The Ogre of the Smeeth is a terrible giant from the folklore of England. He had a bad temper and was quick to anger. The Giant lived in a cave near the East Anglian town of Wisbech during the 11th century...
Everyone avoided going near his territory and would sometimes take twice as long to travel to their destination to avoid this aggressive beast.
Tom Hickathrift was a giant of a man.
As a child, he ate as much as five ordinary men could in one sitting and, by the time he was ten years old, he was already eight feet tall! Tom was well known for having supernatural strength but boy, was he lazy.
He wasn't that smart either - until one day, when he came face to face with the Ogre of the Smeeth. One day, his elderly mother sent Tom to a local farmer for straw.
He amazed everyone by using a cart-rope to gather together more than twenty hundredweight of straw and believe me, that's a lot of straw! The farmer laughed and called Tom a fool.
"Do you really think you can carry such a heavy load? " jeered the farmer.
Tom flung the load over his shoulder, as if it was as light as a feather.
The farmer and his men stood by, speechless.
Once his incredible strength became known, Tom's lazy days were over.
No more could he sit in the chimney corner doing as little as possible, as everyone wanted to hire him for work.
Tom soon found that work brought its own reward and he became very merry, taking delight in company, going to fairs and meetings and he had many Adventures.
Tom's fame soon spread to a wealthy brewer at King's Lynn.
Wanting a good strong man to carry his beer to Wisbech, he hired Tom.
The brewer was very careful to tell Tom the route he must take around the Smeeth, an area of boggy marshland between the two towns, for a fearsome and terrible Ogre lived in a cave there.
Ogres in general are not very pleasant and this one was worse than most. He had a monstrous appetite for eating passers-by!
Unfortunately, avoiding the Ogre meant taking the long route - over twenty miles - around the great common, which belonged to the seven villages of the marshland; a very long detour for one so naturally lazy.
It was a scorching hot summer's day, as Tom wearily hauled his cart of beer barrels along the winding path.
Weary of the long trek, he foolishly decided to take a short cut through the Smeeth - into the Ogre's territory.
The first sign that this was a mistake was the sight of human skulls hanging from every tree along his path.
The second sign was even more obvious, the Ogre stood silently on the path before him!
If you thought Tom was big, you should have seen the Ogre!
He was twelve feet tall and six feet around the waist, a large Ogre indeed.
"Who gave you authority to come this way? " he roared.
"I'll make an example of you - see how many heads hang on yonder tree?
Yours shall hang higher than all the rest. "
Suddenly, Tom realised he had no weapon!
For once in his life, Tom thought quickly and, without hesitation, he ripped an axle and a wheel off his cart.
He bravely faced the slavering Ogre with these for sword and shield.
The fight was long and terrible, the sound of the mighty blows echoed across the marshland.
The Ogre was strong and rained down heavy blows on Tom, but Tom gave as good as he got and was quicker and lighter on his feet.
A well aimed blow to the side of the Ogre's head sent him reeling.
Knowing that he was weakening, the Ogre tried a trick and asked Tom for a drink.
Tom would have none of it; his dim days were behind him.
"Oh no," he said, "my mother taught me better than that; who'd be a fool then? "
Using all his strength, Tom felled the Ogre with one last crushing blow.
His head rolled and stopped at Tom's feet. The Ogre was dead.
Exhausted but curious, Tom looked inside the Ogre's cave and was amazed and astonished by what he saw. Gold, silver and jewels lay everywhere!
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