months and a week ago. Nordy had walloped an impressive sack of pearls and emeralds out of a terrified monk, and wanted to add it to the Stokesay booty.
Slop had the key, so Nordy cupped his hands to his big slavering mouth and bawled out across the hills:
“OI, SLOP! I’VE GOT SOME NICE LOOT HERE, BOY, CHUCK US THE KEY OR I’LL CHEW YER EYES OFF!”
“ALRIGHT,” came the reply, eventually. “BUT JUST YOU WATCH OUT, I COUNTED EVERY LAST DOUBLOON ONLY LAST WEEK!”
You see, these lumbering, plug-ugly brothers did not trust each other one tiny bit. But, they had sworn an oath on their Mother’s feet to share the treasure, so Slop removed the ornate silver key from a grubby bronze locket around his neck, took a running jump, and hurled the key far off over the Shropshire hills.
It twisted and glinted as it whistled through the air, turning and rolling high over the River Onny, to where Nordy stood, expectantly, by Stokesay Castle, and –
‘SPLA-LOOSH!’
There was a deafening pause.
“WHERE’D THAT GO, THEN?” Nordy wondered to himself, ever so loudly.
“WHAT?”
“THE KEY, THE BLIDDY KEY, BOY, I DIDN’T CATCH IT!”
“GAH! YOU CACK-HANDED EXCUSE FOR A GIANT,” returned Slop, and sprinted over to Stokesay to have a good look.
Norton and Slop stomped around the county looking for the precious key, uprooting trees and terrifying villagers, but all to no avail whatsoever. They even sent their pet Raven Derek out to search high and low, but even his ever-beady eye failed to deliver the goods.
This was the point when Slop’s patience reached its lowest ebb, and his suspicions were at their highest. He leant over to his tired brother and whispered, so quietly that no one any further away than Dudley could hear:
“THAT’S FUNNY, THAT IS.”
“WHAT?”
“ALL THESE YEARS WE’VE BEEN HURLING THAT KEY BETWEEN US, AND NOT ONCE HAS IT BEEN LOST.”
“YEAH. FUNNY.”
“YOU’VE POCKETED IT, HAVEN’T YOU?”
“DO WHAT?”
“YOU’VE DECIDED TO KEEP THE KEY TO YOURSELF, SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO SHARE THE GOLD AND JEWELS AND SHINY THINGS.”
“GET ON, YOU! CHEEKY LITTLE DUNG… HUGGER. REMEMBER, WE SWORE AN OATH ON OUR MOTHER’S FEET!”
“YES WE DID, AND YOU’VE BROKEN IT!”
And that was when the argument really got nasty.
***
So where was the key? Well, it had landed with the previously mentioned ‘SPLA-LOOSH!’ right into the Stokesay Castle moat, where it sank down past the marestails and watersnails, right into the parlour of the home of a pair of newts, known as Newton and Newtoo.
“I say, what’s this?” asked Newton, aloud.
“What’s what, old brother of mine?” asked Newtoo in return, from the kitchen where he was rustling up a tasty marestail risotto for them both.
“This big shiny ornate thing. It looks like a sword, or perhaps a sceptre or something.”
Newtoo came into the parlour and marvelled at the beautiful silver key his brother was brandishing.
“Gosh, yes, pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is, do you want it?”
“Well, you found it matey!”
“I know, we’ll share it!” said Newton. And that’s precisely what they did. The Stokesay Key was placed above their mantelpiece, and the friendly newts often took it in turns to take it down and play with it, with never a cross word.
***
Meanwhile, above the moat, things turned from ugly to positively hideous.
“FIRST YOU COVER MY FAVOURITE JUMPER IN COWMUCK, AND NOW THIS!” Slop yelled, loud enough to wake the King of Siam even after an especially exhausting day’s being the King of Siam.
The angry giant raised his knotty club high above his stupid head and brought it crashing down on Nordy’s.
The stunned elder giant staggered slightly, and then smashed his own mighty club into his brother’s belly with a crack.
And that was just the beginning. The two angry giant brutes stayed on that spot, bashing and biffing and bludgeoning each other for weeks on end, until finally Nordy flopped to the ground… and didn’t get up.
However, Slop was in no better shape, and sank to his knees next to his brother. Before he passed out, he put Stokesay Castle back over the chest, and with his last breath, commanded the shrewd Derek to keep a watch over the treasure, until such time as the key should show up one day. Then he lay down with Nordy, and the two silly brothers never rose again.
A forest of fir trees grew up over them, and both Nordy and Slop were soon forgotten. Everyone in the county of Shropshire breathed a sigh of relief that, at last, they could get a good night’s sleep.
