National Lampoon September 1971: Death Is

 

Black and White Ogre Country: Into the Archive

 

Black and White Ogre Country: The Lost Tales of Hilary Tolkien. Edited by Angela Gardner, Illustrated by Jef Murray.

This slim little book arrived today, and I read it right away. This was not difficult. It is only about 80 pages long, and many (perhaps as much as half) are the illustrations by Jef Murray. And there are pages of acknowledgement, introduction, a glossary, and a brief biography of Hilary. But there is still a rich, chewy center written by the younger of the Tolkien brothers himself.

Hilary Tolkien did not follow the scholarly path ‘Ronald’ took; instead, he devoted his life to market gardening and a fruit orchard. He married and had three sons. When he sat down to write his memoirs after WWII, his stories took on a rather lighthearted fairy-tale tone, as if they were written for his children or grandchildren. The ‘Black and White Ogres’ were the local miller and his son, the ‘Black Witch’ a rather anecdotal presence living in the old mill, and the ‘White Witch’ a very real person running a sweet shop. Even his time in WWI is retold in a joking manner as if edited for the young’uns. Hilary died in 1976, three years after his older brother.

Most interesting for the scholar of JRRT is the glimpse we are given into the shared background of their earliest years. Throughout their lives the brothers kept up a correspondence, and Hilary’s farm became the hub of family gatherings from both the Tolkien and Suffield sides of the family.  This little book was supposed to be the ‘first chapter’ in a much longer biography, arranged by his grandson Chris (not Christopher), but that project was cancelled in 2010, due to a legal dispute with the Tolkien Estate. Only 20 publisher proofs were ever made. It is said to contain letters between their parents Arthur and Mabel, letters between the brothers and their wives, and previously unseen photos.

The photos that are included in this little book are intriguing. The one of Hilary and Ronald as quite small boys shows JRRT holding a rather ‘elvish’ doll with a peaked, Phrygian type hat. Another, a color photo showing them in later years, emphasizes their close resemblance; I had to look carefully and check the caption before I could be sure who was who.

Angela Gardner is a member of the British Tolkien Society and bookstore owner. Jef Murray (d. 2015) had supplied illustrations for several professional Tolkien journals over the years. Black and White Ogre Country was published by the ADC Publications Ltd., Moreton-in-Marsh Great Britain.   

The Shadow Library: The Last Knight of Albion

 

The Last Knight of Albion, by Peter Hanratty

The Lord of the Rings: Prolegomenon to The Two Towers

 

Soon (convenient term, soon) I will begin on the second volume of The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers. It consists of two ‘books’, The Treason of Isengard and The Ring Goes East. The first ‘book’ of the volume deals with the adventures of Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas as they go in search of Merry and Pippin; this puts them all in conflict with the traitorous wizard Saruman’s machinations. It is not until we reach the second ‘book’ that we again take up the major quest of Frodo and Sam into the East, into Mordor, and their dealings with the creature Gollum.

So, what are the Two Towers? Tolkien actually explains this in a note at the end of The Fellowship of the Ring: ‘The second part is called THE TWO TOWERS, since the events recounted in it are dominated by ORTHANC, the citadel of Saruman, and the fortress of MINAS MORGUL, that guards the secret entrance to Mordor; it tells of the deeds and perils of all the members of the now sundered fellowship, until the coming of the Great Darkness.’ This fact has been a bit muddled by the Jackson films, where Saruman states: “The world is changing. Who now has the strength to stand against the armies of Isengard... and Mordor? To stand against the might of Sauron and Saruman... and the union of the Two Towers?” But Tolkien’s intent is clearly shown on the proposed book cover he drew (shown above).

