The Tale of the 9 Chips

I woke with the sound of birds in my ears. Summer was drawing to a close and the nights were starting to get longer. I had been up all evening quaffing tankards of mead with Brother Benjamin and Sister Tasha ( a friend of Benjamin's who had come to visit us on her way to the priory of St. Catchpoles ). Mid-way through our evening our thoughts began to stray towards crusty pastry and lean chunks of meat stewed in rich gravy. Sister Tasha told us that she had long wished to take up her stick and follow the way of the Pie, but had not the opportunities with her duties in the priory.

"Well", said I, "'tis not chance that has brought you to us, for we had planned to go out to do the Lady's work this very morrow". Morning came and after meeting with Brother Paul we set off down the canal in the direction of London. The day was warm and the paths were well kept. We marvelled at the strength and vigour of the trees and the healthy quacks of all the ducks in the canal beside us. We passed many travellers on their way up or downstream in colourfully painted barges bedecked with strange slogans and emblazened with odd coates of arms.    

The sun had not reached it's zenith and Brother Paul remarked that he was starting to feel quite peckish. With a start I found that I had left the bread and cheese that I had purposefully wrapped in a blue and white checkered hankerchief for our mid-day meal.

"Fear not", cried Brother Paul, "for nature itself shall be our saviour", and with that he strode into the bushes and returned thus with brimming handfuls of ripe berries.

"What genius!", cried Brother Benjamin, "truly you are verse with the ways of the woodlands", and began to farm a nearby bush, gaining purple stained fingers.

I smiled to myself and thought what fine company I was in. Brother Paul was so learned due to his childhood at the Badger farm at Charlton's Itch.

We walked on the sun smiling at our backs. We came across strange contraptions for raising and lowering the level of the canal. Brother Benjamin remarked as to how these had been invented by the Normans and told all how he thought the same technique could be used to alter the gravy level within a pie. We all marvelled at this news. I spent the next couple of miles talking to Sister Tasha about her duties in the priory. It turned out that she was wont to wander and had just returned from a missionary post in the far east. It was a few mile later when with a start we noted that we had strayed from our course. The canal had led us in a different direction and there was danger that the instructions laid out before us by the Lady of the Pie had been broken. Quickly we corrected our course and head off into the fields surrounding the canal. It was here that a crossroads that our faith was tested. Choosing the correct direction we soon found ourselves in sight of a tavern. With parched mouths we hurried forth into the common room and order tankards of India Pale Ale from brimming barrels. Sister Tasha who had not tried the Ale of the Lowlands was educated in the way of the Ale    

We drank up and left the Tavern bidding a farewell to the InnKeeper. It was a misfortune that there was no Pie on the menu, so we were forced to continue. Making our way through the farmland we marvelled at the large stack bales of hay, commenting that the amount would keep Morsel, our abbey donkey well fed for centuries. We entered a small hamlet, bidding a good morning to local lords and ladies riding on tall geldings. Passing a church we made for the centre of the village to search for the Pies of our dreams. Not before time we spotted a local tavern. Apon entering we found that once again there was no Pie, however we did remark on the quality of the ales and vowed to return another day when our orders allowed. The alehouse also had a particularly fine selection of condiments, and we looked forward to tasting them when other foodstuffs was permitted. Talking with the landlord we found him to be a stout and hearty fellow, full of good cheers. He directed us to another tavern not far away where a chance of Pie may be found. Forward we did walk and soon came apon the place in question. The landlord had warned us that this place was frequented by lord and ladies and may not be to our humble tastes, yet in the name of the Lady we vowed to try it. Once again however we found that no Pie could be produced. After a tankard of some strange ale we again set forth.

We were beginning to lose hope at this point. Brother Paul tried to cheer us up by doing something rather amazing with a bunch of bananna's which lightened the mood somewhat. We strode down the road in full spirits and came across a third alehouse. This one did not serve Pie either!! It had become almost the time of vespers, and in a huddle we reflected that we could not spend anymore time in our search and surely the lady of Pie was punishing us for having strayed from the path during our journey down the canal. We were very hungry and decided to sample the local inn's menu. The range of items seemed good, but when they were brought forth it was almost as if they were used to catering for those on the fast of St Edgar! Although very highest quality the portions were small, and caused us to empty much of our purses. My repast consisted of a small, but excellent steak, 2 green beans and NINE chips stacked in a comical fashion. It was with disgust that I threw down my knife after only a few minutes of chewing and remarked that I could eat the same amount once more. It was with great regret that we all partook of pudding which was similarly small in stature. We trudged home reflecting that many hours of penance must be done in order to placate our good Lady and ensure a plentiful supply of hearty, meaty chunks in the future.

 

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