What follows is an edited version of an account of The Party of 1401 (S.R.), found at a recycling center not far from my hobbit-hole. It was folded and stuffed in an emptied container  of Norwegian fishballs, presumably hidden there for safekeeping during the troubles of the Warg uprising in 1683 (S.R.), as the packaging appears to date from that era. How it came to be discarded and forgotten is a mystery with no explanation, given our present knowledge.

The writer of this account is one Sassafras Took. Consulting my Red, White and Blue Book,  I discovered this short entry :

"Sassafras Took (1381-1493) - descendant of Bandabras Took, also called ‘Sassy’. Married to Hayseed Took (not a close relation) 1413. Numerous children, most significant being the  eldest son, Pipbane (see entry). Renowned in later life for her skill in the administration of healing herbs, she was dubbed ‘Took, The Beloved Physician’ by Shire inhabitants."

Sassy seems to have had a particular bent for hearing and remembering poetry and songs.
Much of interest in her account focuses on verse. Personal references, which have little meaning to us now, have, for the most part, been omitted. For clarity, I inject some explanatory notes as seems necessary.

The account follows:

My dear Esmerelda, (ed. note - this is Sassy’s great-granddaughter)

You asked me to write an account of what took place at The Party in 1401. I am glad that at least you, among my many descendants, want to retain a piece of our treasured past. However, your grammy isn’t as sharp as she used to be, dearie. Memory comes and goes like a passing Balrog wind, as the saying is. My recollections are only partial, yet I think I recall enough to satisfy your quest for knowledge of that day.

First, you should know that I was not free to spend time as I would normally have chosen. My father agreed to have me watch the 11 year old son of one of his distant relations, Paladin Took. Normally not a burden, a sitting job at the party of parties was not first on my list of things to do!

The youngster in my charge was named Peregrin. I wished at the time he would fly away like a falcon - more on that later.

I wanted to meet up with my dear friends the doublemint twins, Pepper and Julep Wriggly. I can’t explain it fully, but when I was with them I always seemed to have twice as much fun! As I wandered the crowd looking for them, Mr. Pipsqueak in tow, my first vivid memory of the party comes from the folk-singing contest at one corner of the field. As you know, I do enjoy music so much, Esmy. I lingered there, forgetting my friends for a while. I still remember hearing the winning song, which was sung by Master Merry and the Buckland Boys, called Gurgly Water. Here are the lyrics:

Gurgly Water ( ed. note - tune of "Dirty Water" by The Standells - a 1966 tune about Boston)

Incessant simplistic electric chords throughout (ba-dum-dum-da  doo-dum-da and so forth)

(spoken):
I'm gonna tell you a story
I'm gonna tell you about my home
I'm gonna tell you a big bad story, baby
Aww, it's all about my home

(sings):
Yeah, down by the river
Down by the banks of the Brandywine (aw, that's where it's happenin')
You'll find me out boating
In brown-golden water fine! (it's really cool water)

Well, I love that gurgly water
Ohh, Buckland, you're my home (oh, yeah)

Nautical hobbits
We love to swim down by the docks (watch your head on those boats)
But don't visit us at nighttime
For you'll find our doors all locked (I know it's strange, but there's baddies out there!)

Well, I love that gurgly water
Awww, Buckland, you're my home! (oh, yeah)

(simple music continues, rising again to the chorus)

Because I love that gurgly water
Oh, oh, Buckland, you're my home (oh, yeah)

Well, I love that gurgly water (I love it, baby)
I love that gurgly water (I love Buckland)
I love that gurgly water (Have you heard about the forest?)
I love that gurgly water (How 'bout the High Hay?)
I love that gurgly water (Owwww!)
I love that gurgly water (Come on, come on)   (fade)

After the contest ended, I looked around to gather Pippin (as his friends called him). He was gone! Thankfully, many of his relatives were there and had seen him. They directed me to the  tent where the recitation contest was being held.