Ursula K. Le Guin had an interesting ‘first contact’ with The Lord of the Rings via this book. They were on the new acquisitions rack at her university, having recently completed publication. Sometimes all three were there, sometimes only one or two. “Once I went so far as to pick up Volume II, when it alone was on the rack, and looked at the first page. “The Two Towers.” People were rushing around on a hill, looking for one another The language looked a little stilted. I put it back. The Eye stared through me.” –  Ursula K. Le Guin, “The Staring Eye.” Then one day, being tired with trying to read all the Grub Street work of George Gissing and seeing all three volumes were there, she picked up The Fellowship of the Ring and took it home. She was back the next day for the other two, and read them all in three days.

I had an almost inverted experience years later. Mike supplied me with The Fellowship of the Ring and The Return of the King but could not get The Two Towers until a week later. I finished Fellowship quite quickly, and then was biting my nails in my eagerness to continue. In my desperation and weakness, I went ahead and read at least the first chapter of Return and maybe a couple more. I was (quite understandably) rather confused, but I knew two facts. One was that Gandalf was alive (how?) and the other was that Pippin was with him. Eventually even I realized that it was not a good idea to forge ahead in this manner and forced myself to wait until Towers arrived.

In the post-9/11 world, the speech that Tolkien wrote in the Fellowship so many decades before got a special meaning and currency thanks to the Jackson films. Many clung to these words for encouragement and as a way to go forward:

“I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.
"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

The fact that the next movie was coincidentally titled The Two Towers further cemented this strange association of the LOTR movies with the fall of the Twin Towers; I even heard the movie called The Twin Towers a lot at the time.  Such are the odd workings of … fate? … happenstance? … luck, as you call it?

It seems like an odd literary choice to abandon your main protagonist for 200 pages or so. Tolkien has a trick to keep Frodo in mind, though. Every once in a while, the characters will wonder what he is doing or if he is even still alive, and Frodo and Sam wonder the same about them. Sometimes Tolkien will remark what others are doing or seeing at the time of some action in the parallel storyline, without revealing any big spoilers.  He took remarkable efforts to make sure all the interlacing actions lined up correctly in chronological order, with special labor over the phases of the moon.

So. Now we are poised to begin The Two Towers. Whether I’ll start posting it over the weekend or wait until Monday, I haven’t yet decided. The fact is that I am almost too eager to proceed. As it is, the project is taking over my time and my attention, so much so that it seems I only come up for air between chapters and almost immediately need to plunge back in. I know the posts don’t seem very long. But between trying to condense the story, deciding what to leave in or what to leave out, and researching various facts and history, it’s taking up quite a bit of my day and my thought. I love doing it, but I need to attend to the other details of my life every now and then.  

The Incredible Daniel Dee and Me: Abandoned Beginnings

CHAPTER ONE

     Farty Farrel was screwing around again. He had hooked up a couple of batteries to the hamster cage in Science Lab, and was tempting the hamsters to the bars with a handful of peanuts. Every time one came close to the metal wire it received a jolting shock that sent it squealing back to the center of the cage, quivering in pain.

     Although we were supposed to be partners, he hadn't helped me a bit on my perpetual motion machine. We were only partners by default, anyway. With me, no one wanted to be my partner. With him, no one wanted to get killed.

     "Why do you have to torment those poor animals for anyway?" I asked. "Why can't you work on something that will benefit mankind, like my machine?"

     "Can it, creep," he said. "This is more than just a little fun. This is behavioral studies. I'm teaching these hamsters things with this experiment."

     "Oh? Like what?"

     His eyes lit up with sadistic glee.

     "Fear."

     By the end of the lab I had gotten nowhere with my project. We all returned to our desks and began doing math.

     It was a hot, heavy September day. Melissa May Joiner made herself a paper fan and waved it in front of her face. There was little to amuse me in these long hours before lunch, but I got by with watching Mike Leavis trying not to fall asleep.

     He looked all right, but every now and then his head would bob down. He'd snap his head back up and be fine for a few minutes, then he'd nod again. Finally in social studies it was too much for him and his head fell with a clunk on his desk. Everybody laughed, except Miss Bratton, who sighed. Miss Bratton sighed a lot.