***
Stokesay Castle is very different nowadays – a man called Laurence of Ludlow bought it as a fixer-upper, and Time has added a half-timbered gatehouse and posh panelled chambers, not to mention a shop where you can buy ice lollies and cuddly dragons. But do watch out if you ever go to Stokesay in search of Nordy and Slop’s treasure, because somewhere, Derek the Raven will be keeping his ever-beady eye on you, determined that the giants’ treasure will never be found.
And you’d be wasting your time anyway because, although the moat at Stokesay Castle is now bone dry, you can be sure that, somewhere, the descendants of those two polite newts still share that beautiful key, fifty-fifty.
Because that’s how brothers should be.
THE END.
STOKESAY CASTLE, SHROPSHIRE
The real Stokesay Castle is six miles north of Ludlow, and although not an ideal place to try to reach on foot, taking a train to Craven Arms, only a mile or so away, and heading south, provides a beautiful walk on a sunny afternoon. The castle itself is open for weekend visits all year round, and is open daily throughout the summer. Being taken care of by English Heritage, visitors can rest their feet at the café, while the souvenir shop reflects the Welsh Border setting – which is to say that there’s a wide choice of cuddly dragons. The 13th century building itself, although in perfect condition, may be of more interest to adults than children, but as the setting for imagined sword fights, you could do no better. Besides, the beauty of the hills surrounding the castle provide 360 degrees of breathtaking views. So Nordy and Slop were good for something, after all.
© JEM ROBERTS 2013
Nordy and Slop, you see, weren’t normal brothers – THEY WERE REALLY VERY UNPLEASANT GIANTS! Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, there were more than plenty giants roaming the countryside, the great grandchildren of the giant Albion and his chums. Some of them were as big as eleven houses placed on top of each other for no good reason.
Nordy was over fifty feet high, and his little brother Slop was more than sixty feet high. They lived on hills many miles apart in the county of Shropshire, halfway down the Welsh border, and bellowed to each other out over the valleys, long into the night, neither wanting to let the other brother have the last word. And kings and peasants alike found it almost impossible to get much sleep when all this was going on.
“WHERE’S MY FAVOURITE JUMPER?” Slop would boom from his fort perched high on Titterstone Clee Hill.
“I USED IT TO WASH THE COWS!” Nordy would bellow from his home out on Norton Camp.
“WHAT, THE ONE WITH THE BUMBLEBEES ON IT?” the reply would echo, for miles around.
“YEAH. IT’S COVERED IN MUCK,” Nordy’s off-hand admission would reverberate through forest and valley.
“YOU DUNG-GOBBLER!” Slop would yell, and so on, and so forth. For years on end.
***
But nobody would dare ever ask them to keep the noise down, or they would certainly be biffed, splotted and squished in a second by whichever brother fancied biffing, splotting and squishing them, and every penny the poor victim had would be stolen away by the brothers, and safely ensconced in their enormous oaken treasure chest, hidden in the bowels of Stokesay Castle.
Whenever Nordy or Slop wanted to count their ill-gotten loot (or just to bask in their precious gold as if the chest was an especially cold, hard, uncomfortable bath), they would take the single silver key that opened the chest, and stomp over to Stokesay. Then they would lift the entire Castle high up in the air, revealing the mighty treasure chest, and marvel at the riches inside.
***
That was until one day, roughly fifteen hundred and thirty-eight years, four months and a week ago. Nordy had walloped an impressive sack of pearls and emeralds out of a terrified monk, and wanted to add it to the Stokesay booty.
Slop had the key, so Nordy cupped his hands to his big slavering mouth and bawled out across the hills:
“OI, SLOP! I’VE GOT SOME NICE LOOT HERE, BOY, CHUCK US THE KEY OR I’LL CHEW YER EYES OFF!”
“ALRIGHT,” came the reply, eventually. “BUT JUST YOU WATCH OUT, I COUNTED EVERY LAST DOUBLOON ONLY LAST WEEK!”
You see, these lumbering, plug-ugly brothers did not trust each other one tiny bit. But, they had sworn an oath on their Mother’s feet to share the treasure, so Slop removed the ornate silver key from a grubby bronze locket around his neck, took a running jump, and hurled the key far off over the Shropshire hills.
It twisted and glinted as it whistled through the air, turning and rolling high over the River Onny, to where Nordy stood, expectantly, by Stokesay Castle, and –
‘SPLA-LOOSH!’
There was a deafening pause.
“WHERE’D THAT GO, THEN?” Nordy wondered to himself, ever so loudly.
“WHAT?”
“THE KEY, THE BLIDDY KEY, BOY, I DIDN’T CATCH IT!”
“GAH! YOU CACK-HANDED EXCUSE FOR A GIANT,” returned Slop, and sprinted over to Stokesay to have a good look.
