2 | Giant’s Dollhouse | Colly

The giant's daughter hated the castle she had inherited after her father fell off the beanstalk. He was a cruel man who took pleasure in singing the old family song.

Fee! Fie! Foe! Fum!
I smell the blood of an Englishman
Be he alive or be he dead
I'll grind his bones to make my bread.

And bread he baked, but more than this he also baked cakes and pastries of all shapes and sizes which she still missed. He was famous across the sky for his Belgian buns (made with real Belgians of course) and French stick loaves (made with French cyclists' legs) and Cornish pasties (made with Cornish miners).

But to be honest she was pleased to have the castle to herself, it was time she made some changes now she was in charge and over the next few days she decided to clear the castle of all the old junk which her father had hoarded.

She started in the east wing of the castle where all the old nursery rooms were situated. This is where she had spent her years growing up and as she pushed open the old oak door, she found the room identical to how she had left it decades ago. Toys were strewn everywhere, thrown, discarded and dumped, but in the middle was a beautiful dollhouse, or more accurately a toy farmhouse. It was complete with milking sheds, hen huts and pigsties, there were handcarts and milk churns, apple crates and pigeon cages, and loads of wicker boxes all stacked up. She opened one at random and found it full of iron-jawed mantraps which she remembered fondly.

But in the middle of it all stood her favourite toy horse, Prince. She picked him up and cuddled him in her arms for a moment, just as she had when she was a child. But then a shaft of sunlight through the cracks in the roof tiles broke her thoughts and illuminated the dusty hall properly, everything was so old and moth-eaten. It was obvious there was only one thing to be done, so she opened the large window and began to throw it all out. By the end of the day every old toy had been cleared, the room was empty, not a plough, painting or piece of furniture was left. All of it had been thrown out of the window, where it softly fell through the clouds and landed in the fields of Somerset far below.

Wicker baskets were strewn across the yard, just as if they had fallen from the sky.

‘These are exquisite examples of Somerset craftmanship' said the museum curator. ‘This one was for taking poultry to market, possibly ducks or geese maybe, and this one called a skep was for bees'.

The curator carries the baskets into the museum and begins to set them straight ready for the visitors. A long cone-shaped basket for catching fish, called a salmon butt or putcher, is hoisted up into the roof and fresh exhibition tags are prepared. Finally, the curator steps back and admires the display ready for the museum visitors to see.

‘These are all for making butter' said the museum curator, ‘but I am not sure why they are out here in the orchard, it's as if it's just fallen from the sky,' she said. ‘I think perhaps we should load it all up on the van and get it back to the museum before the rain comes again'.

There were milk churns, milk paddles and beautiful glass milk bottles littering the old apple orchard like confetti. Lying beside the field gate were stunning wooden moulds for casting butter pats alongside a fabulous copper vat once used in a dairy for making cheese.

‘It will take time to catalogue all these artefacts,' she said, wondering where they really came from.

‘There' said the little girl to her father, ‘and there too' said her brother. They were pointing up at the mulberry tree on the village green, to old oil paintings and portraits stuck up in the tree's branches. ‘How on earth did they get there?' said the father ‘that is rather extraordinary'.

The father calls the museum on his mobile and the children wait as they overhear their father try to explain.

‘Yes, in a Mulberry tree. . . yes, gold framed paintings . . . they are all stuck up in the tree's branches . . . no I can't reach them . . . yes, up a tree . . . A TREE !! . . . perhaps you should come see for yourself!'

‘They are sending someone over, but I don't think they believe us, I think they believe we are having them on,' he said to his children as they all look up at the hoard.

‘I am mystified how it got here' said the chaplain, looking at the stuffed horse lying on top of the school roof. A group of workers are gently attaching a hoist under the horse to lift safely off the roof and when back on the ground the chaplain said ‘The name tag says he was called Prince, and he looks in pretty good shape though we'd best get him inside before the weather turns'.

The four workers load the old horse into a wagon to be taken to the museum for conservation before being put on display at the Rural Life Museum, Glastonbury.

The curator then turns to answer his mobile ‘an apple press . . . . in your flowerbed . . . how extraordinary . . . we'll be right over'.

The village playpark was quiet except for the museum curator picking up beautiful artefacts which were strewn across the site. She picks up an old doctor's bag and tucks it under her arm, along with a stripy cotton shirt, and loads them into the museum van.

‘These are very interesting, I am sure people will be curious as to their history, it's just so odd they are out here in the village playpark' said the curator. ‘Oh, and look at these too' she points to three old stone wine jars and a hand-painted street sign displaying a blackbird and anchor motif. ‘What a hoard, I wonder why they are here?'

‘It is a grandfather clock, but why it's out here in the far away field I've no idea', said the old man. The tall wooden clock was lying on its back gazing up at the sky feeling rather shaken having been thrown off Cloud Castle just moments before. ‘I'm sure it wasn't there when Alfie (his scruffy little dog) and I walked this way half an hour ago'.

The clock seemed to be in perfect condition, though it was probably ready for a good clean and service in the museum workshops. After which it would go on display in the Rural Life Museum, Glastonbury.

The giant's daughter was enjoying her afternoon snooze after her purge of clearing the castle rooms. The remains of her breakfast sat on the window ledge beside her, a limp crust of half-eaten white toast making her pine for her father's old mill to run again. That was the mill which ground the bones for pies and breads, sold across the skies to cloud castles as far as the eye could see. Oh, what she would do for a Welsh cake right now, made with real Welsh choral singers of course! Or some double thick Yorkshire puddings, traditionally served with hot gravy and mash.

No time like the present, she said to herself, ‘servant, which way to the mill house? I've had enough of cheap breads, it's time we renewed our family history and got back into grinding and baking!'

‘This way my Lady', said the servant and escorted her to the mill.

But for the mill wheel to turn again, she would have to find some human bones to grind, so she commanded the castle navigator to take them down. As Cloud Castle descended it became foggy on the ground below, so thick was the fog the castle created, people used to call it a pea-souper!

'Navigator, where are we?' She asked. 'Somerset, I believe, my lady', came the reply.

So she opened her father's recipe book at Somerset and thumbed down to find the ingredients for the family's famous Sally Lunn Bath buns. She smiled as these ones were made exclusively with only the finest most succulent Somerset schoolchildren!

So she sang, in her lady giant's voice ready for the mill wheel to turn once more.


Fee! Fie! Foe! Fum!
I smell your blood in my Sally Lunn buns
Snatch those good lads to grind into flour
And Somerset lasses for my baking tower
I'll grind your bones for a Bath bun bake
And then the rest of your brood into crab apple cakes

Fee! Fie! Foe! Fum!
I smell your blood for my Sally Lunn buns
Be yous dead or be yous alive
I'll grind they's bones into pastries and pies

Here are some questions about the story, read and discuss whilst some of the other groups finish and catch up.

Q – Which was your favourite clue? Which was really hard and could have been done better?

Q – So what will happen next in the story as Cloud Castle has just landed in Somerset?

Q – Have you found Prince the horse? Can you imagine the giant's daughter cuddling Prince in her arms like a teddy bear! If you were the giant's child what would be your favourite toy from the gallery and what would she do with them?