     I fidgeted in my desk. It seemed I had been sitting for hours, and the clock never moved. I kicked my heels, doodled on my scratch sheet, and wondered how I'd endure the months to the nearest vacation. School had barely been in for a month and a half, and it seemed it had been forever. Part of it was being stuck with the same people since first grade and knowing everything they would say or do. There seemed little hope of change.

     And then, change came.

     There was the sound of clacking shoes in the hallway, then a knock at the door. Everyone straightened up and tried to look alert: we knew the sound of the principal's shoes when we heard them. Miss Bratton went over and opened the door and stepped out. We heard them talking a moment but couldn't make out what they were saying. Farty threw a spitwad. Suddenly Miss Bratton came back in. With her was a strange boy.

     She brought him up to the front of the class and put her hands on his shoulders.

     "Class," she said. "We have a new student with us today. His family just moved here this week, and his name is Daniel Dee. Say hello, class."

     "Hello," we echoed, with different degrees of enthusiasm. I was a little disappointed. You would think a new kid would be interesting, but he wasn't. He looked about as plain as possible.

     He was a little shorter than average, with mousy brown hair and watery blue eyes behind a round pair of glasses. He had on a plain blue shirt, blue jeans and sneakers. In one thin hand he clutched a pile of textbooks, and in the other was a satchel that he was holding onto pretty tight.

     "Hello," he said. Poor guy, I thought.

     I looked over at Farty. It was obvious what he was thinking. He had a collection agency by which he relieved kids of their ice cream money in the restrooms, where the teachers couldn't see. By the grin on his face I could tell he was happy at the thought of an easy kill.

     I shot my eyes over to Melissa May and saw that wrinkle on her nose that meant she was hoping that the new student wasn't competition for her position as class genius and pet. I groaned and inwardly vowed to give this Daniel guy a few tips on school survival.

     "Daniel, you may sit in the empty desk in the second row for now," the teacher directed him. "We may move you later."

     This put him directly opposite me. I politely averted my eyes as he settled in, rattling around in his satchel until he had pens, paper, and pencils at ready. By the time Miss Bratton had filled out his paperwork it was only a few minutes to lunch, so she crammed in a quick lesson and handed out a worksheet just in time for the bell.

     The lunch room was a big hall where all the grades from one to six ate. It was a good day for once, with hamburgers rather than one of those weird ground meat and potato messes that the cafeteria cooks seemed so fond of. After everyone got their plates they broke up into their groups of friends. I sat down at the far end alone as usual. I had just started eating when that Daniel guy came and sat down at the table opposite me, a little further down.

     For a little while everybody just ate. Then Farty, who'd been looking sneakily around at Daniel while he ate, brought his plate over and sat uncomfortably close next to him.

     "Heya, squirt," he said. "Mind if I have some French fries?" He reached over, grabbed a few, and stuffed them in his face.

     I grimaced. This was nothing new to me; Farty had pestered and stolen food from just about everybody, especially me. But Daniel's eyes got wide behind those fishbowl glasses and his mouth popped open with a stifled yelp. Farty took a couple more.

     "So you're Daniel Dee, huh?" he smacked. "What's the D stand for, Dork?"

     "It's D-E-E, Dee," the smaller boy said.

     "DeeDee, huh?" said Farty. "Well, my name's Farrel, Bruce Farrel, but you can call me Sir."

     "Cut it out, Farty," I said. His fist flicked past my head, but I dodged so only the edge stung my ear.

     "Nobody calls me Farty," he spat. "Hear me?"

     "Not to your face, anyway," I mumbled, but he had already turned back to the new guy, who sat there flushing red. It was hard to tell if he was afraid or really angry, his expression didn't change. I think that really annoyed Farty.

     "Don't ever let me hear you calling me Farty or I'll flatten you," he threatened. He picked up his plate to move away.

     "I'll get you later, White," he growled. "I'll get you like one of my hamsters."

