North Yorkshire Folk Tales by Ingrid Barton Read Free Book Online Page A

almost be time for Topcliffe Fair, he realised with a pang. He loved Topcliffe Fair.
    That afternoon when the giant had eaten his dinner and was stretched out on the floor, his head on a sack, looking as relaxed as he ever did, Jack asked if he might go to Topcliffe Fair as he had not had a single day off yet.
    ‘I’ll come straight back afterwards,’ he said, looking at the giant as innocently as he could.
    The one eye opened with a snap. ‘What sort of gobshite do you think I am?’ he said.
    So that was that.
    ‘Right,’ thought Jack to himself, ‘this means war, thoo mean great naff-head, thoo vicious, ungrateful old – old –’ but he couldn’t think of a bad enough word.
    Jack laid his plans – well, he would have if he could have thought of any plans to lay. The giant’s eye followed him more often than ever now and when its owner was not around the horrible dog was always there, scratching and drooling and waiting to give him a nasty nip.
    The weather grew hotter and the mill smellier. Jack watched the giant after dinner hoping that the warmth would make him sleep more deeply. Several times he managed to make it to the door before that big eye opened and looked around for him.
    One baking hot afternoon, the giant did indeed fall into a deeper sleep than usual. As Jack watched, he saw the grasp on the terrible knife slacken. The huge fingers uncurled a little. Jack held his breath and gently eased the knife out of the giant’s fist. He gripped its handle tightly and looked at the sleeping monster; there was only one thing to do. Taking a deep breath Jack stabbed the knife with all his force into that one evil eye.
    The giant uttered a terrible scream and, as Jack leapt away, he struggled to his feet fumbling with both hands at his wounded eye.
    ‘I’m blind! I’m blind! That miserable little worm has blinded me! Get him, Truncheon!’
    He lunged, shouting and swearing around the room, thrusting his hands here and there to catch Jack. ‘I’ll catch thoo! I’ll squash thoo!’ He threatened Jack with every terrible death he could think of – and they were many! Eventually he realised that he would never catch Jack that way, so he went to the door and stood with his back to it.
    ‘I’ll stand here while I brak thah neck! I will! I’ll never rest! Thoo’ll never get out!’
    This was an unforeseen setback. Jack looked around. The horrible dog was barking and jumping about showing its yellow teeth, though it did not attack. (It was, basically, a coward.) Jack had a sudden idea – or perhaps he remembered an old tale his mother had once told him – he caught Truncheon by the scruff of the neck and, before the dog knew what he was doing, he had cut its throat with the giant’s knife.
    Then he skinned it.
    It took time because his hands were shaking so much and because all the while the giant was moaning and howling so loudly he could hardly think. When the skin was ready, he pulled it over his head and back. He had left the head on and, supporting it with one hand, he crawled towards the giant, whining. He butted the giant’s leg with the head and barked in quite a good imitation of Truncheon. The giant reached down a hand and felt the dog’s head. Jack waggled it a bit and whined again.
    ‘Tha’s sorry for me, Truncheon. Good dog, faithful dog!’ He patted the dog’s back. (Jack was nearly knocked over!) Another urgent whine. ‘Want to go out for a piss, does tha?’
    Slowly the giant unfastened the great lock and slid back the huge bolts. The door swung open. Freedom! Jack scuttled out as fast as his legs could carry him into the beautiful summer sunlight. Throwing off the dog’s skin, he ran and ran and ran until he was safely back home.

    Later that evening Jack, thoroughly washed and with his joyful parents, was to be seen at Topcliffe Fair telling his story to anyone who would listen.
    ‘A likely tale!’ some said, but others wondered if there might be some truth in it.
    Time went by