On my way, I passed the baking contest arena. Ah, what a heavenly aroma! I learned later that Sara Lianaroot won for her mouth watering raspberry turnovers. "Nobody doesn’t like them" was  the saying in the Shire back then. I could not stop to sample them, unfortunately (no thanks to young Master Pippin!). I had a short detour at the Hole Digging contest (the contestants, in their enthusiasm, slung their dirt piles into the pathway, temporarily barring the way to the opposite side of the field), where I watched Crest Dirtfoot unsuccessfully attempt to defend his title as champion burrowmaster. When the measuring was done at the end of the allotted time, Crest had 33% less cavity than the winner, Pepso Denthead. The young hobbits in the crowd, who were quite aggravated by Crest’s arrogance since capturing the title the previous year, taunted Crest with this chant, "Crest has fallen! Long reign Pepso!" This, of course, is why we say that someone who looks low in spirits is crestfallen.

I found Pippin at the pavilion where a contest to see who could recite the most of Uncle Bilbo’s 50th anniversary poem was in full swing. Ten years before The Party, Uncle Bilbo had been in fine form and, for the special occasion of the 50th anniversary of his adventure to foreign parts, had composed a poem of 324 stanzas called "A Hobbit’s Holiday in Verse". The entire poem is contained in the annals, dearie, but it was such a large part of my experience that day that I think I’ll include the beginning verses for you:

A Hobbit’s Holiday Set to Verse

Once upon a teatime - nearly - while I pondered, less than clearly
Over a very strange and curious meeting of the day before.
Carelessly, my thoughts went winging, unaware what Fate was bringing.
Suddenly, there came a ringing, ringing at my burrow door.
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "ringing at my burrow door -
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, presently I remembered invitation had been tendered
To an itinerant wizard at my door the day before.
Vainly had I tried to borrow time to think until the morrow.
"So soon Today!" I thought with sorrow - sorrow for what lay in store.
Without doubt the great Grey Pilgrim - Gandalf was the name he bore -
Tarried at my burrow door.

Fie! I made for cup and kettle, strengthened my diminished mettle,
Then formed a greeting proper as I scuttled 'cross the smooth-tiled floor.
"Pardon, sir, forgive my fluster and your wait!" I thought to bluster.
Yet no word could my mind muster as I swung wide the brass-knobbed door.
There before me was no wizard, but green-cloaked dwarf stood at my door!
One lone dwarf and no one more.

He pushed in as if expected. Pleasantries were not neglected.
"Dwalin at your service!" he said,  his blue beard bowing low to floor.
"I am just about to take tea. Won't you come and have some with me?"
My stiff words were offered kindly to him whom I scarce could ignore.
He joined me and I set out cakes from my prodigious pantry store.
As we ate we spoke no more.

Once again there came a ringing, more insistently came singing,
Down the panelled halls from the bell which hung beside my outer door.
I pulled upon the rounded wood. What creature now at doorway stood?
'Twas ancient dwarf with scarlet hood who hopped right through my burrow door!
Waiting not for invitation, with a strut so maddeningly sure,
He strode through my portal door!

That far, most of the contestants got, dearie. It may seem like a lot of work, but really, the prize was well worth it. The one who could recite the most lines would win a year’s supply of sweetbreads, which, as you know, happens to be my absolute favorite delicacy.

Even Uncle Bilbo, of course, recognized that a 1944 line poem is quite a burden for a hobbit to endure, so the following year at his party, he produced a greatly abbreviated account of his adventure, which follows:

The Journey (ed. note - to the tune of "Teacher" by Jethro Tull - from the album "Benefit" circa 1970)

Well, the dawn was long past.
I was standing by my door.
Who came by but Gandalf?
He said," Here's what I'm here for.
You must take a venture
That is very good for you.
And, if you survive it,
There'll be lots of profit, too!"

"Jump up! Look around!
Find yourself some dwarfs!
Sign on as a thief.
Go seek a treasure hoard.
No sense in staying
Blowing smoke rings in the sun.
Your home will be here waiting
When the adventure's done."

So I took a journey
Through the Wild into the East.
Came to Lonely Mountain
Within was a fiery beast!
The dwarfs insisted,
"We're all filled with dread!
You're our hired burglar.
You go down instead."