     I looked over at Daniel and said, "Welcome to the wonderful world of McQueeney Elementary, home of the famous Fartosaurus. Beware his mighty roar!"

     He smiled, and I grinned back. "My name's Will White," I said, and we shook hands. "So, are you Danny, or what?"

     "It's always been Daniel," he said. "In my old school we had three Daniels. One was Dan, one was Danny, and I got Daniel."

     I finished my burger and took a sip of chocolate milk. "Don't take it too personally with old Farty. He's like that to everybody. He's stronger than anybody so he bullies us all, and his folks are richer than anybody and run the schoolboard, so they can bully any teacher. Plus, he's psychotic. The best thing to do is try to avoid him."

     Daniel pushed his glasses up on his nose. "He'd better learn to avoid me," he said.

     I almost laughed; I did swallow my milk funny. Here was this skinny little kid talking about Farrel! I mean, he was even smaller than me. I just raised my eyebrows and said "Hmm, we'll see."

     "Yes, we will," he said.

 

     After lunch was over and I went out to the playground, I lost sight of Daniel. When the first bell rang I went back to class. Some people were always in first and some people always came in later. I was one of the few who came in early, so I saw the first weird thing that happened.

     Daniel was sitting in his desk, staring over at the science corner. There was the wired hamster cage, with a strip of tape on it that said plainly B. FARREL. Sometimes the other early kids would look at Daniel, but they weren't looking where he was looking. I was, so I saw it.

     He was staring real hard, like a hypnotist or something, right at one of the hamsters. I noticed he had his left hand raised up to his chin, and that on his third finger there was something that looked like a bubble-gum machine ring. It glinted a little. Suddenly the hamster went stiff, and walked over to where the batteries were rigged up to the cage. He went right up to it.

     You know how hamsters' feet are like little hands? Well, he stuck those little hands through the bars and began fiddling around with the wiring, just like he knew what he was doing. After a minute he stopped like the job was finished, then he snapped back to being just a hamster. He scampered into the corner. Daniel relaxed and looked away.

     By now Mrs. Bratton and most of the class were all in, and last of all in came Farty.

     It was his job to feed his project after lunch. This was always good for a few more shocks. He went over to the cage, rattling the food box and grinning in anticipation. He reached over and flipped the switch.

     There was an audible zap and a spark, and suddenly Farty was howling and running around the room like a whipped dog. I gaped. The hamster had rewired the battery so that the current went to the switch instead of the cage.

     While Miss Bratton tried to sooth the yelping Farty, I looked over at Daniel.

     He was smiling with immense satisfaction.

     Right then I decided something was weird, and that I was going to find out what it was. 

It's In! (That Exclamation Point Makes It Sound More Exciting Than It Actually Is)

 

Revenge of the Valkyrie (1989) by Thorarinn Gunnarsson

Conclusion of his re-telling of the Ring Cycle.

The Lord of the Rings: The Breaking of the Fellowship

 

The Tale

Aragorn leads the company’s boats to a spot on the right arm of the river. Here is the lawn of Parth Galen [‘green sward’], running down from Amon Hen [‘Hill of Seeing’]. They will rest for the night, hoping that no evil has come there yet. They find no sign of enemies, either Orcs or Gollum.  But during the night, when Frodo is on watch, Aragorn awakes uneasily and comes to see the hobbit.

He has him draw out Sting, and to Frodo’s dismay the blade is gleaming dimly around the edges. There are Orcs, not too near but not too far either. Aragorn hopes that it may just be spies roaming the slopes of Amon Lhaw [‘Hill of the Hearing’] on the eastern shore of the River, and this side is still safe. They must move warily in the morning.

‘The day came up like fire and smoke’, a red sun rising over black bars of clouds. The island of Tol Brandir divides the falls of Rauros before them, an inaccessible spire of stone.