Norton and Slop stomped around the county looking for the precious key, uprooting trees and terrifying villagers, but all to no avail whatsoever. They even sent their pet Raven Derek out to search high and low, but even his ever-beady eye failed to deliver the goods.
This was the point when Slop’s patience reached its lowest ebb, and his suspicions were at their highest. He leant over to his tired brother and whispered, so quietly that no one any further away than Dudley could hear:
“THAT’S FUNNY, THAT IS.”
“WHAT?”
“ALL THESE YEARS WE’VE BEEN HURLING THAT KEY BETWEEN US, AND NOT ONCE HAS IT BEEN LOST.”
“YEAH. FUNNY.”
“YOU’VE POCKETED IT, HAVEN’T YOU?”
“DO WHAT?”
“YOU’VE DECIDED TO KEEP THE KEY TO YOURSELF, SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO SHARE THE GOLD AND JEWELS AND SHINY THINGS.”
“GET ON, YOU! CHEEKY LITTLE DUNG… HUGGER. REMEMBER, WE SWORE AN OATH ON OUR MOTHER’S FEET!”
“YES WE DID, AND YOU’VE BROKEN IT!”
And that was when the argument really got nasty.
***
So where was the key? Well, it had landed with the previously mentioned ‘SPLA-LOOSH!’ right into the Stokesay Castle moat, where it sank down past the marestails and watersnails, right into the parlour of the home of a pair of newts, known as Newton and Newtoo.
“I say, what’s this?” asked Newton, aloud.
“What’s what, old brother of mine?” asked Newtoo in return, from the kitchen where he was rustling up a tasty marestail risotto for them both.
“This big shiny ornate thing. It looks like a sword, or perhaps a sceptre or something.”
Newtoo came into the parlour and marvelled at the beautiful silver key his brother was brandishing.
“Gosh, yes, pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is, do you want it?”
“Well, you found it matey!”
“I know, we’ll share it!” said Newton. And that’s precisely what they did. The Stokesay Key was placed above their mantelpiece, and the friendly newts often took it in turns to take it down and play with it, with never a cross word.
***
Meanwhile, above the moat, things turned from ugly to positively hideous.
“FIRST YOU COVER MY FAVOURITE JUMPER IN COWMUCK, AND NOW THIS!” Slop yelled, loud enough to wake the King of Siam even after an especially exhausting day’s being the King of Siam.
The angry giant raised his knotty club high above his stupid head and brought it crashing down on Nordy’s.
The stunned elder giant staggered slightly, and then smashed his own mighty club into his brother’s belly with a crack.
And that was just the beginning. The two angry giant brutes stayed on that spot, bashing and biffing and bludgeoning each other for weeks on end, until finally Nordy flopped to the ground… and didn’t get up.
However, Slop was in no better shape, and sank to his knees next to his brother. Before he passed out, he put Stokesay Castle back over the chest, and with his last breath, commanded the shrewd Derek to keep a watch over the treasure, until such time as the key should show up one day. Then he lay down with Nordy, and the two silly brothers never rose again.
A forest of fir trees grew up over them, and both Nordy and Slop were soon forgotten. Everyone in the county of Shropshire breathed a sigh of relief that, at last, they could get a good night’s sleep.
***
Stokesay Castle is very different nowadays – a man called Laurence of Ludlow bought it as a fixer-upper, and Time has added a half-timbered gatehouse and posh panelled chambers, not to mention a shop where you can buy ice lollies and cuddly dragons. But do watch out if you ever go to Stokesay in search of Nordy and Slop’s treasure, because somewhere, Derek the Raven will be keeping his ever-beady eye on you, determined that the giants’ treasure will never be found.
And you’d be wasting your time anyway because, although the moat at Stokesay Castle is now bone dry, you can be sure that, somewhere, the descendants of those two polite newts still share that beautiful key, fifty-fifty.
Because that’s how brothers should be.
THE END.
STOKESAY CASTLE, SHROPSHIRE
The real Stokesay Castle is six miles north of Ludlow, and although not an ideal place to try to reach on foot, taking a train to Craven Arms, only a mile or so away, and heading south, provides a beautiful walk on a sunny afternoon. The castle itself is open for weekend visits all year round, and is open daily throughout the summer. Being taken care of by English Heritage, visitors can rest their feet at the café, while the souvenir shop reflects the Welsh Border setting – which is to say that there’s a wide choice of cuddly dragons. The 13th century building itself, although in perfect condition, may be of more interest to adults than children, but as the setting for imagined sword fights, you could do no better. Besides, the beauty of the hills surrounding the castle provide 360 degrees of breathtaking views. So Nordy and Slop were good for something, after all.
© JEM ROBERTS 2013