Yesterday, Sunday 9th August, the weather for once being fine, Lady Glencairn and I set off for glorious Tatton Park in Cheshire, where there was an event billed as Viking Sunday.
It’s a great venue and the events are usually well worth a visit and this was no exception. The mock combats were undertaken with such determination that one fighter was knocked out cold for real!
Viking combat re-enactment at Tatton Park
It all reminded me of the tale of Ulrik, a mighty Viking warrior who spent much of his time pillaging and plundering round Europe and having a high old time.
One day his luck ran out and he received a head wound which left his vision very fuzzy.
‘Right,’ said Mrs Ulrik, ‘no more raiding for you. Your days of rampaging are over.’
However, one day Ulrik heard his mates planning a raid to Britain, a place he’d never pillaged. He began to wheedle and nag at Mrs. Ulrik to let him go.
‘Don’t be a fool,’ she said, ‘with your eyesight you’d be dead in the first skirmish.’
But Ulrik was nothing if not persistent and he was determined to go. His constant nagging wore down Mrs. Ulrik and eventually she agreed, but on one condition.
‘These British are famed for their sanitaryware and I’d like a decent sink for our hovel. You can go as long as you bring me back a British sink.’
Ulrik would have agreed to anything so off he went with the lads, burning, looting, and enjoying himself immensely. So much so that he forgot his promise to Mrs Ulrik, regarding the sanitaryware.
On the last night of the raid as they were burning one final monastery, he suddenly remembered.
‘Oh Gods, she’ll kill me, what can I do?’
He spied an old monk and his apprentice cowering and waiting to be put to the sword.
‘Old man,’ he roared, ‘I’ll spare you and the boy if you can get me one of your British sinks for my kitchen back home.’
Now the old monk had not lived to his great age by being slow witted. Looking around he spotted a builders’ hod used for carrying bricks for repairs to the monastery. He picked it up and gave it to Ulrik.
‘Here you are, Viking, one of our finest british sinks!’
True to his word, Ulrik told the pair to flee for their lives, and marched off grasping his prize.
The old monk strolled away at a leisurely pace, much to the horror of his apprentice.
‘Master, don’t you think we should run? He’ll be furious when he finds out!’
The old man just grinned and patted the lad on the head.
‘Don’t worry, son, everything will be all right. After all, a hod’s as good as a sink to a blind Norse!‘
Great articles & Nice a site….