When they finish eating the morning meal, Aragorn calls the Company together. Now is the moment of decision. Will the Fellowship turn west with Boromir and go to Gondor, east to the Shadow, or break up and some go one way and others the other? It is up to Frodo; he is the Bearer. Aragorn has tried to act like Gandalf would, but he does not know if he had any plan for this moment, and the ranger cannot advise Frodo now; even if the wizard were here the ultimate choice would still be up to Frodo.

Frodo knows they need to move in haste, but the burden of choice is heavy. He asks for an hour alone to ponder his decision. Aragorn looks at him in kindly pity. He shall have his hour but shouldn’t stray too far from the camp. But to Sam it is ‘plain as a pikestaff’ that Frodo knows what he must do but will not even allow himself to realize it just yet, so dreadful are the consequences. ‘But it’s no good Sam Gamgee putting in his spoke just now.’

Frodo gets up and walks away, and Sam notices that while the others look away to give Frodo his privacy, Boromir is watching him intently.

Frodo wanders aimlessly in the woods, until he strikes an old path leading upward. He comes to a grassy place with rowan trees growing around it and a wide flat stone in the middle. The roar of the Falls fills the air. He ponders all that has happened since Bilbo left the Shire and he tries to recall everything Gandalf has told him. But he gets no nearer to a choice.

Suddenly he gets the feeling that unfriendly eyes are looking at him. He springs up and finds to his surprise that it is Boromir, smiling and kind. The man says he was worried about Frodo wandering alone. Orcs may be near, and so much depends on Frodo. But now that he’s found the Ringbearer, perhaps they can have some words alone and together find a solution to Frodo’s dilemma.

Frodo says it is kind of him, but he already knows what he should do; he’s just afraid to do it, to make that inevitable decision. Boromir is silent for a moment, then sits next to Frodo on the stone. The hobbit is suffering needlessly; will he not take his counsel? Frodo says he knows what Boromir would advise, and that it would seem wise, except for the warning in his heart. What warning, the man asks sharply.

‘Against delay. Against the way that seems easier. Against refusal of the burden that is laid on me. Against – well, if it must be said, against trust in the strength and truth of Men.’ There is no hope in strength, as long as the Ring lasts.

Boromir’s eyes light up. Ah, yes, the Ring. So small a thing to cause such fear and doubt. And he’s seen it only once, in Rivendell. Might he have another look at it?

Frodo’s heart goes cold. There is a strange gleam in Boromir’s eyes. He says it’s best the Ring stay hidden.

Very well, says Boromir, but can’t he even talk about it? Frodo only thinks about the consequences if Sauron gets the Ring. But what if it stays in their hands? Because it can only be used for evil, Frodo answers. Didn’t you hear what the Council said? Boromir scoffs. They might be right about the Ring in their hands, these powerful elves and half-elves and wizards, but true-hearted Men would not be corrupted. They want only the power to protect themselves, ‘strength in a just cause’.

And now the Ring of Power appears, just when they need it. It is a gift, a chance that must be taken when it is offered. It would be mad not to. ‘The fearless, the ruthless, these alone will achieve victory.’ What couldn’t Aragorn do with the Ring, and if he won’t, why not Boromir? The Ring would give him power of Command.

Boromir goes on a rant about all that he could do, rallying all Men, destroying Mordor, and becoming a wise and benevolent king. And they tell them that they have to throw the Ring away! Because there is no chance of destroying the Ring by sending a halfling blindly into Mordor: Sauron will inevitably recover it that way. Folly!

He turns to Frodo. Surely, he sees it? You say you are afraid; surely it is merely your good sense that revolts.

No, says Frodo; he simply is afraid. But he is glad Boromir has spoken so fully; his mind is clearer now. Boromir asks eagerly if he will come to Gondor then. He can always just rest and regroup there if he decides then to go on to Mordor. He lays an eager, trembling hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. Frodo steps away. What does he say? Will he just lend him the Ring for a bit, to try out his plan? Frodo cries No! It is his burden to bear.