"Hey, man! Here's the plan!
Sneak on down below.
Don't let that Old Worm see you!
Go silently and slow.
Bring back something golden
From the dragon's throne
Or if by chance you spy it
Would you snag the Arkenstone?"

Well, to make my story
Brief from one quite long:
I came back quite wealthy
And Gandalf was along.

"Baggins! I'm fond of you,
But remember you're still small!
The luck you thought was for you
Is for the benefit of all."
"Thank goodness!" I replied.
Now did I really find
All I was looking for?
There's still something on my mind....

Pippin was anxious to join the contest for the sweetbreads. I was relieved, for that gave me a chance to wander off to find my friends. I found a few of them in a far corner of the field - Young Neil Oldman, Teaberry Boffin, Melilot Brandybuck, Everard Took and Cinnamon Girl Bolco (Young Neil once confided in me that he could be happy for the rest of his life with her, but they never married). Teaberry, who was a gifted choreographer, was teaching a new version of the traditional Springle Ring dance to the group. I stayed and chatted, but dancing is not really my strength, Esmy. I slowly wandered back to the contest where I’d left Pippin. He was now on stage and reciting:

As dragon turned in dreadful swoop, steadfast within the archer troop
Bard the grim-voiced bowman drew back coal black arrow and let it soar.
Joy! The fearsome missile seeking flesh through chink in armor peeking
Hit its mark! Smaug’s death-knell shrieking shattered slumbers long leagues from shore.
Full in smoky plummet plunged he in icy lake, which filled with roar -
His furnace flamed nevermore.

I left Pippin to further recitation and nibbled at the mushroom appetizers for a while. When I returned, he was still going, though the deep furrow in his brow hinted that he was nearing the end of his recollection. This is where he was:

A brief discourse held with Balin upon the hill with coarse name Raven
Revealed to thrush the need to find plumed friend whom dwarf allegiance swore.
With one loud call he took to flight; minutes later, there came in sight
An ancient bird, wings black as night. He stiffly perched on nearby tor.
"Smaug is dead! But I bring tidings of gathering hosts and looming war!"
Croaked the raven, "I’ll say more."

"You have the means to now prevent fulfillment of this grim event -
That those who should be friends draw lines on battlefield for gruesome war.
Giving but a paltry measure from your hoard of dragon treasure
Will turn cold grief into pleasure for the hosts now nearing cavern door."
"None of my gold will I release!" the dwarf-king in his fury swore.
Then the raven spoke no more.

That was the limit of Pippin’s knowledge, but it placed him in first. There was but a handful of contestants standing by, but I knew them and surmised that they could scarce reach that point in the saga. Pippin was insufferable! He prattled on and on about sweetbread delights, the annoying brat! I was in ill humor for having to watch him and was feeling cranky, having only filled some corners of my stomach with a few paltry mushrooms! In my ire, I stepped forward and enrolled in the contest, which was open to all 21 and under.

When it was my turn, I recited clearly and confidently, Esmy ( a good lesson for you). As I neared the point where Pippin had ended, the annoying squeaker tried to distract me by rolling marbles across the stage and by throwing stones into the well next to where I stood. But I made it through, until at last I came to:

When at last at journey’s ending weary trudged I down path wending
Over bridge and to my own dear hobbit-hole with rounded door.
On the stoop a crowd was swelling. Auctioneer with chant compelling
All my furnishings was selling, presuming me to live no more!
It took years but all was settled. Now I sit outside my door
Blowing smoke rings evermore.

Which, as you know, is the end of the tale. The sweetbreads were divine, dearie!

Pippin’s mother had seen his antics as I was on stage. Happily, she was so disgusted by his foolish behavior that I was relieved of further responsibilities for the duration of The Party. Pippin was kept under the close supervision of his parents for the rest of the night.

Sadly, the festivities were almost ended. The recitation had taken so long, I’d missed the fireworks and Uncle Bilbo was about to launch into his customary speech. I caught up to my friends who stamped restlessly about at the edge of the main pavilion. Uncle Bilbo was just saying, "I hope you are enjoying yourselves as much as I am." A rousing noise greeted these words. My friends assumed Uncle Bilbo was finished and started playing music. Merilot and Everard grabbed bells and sprang onto a table, dancing the version of the Springle Ring that Teaberry had been teaching them. That version caught on in the following years and was known as Teaberry’s Shuffle.

