THE REEVE'S TALE

 Three or four months ago we met Basher, my formidable former English teacher, who taught us – amongst many other things – The Canterbury Tales. Or at least, the Prologue and The Miller's Tale. (Verbless sentence – he wouldn't like that – nor, indeed, the brackets.) Since then one or two people have been kind enough to get in touch with memories of Bashers of their own – these men and women clearly wield great influence even today!

The Miller's Tale was regarded as very racy, and we all duly sniggered at the rude bits, although not of course too openly for fear of the well aimed chalk treatment. What Basher never told us was that The Reeve's Tale was not only a lot bawdier but also extremely sexist – although that was probably not a concept which bothered Chaucer too much. I thought of The Reeve's Tale when I spotted this news item in the Telegraph recently.......

Two farmers from the West Country have been voted Britain's 'sexiest' in a competition that aims to challenge farmer stereotypes.

Daily Telegraph

The Reeve's Prologue

At Trumpyngtown, nat fer fro Casterbrigge

There goeth a brook, and over that a brigge,

And every year there comes a fayre

Which sets up on the market square

With cyclones, dodgems, ferris wheels

Which cause both fear and fetching squeals.

And pilgrims from every shire's end

Of Engelonde to Casterbrigge doth wende,

And though the toffs find this appalling

They come from every trade and calling -

Franklin, monk and prioress,

Game show host, news anchoress,

Gangsters, thugs and superintendents,

Fashion models, flight attendants -

And all of them from all positions

Are keen to lose their inhibitions!

And quoth a cruel and heartless reeve

'I'll have some fun before I leave!

But future folk who read these pages -

Unknowing of our Middle Ages -

May of their ignorance be frightened

And seek that they should be enlightened,

And say ' 'Ere, Chaucer, just a minute,

Like, tell us, what's a reeve, blud, innit?'

Just tell them that I serve a farmer

And run his farm with little drama,

But if I ever get the chance

I lead the kids a merry dance,

And visit on their lower station

Embarrassment, humiliation!

One day there'll be a bloke whose blog'll

Tell the tale in rhyming dogg'rel!'

'We cannot wait as long as that -

Attention span is like a gnat -

We want an able, skilled discourser...'

'I'll have a word with Geoffrey Chaucer.'

'This Chaucer, can he tell the tale?

Can he do it, epic scale?

Can he crack it, not get flustered?'

'Course he can, he's bloody mustard!'

And they shall say 'Right on, straight up, let's

Have the lot in rhyming couplets!'

And Chaucer rasped 'I'll bloody show 'em

And they shall have their sodding poem!'

The Reeve's Tale

Two students had this cruel reeve,

One named Tom, the other Eve

And by design – and not by quirk -

He'd got them on Welfare to Work.

And so, as he was proud to gloat

'They cost me not one single groat!

And I can give them every chore,

I wonder, can I get some more?'

And Tom and Eve began to figure

How they could get to Casterbrigge.

Initially, they were naïve

And thought they'd simply ask the reeve.

But he was cunning, sharp and wily

And leered at them quite foully, vilely.

'Of course you can, on one condition -

You enter there the competition

To pull in further idle shirkers

And turn them into unpaid workers.

I would derive so much enjoyment

To do my bit for unemployment!

But look!' he taunts, at his most loathsome,

'You've got to have the proper clothes on -

No wellies, smock or tatty scarf

If you're to be recruiting staff,

You're going to be in advertising,

So Eve, let's see that hemline rising!'

And on the square, where folk carouse

Stood little stage and tiring house.

The reeve let slip a nasty grin

As Tom and Eve were ushered in,

'Now whip those things off, look alive!

And I will see smart clothes arrive!'

And when they had removed their clobber

The reeve began to froth and slobber,

And at his sign, discreet and soft,

The tiring house it flew aloft!

And they had nought but their panache

(Think Hot Lips Houlihan in M*A*S*H.

Dear reader! Don't be apoplectic

At this allusion so eclectic,

Your Author, feeling rather smart,

'Borrows' at times from other Art -

A broad-based blend so cultural,

We get a lot of that in Hull -

To get down to the nitty gritty

This blog comes from a Cultured City!)

And then the band strikes up a jig

And though they haven't got a fig

Tom and Eve as in a trance

Begin a bold, artistic dance

Which farming scenes and sights evokes

And charms the watching gentlefolks!

And when they finish, wild applause and

Cheering, whooping, yelling – awesome!

And clothes appear! Such stylish wear!

They make a truly handsome pair.

The mayor steps up with trophy, cheques

And hangs awards around their necks!

'Folks!' he bawls 'A massive hand!

THE SEXIEST FARMERS IN THE LAND!!'

And cometh then a lady fair,

Comely, poised with shining hair

And speaks to them with great aplomb

'I'm from AgCareers.com

You've made such a thrilling impact

I'd like to offer you a contract.

No more starts at crack of dawn,

No more pay and perks forsworn,

No more toil in frozen field,

You're going to be much better-heeled!'

And Chaucer now knew he was close to the end

And an epilogue now he would have to append.

'I'll signal it's coming by changing the metre

So that way the finish'll be a bit sweeter,

What's it been so far – iambic tetrameters?

No bloody idea but I'll change the parameters,

I'll bung in some dactyls, they won't cause no wrath...err...

Unless they are trochees? No, that's Hiawatha -

You get all mixed up and it takes half the night,

It's a bit of a bugger to get it all right!

Where was I? Oh, yeah, it's the lady with promise,

She's holding out hope now to Eve and to Thomas.....'

'Your message is strong and completely disarming -

Encourage young people to come into farming!'

The reeve all the time was increasingly furious

'I'm ruined, I'm finished, I'm wholly penurious!

I'm kindness personified, please hear my plea.....'

But they looked at him hard, and what could they see?

A rogue and a knave, it was all just a pose,

And though he was dressed he was wearing no clothes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ANAGRAM CORNER

                                       NIGEL FARAGE, UKIP

                                      PUERILE, GAGA FINK!

The views expressed here are not necessarily those of The Autolycan.

Then again, they could be............