Now Boromir starts to show his anger. All his secret thoughts and rationalizations come tumbling out. Frodo’s course will lead to death and the downfall of the West. ‘If any mortals have claim to the Ring, it is the men of Numenor, and not Halflings. It is not yours save by unhappy chance. It might have been mine. It should be mine. Give it to me!’

Frodo moves around, putting the stone between them. Boromir’s voice grows softer. Why not just rid himself of the burden of the Ring? He can always just blame Boromir, say he was too strong for him. Because he is too strong for him. He leaps for Frodo over the rock. ‘His fair and pleasant features were hideously changed; a raging fire was in his eyes.’

With no other choice, Frodo puts on the Ring and disappears.

Boromir just gapes a moment in wonder, then starts raging that Frodo is a miserable trickster, a traitor that will sell them all out to Sauron, as he searches frantically for the disappeared hobbit, cursing all halflings to death and darkness. But suddenly he catches his foot on a stone and goes sprawling. He lies there silently for a moment, as if suddenly realizing the enormity of what he has just done, then starts weeping. ‘What have I said? he cried. ‘What have I done? Frodo, Frodo! … Come back! A madness took me, but it has passed! Come back!’

But Frodo is already far away, running blindly up the path to the top of the hill, full of grief and terror. He reaches the summit of the hill of Amon Hen, and stops, gasping for breath. The world about him seems to be in a mist, but he sees there a paved circle topped by a high seat set on four pillars and reached by many steps of stone. He goes up and sits upon the ancient chair, ‘feeling like a lost child that had clambered upon the throne of mountain-kings.’

‘At first he could see little. He seemed to be in a world of mist in which there were only shadows: the Ring was upon him. Then here and there the mist gave way and he saw many visions: small and clear as if they were under his eyes upon a table, and yet remote. There was no sound, only bright living images… He was sitting upon the Seat of Seeing, on Amon Hen, the Hill of the Eye of the Men of Numenor.’

He sees images, far but clear, of all the lands east, north, west, and south; rivers, mountains, forests and plains. And everywhere there are signs of war, from Mirkwood to Moria to Lorien to Rohan. He sees the tower of Orthanc like a black spike. All the forces of the Dark Lord are in motion, from the black ships of Men in Harad in the east to Orcs crawling like ants out of the Misty Mountains. His heart leaps in hope for a moment when he sees Minas Tirith: ‘white-walled, many-towered, proud and fair upon its mountain seat; its battlements glittered with steel and its turrets were bright with many banners.’

But his eyes are drawn even further east, past ruined Osgiliath, the gates of Minas Morgul and the Haunted mountains, to the blasted Plain of Gorgoroth. Darkness lies there under the sun and fire glows there amid the smoke. Mount Doom is burning and sending forth a great reek. ‘Then at last his gaze was held: wall upon wall, battlement upon battlement, black, immeasurably strong, mountain of iron, gate of steel, tower of adamant, he saw it: Barad-dur, Fortress of Sauron. All hope left him.’ And suddenly he feels the Eye.

There is a power in the Dark Tower that does not sleep, and Frodo has drawn its gaze. It knows Frodo has seen it, and it is aware of him. It comes leaping toward him, a fierce eager attention trying to pin him down like a searching finger. It comes raking along Amon Lhaw, Tol Brandir, and is almost on Amon Hen when Frodo throws himself off the seat, cowering under his cloak in a vain effort to escape the Eye.

‘He heard himself crying out: Never, never! Or was it: Verily, I come, I come to you? He could not tell. Then as a flash from some other point of power there came to his mind another thought: Take it off! Take it off! Fool, take it off! Take off the Ring!’

He stands poised writhing between the two powers, tormented by the striving wills. Then suddenly, he becomes aware of himself again, neither the Voice or the Eye, free to choose and with just an instant to do so. He takes off the Ring.