Uncle Bilbo, after regaining everyone’s attention, continued with his speech. As I say, memory comes and goes, but this is how I remember his speech, though most dispute my version:

It Was A Very Good Year ( ed. note - Frank Sinatra melody - written by Ervin Drake?)

When I was seventeen, it was a very good year.
It was a very good year for baked potatoes
In sour cream and chives.
I'd eat their soft brown eyes,
No more to be seen,
When I was seventeen.

When I was twenty-one, it was a very good year.
It was a very good year for plump mushrooms
Buttered up just right.
I'd eat them every night,
Never leaving one,
When I was twenty-one.

When I was thirty-five, it was a very good year.
It was a very good year for sweet golden corn.
The delight was so sheer!
I grinned from ear to ear,
So glad to be alive,
When I was thirty-five.

When I was sixty-eight, we had some very good beer.
With full-foamed crown, we'd guzzle it down.
It made our hearts of good cheer,
Though our heads were not clear.
Still, that brew tasted great
When I was sixty-eight.

Now I'm eleventy-one, I'm in the autumn of my years.
Though the food's been divine, not to mention the wine,
This thought comes through so clear -
You are all very dear.
I hate to leave you here,
But now I will disappear - GOODBYE!

So much confusion ensued!  Honestly, I was all a-flutter with the doings, and feeling woozy from too little to eat, though I had been trying to make up for it while Uncle Bilbo rattled on. So I’m afraid, Esmy, that I can remember only one more thing from that night. As I was stepping into the cart to ride to lodgings for the night, I heard some young hobbits gathered near Sandyman’s mill. They were singing this tune:

Treasure to Hide ( ed. note - to the tune of "Ticket to Ride" by the Beatles)

We think we're gonna be glad
We think it's today, yeah!
The hobbit who's totally mad
Is going away.
He's got a treasure to hide!
He's got a treasure to hide!
He's got a treasure to hide!
But he don't care.
He said the farthing called East
Is too close to town, yeah!
He's gonna venture past Bree
And not hang around.
Aw, he's got a treasure to hide!
He's got a treasure to hi-i-ide!
He's got a treasure to hide!
But he don't care.

We don't know why he's anxious to fly
He ought to think twice
He ought to stay right..in town.
But he'll be hiding treasure nearby!
We're gonna dig twice
We'll find it all, right..in the ground!

We think we're gonna be glad
We think it's today, yeah!
The hobbit who's totally mad
Is going away.
He's got a treasure to hide!
He's got a treasure to hide!
He's got a treasure to hide!
But he don't care.
We don't know why he's anxious to fly
He ought to think twice
He ought to stay right..in town.
But he'll be hiding treasure nearby!
We're gonna dig twice
We'll find it all, right..in the ground!

He said the farthing called East
Is too close to town, yeah!
He's gonna venture past Bree
And not hang around.
Aw, he's got a treasure to hide!
He's got a treasure to hi-i-ide!
He's got a treasure to hide!
But he don't care.

Mad Baggins don't care! Mad Baggins don't care!
Mad Baggins don't care! Mad Baggins don't care!
Mad Baggins don't care! Mad Baggins don't care!

That’s all, dearie. Take your ginger every day to keep you feeling snappy. I hope you’ll visit us this fall.

Love,

Grammy Sassy

p.s. - I know it’s not nice to speak ill of our rulers, nor of those departed*, Esmy, but forgive your crotchety grammy this last indulgence. As you know, young Pippin somehow gained the favor of the King some years after The Party and became quite important in the Shire. That’s all well and good, but to my way of thinking, he always was an annoying Thain in the pants. There, I said it and I’m not sorry!!

* - (ed. note - since the Thain Peregrin departed the Shire in 1484, the date of this letter is somewhere in the intervening years before Sassy's death in 1493)

This ends the account.