A black shadow like an arm seems to pass over him, groping west and fading away. He stands. He feels a great weariness, but his will is firm and he feels lighter. ‘I will do now what I must.’ The evil of the Ring is already working on the Company; he will spare them further harm. He will go alone. He hopes they will understand; he knows Sam will. How long has he been away, he wonders. They must be looking for him by now. After a moment’s hesitation he puts on the Ring again. ‘He vanished and passed down the hill, less than a rustle in the wind.’

Back by the river, the Company has tried to make other talk, but have been inevitably drawn into a debate about Frodo and what decision he will make. Aragorn feels he is trying to decide which course is more desperate. With Gollum in the mix, their mission to Mordor might already be betrayed, but if they go to Minas Tirith the city will not be able to keep the Burden safe against Sauron’s might. Legolas and Gimli want to go to Minas Tirith, but will follow Frodo wherever he might choose. Aragorn says that not all need go in one group. He proposes that he, Gimli and Sam go with him, and that at least Merry and Pippin go with Boromir to his city.

Merry and Pippin object to that. They want to stop Frodo going east as being too dangerous, but they will go with him if that’s what Frodo decides. They know Frodo wouldn’t want to endanger them, but that he couldn’t stop them, and that makes him hesitate.

Begging your pardon, says Sam. His master isn’t hesitating about which way to go. What good would Minas Tirith be anyway? Begging your pardon, Master Boromir. ‘It was then that they discovered that Boromir, who at first had been sitting silent on the outside of the circle, was no longer there. Sam looks worried. The Man has been acting a bit queer, lately. But Frodo’s problem is just fear; he’s absolutely terrified by what he knows he must do. Oh, he’s had a little schooling in courage since they all left home, but still. He means to go, and he knows the others mean to follow him, but he won’t endanger the others. He will want to go alone when he screws up his resolve to go.

Aragorn says that Sam speaks more wisely than all of them. Pippin still wants to stop Frodo, but the ranger wonders if they have the right to constrain the Bearer. ‘There are other powers at work that are far stronger.’

At that moment Boromir returns. When Aragorn questions if he has seen Frodo, he answers slowly. He tells no outright lies, but only goes so far. He saw Frodo, they talked, Boromir grew angry, and then Frodo vanished. Under Aragorn’s questioning, he will say no more, but sits, head bowed as if in grief.

A sudden panicked madness seems to grip the Company. Why would he put on the Ring? Why would he keep it on? Why hasn’t he returned? Before Aragorn can form proper search parties, the rest go dashing off, Gimli and Legolas one way and Merry and Pippin after Sam, calling Frodo! Frodo! Aragorn turns to the despondent Boromir and tells him he doesn’t know what part he’s played in this mischief, but help now! Follow Merry and Pippin and keep them safe! He himself dashes after Sam.

He catches up with Sam as the hobbit goes toiling and panting up the hill. Aragorn tells him to stay near; he means to go up on Amon Hen and see what he can see. Sam tries to keep up, but soon the long-legged Strider is far ahead of him and out of sight. He stops, winded, and decides ‘Your legs are too short, so use your head!’

Boromir wasn’t lying, that’s not his way, but something has scared Frodo, so that he’s come to a sudden resolve to go, now. To the East? Yes. Without Sam? Even without Sam. ‘That’s hard, cruel hard.’ He’s got no gear, he can’t jump across rivers or down waterfalls. He’s got to go back to the boats! Sam turns and bolts back to the camp at Parth Galen.  

There is no-one there, though there are cries in the woods surrounding them. He sees a boat, sliding by itself down to the water. Sam races over, and as it slips in, jumps from the bank towards it. He misses it by a yard and plunges into the cold swift waters.

Frodo, still invisible, turns the boat and is just in time to grab Sam by the hair as he comes bobbing up. ‘Save me, Mr. Frodo!’ gasped Sam. ‘I’m drownded!’ Frodo tells him to tread water and grab the side of the boat. He brings it back to the shore and Sam is able to scramble out of the water. Frodo takes the Ring off and becomes visible.

They have a bit of a debate, with Frodo reluctant to take Sam to Mordor and Sam determined to go with him, or not to let him go at all, even if he has to knock holes in all the boats.

Frodo laughs, a sudden warmth and gladness filling his heart. He tells Sam to get his gear so they can leave together, and Sam grabs his pack, a spare blanket, and some extra packages of food. ‘It is no good trying to escape you. But I’m glad, Sam. I cannot tell you how glad. Come along! It is plain that we were meant to go together. We will go, and may the others find a safe road! Strider will look after them. I don’t suppose we shall ever see them again.’

‘Yet we may, Mr. Frodo. We may,’ said Sam.’

They cross to the eastern shore, paddling hard against the current past Tol Brandir,  till they land on the slopes of Amon Lhaw. They hide the boat as well as they can. ‘Then shouldering their burdens, they set off, seeking a path that would bring them over the grey hills of the Emyn Muil, and down into the Land of Shadow.’

[Here ends the first part of the history of the War of the Ring.]

Bits and Bobs

Poor Boromir. Always so questioning and contrary to most of the Fellowship’s decisions. He never seems to have grasped the spiritual peril of the Ring, concentrating only on military possibilities, whether it was in his hands or on Sauron’s finger. Coupled with anxiety over the fate of his city (both as heir to the Steward and Captain of the army) and the fear that they are sending Frodo straight into Sauron’s clutches, it is little wonder that with the Ring in so tantalizing a proximity that he would succumb to its temptations. I remember the first time I read LOTR I was very contemptuous of Boromir’s failure; when we’re younger we so much want our heroes to be heroic. Now I think I am more compassionate about him.  In fact, his actions can be seen as, in this case, being used by providence to bring some good ends: it helps Frodo make up his mind, sends Merry and Pippin to Fangorn, and Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas to Rohan, with wide-ranging and beneficial consequences. Boromir repents after his attempt on the Ring, finally seeing its true danger, and pays his penance.

The phrase Sam uses, ‘plain as a pikestaff’ (very obvious), began life as the saying ‘plain as a packstaff’. A packstaff was a long pole used by peddlers to carry bundles of goods; a pikestaff is a tall wooden shaft carrying a pointed metal tip. Both would be very difficult to hide.

And how well one can understand Frodo’s temptation: to delay, to take the easier way, to refuse the burden that is laid on you. In a smaller way, we face such trials every day. It is one of the ways that we can sympathize with Frodo, and realize the quiet nature of his heroism.

It's interesting to consider the possible outcomes of Aragorn’s proposed divisions of the Company. How would that have shaken out? For one thing, I don’t Gollum would have joined Frodo if Aragorn was with him, and therefore wouldn’t be there to how him a secret way into Mordor, and if Frodo had made it, probably wouldn’t have been there when Frodo was at Mt. Doom. As Aragorn points out, there are other powers at work that are far stronger, and they seem to decide Frodo’s path.

The first voices that Frodo hears inside his mind on the Hill of Seeing seem to be his refusal to give in to the Eye, but then also the Ring, perhaps invoking some hidden treacherous corner of his own mind. Then the Eye, commanding him to reveal himself, followed by the Voice, calling him a fool and telling him to take off the Ring. In his one moment of free will, he can act. As one might deduce from the acerbic tone of the Voice, it is Gandalf, who is not as dead as Frodo thinks.

Sam uses the old lower-class dialect of ‘drownded’ for ‘drowned’, a comical practice familiar to anyone who reads much of Charles Dickens.

It is Sam’s common sense and dedicated understanding of his master that allow him to deduce Frodo’s intentions and catch him before he can leave. These two qualities will carry them far along their road as they head to the Fire. We’ll have to wait until The Two Towers before we see what happens to the rest of the Fellowship.

Well! Here I am, already at the end of Book One. Who’d have thought it? I certainly wasn’t sure I’d make it even this far. I’ll probably take a break of a day or two, not necessarily from all posting, but from this project. I hope I don’t use it as an excuse to drop it altogether.