Dogs in the Wild West

One hot and dry day in the Wild West, this dog walks into a saloon and says, "Gimme a beer". Evidently this type of thing wasn't too rare 'round those parts because the bartender said, "I'm sorry, but we don't serve dogs here." The dog then took out a silver dollar, dropped it on the bar, and said, "Look, I got money, and I want a beer." This scene had the potential to get ugly. The bartender, getting a little irate, said one more time, "We do not serve dogs here. Please leave." The dog growled, so the bartender pulled out a gun and shot the dog in the foot! The dog yelped, and ran out the door.

The next day, the swinging bar doors were tossed open and in walks the dog that had been in the saloon the day before. He was dressed all in black. A black cowboy hat, a black vest, three black cowboy boots and one black bandage. The dog looks around, waits for the talking to quiet down, and says, "I'm lookin' fer the man who shot my paw."

-- Thanks to Steve Poggio, steve.poggio@channel1.com

The Bush Pilot

A British bush pilot is flying on a job through the Australian outback when he encounters engine problems and is forced to make a crash landing. He survives, but is found unconscious and is taken to a local mission hospital which is run by the Sisters of Mercy. Upon awakening, he is greeted by the mother superior who advises him where he is and asks if there is anything he wants. He replies, "I am a bit thirsty...could I have a cup of tea?" to which the mother superior says, "I'm terribly sorry, but our supply truck is late and we are out of regular tea. However, we do have a sort of native drink that is brewed from koala hides." the pilot thinks awhile and replies, "Well, I just have to have my cuppa...you can bring me that, thanks."

The nun leaves and returns in a few minutes with a steaming cup. The pilot takes the cup gratefully, but upon taking a sip, instantly gags and spits it out. "This tea is filled with hair!", he exclaims disgustedly.

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry!" The nun replies, "I forgot to tell you: The koala tea of mercy is not strained!"

-- Thanks to Bill Snedden, bsnedden@aol.com

The Mystery of the Mice Tower

B.-P. Tells a Story
Lord Baden-Powell
The Leader, December 1978

In the December 1932 issue of "The Scouter" (U.K.), the Chief Scout, Lord Baden-Powell, varied from his usual Scouting message to write the following ghost story. In the United Kingdom, ghost stories are very much a tradition at Christmas, hence such well-known ghostly tales as Dickens "A Christmas Carol". Meant to be read aloud, by flickering firelight, to the accompaniment of roasting chestnuts and steaming mugs of cocoa, you might like to incorporate this tradition into your own Christmas meeting with, perhaps, your boys bringing along their own favourite ghostly yarns to read aloud in the shadowy semi-darkness.

Regarding our Scouts Camping Ground at Kandersteg in Switzerland, many Scouts have been there, and many more will go there, to all of whom the Mice Tower in the Camp Ground will be known. Since this is our Christmas Number, I venture to give a story of the Mice Tower in place of my usual homily on Scouting.

I was trying to make out the meaning of the words 'Gott behuete dieses Hus und all da Gehen in und us', which were carved upon the beam above me, in the living-room in the timber-built house of the cure in Kippel. I had, in the course of a hike through Switzerland, wandered into the Loetschen Valley, a quaint backwater of civilisation which, until the railway tunnel pierced the surrounding mountains, had been cut off from the rest of the world except for a pass of 10,000 feet which was impassable for five months of the year. So the inhabitants were themselves quaint and original in their ways and customs.

When I came into the agglomeration of ancient brown wooden houses which, with wonderful picturesqueness and awful smells, constituted the village, I was surprised to find no one about; the whole place seemed deserted. At last I hit on an aged priest coming out of the church, and in reply to my question where were the inhabitants, he pointed to a notice pinned on what proved to be the mayor's house. This directed the families named in the margin, one and all, to go this week haymaking on the high meadows on the mountain. The various people concerned were not mentioned by name but, as the custom was, were indicated by their family totem signs. The old priest proved himself an interesting informant on this and many other points connected with the life and history of the valley. Finally he kindly asked me into his house to have a cup of coffee.

When, in the course of our talk, I told him I had just come from the neighbouring valley of Kandersteg, he grew quite excited and told me he had only recently unearthed among the old church records a very interesting document relating to Kandersteg. It purported to be the statement of a dying man as taken down by a priest of that time, in the year 1638.

The place had derived its name from an unwelcome swarm of mice which infested it. So much was this the case that a haunch of beef which had been left in the tower one night was found next morning to have been entirely consumed by the mice. This suggested to the blood-thirsty tyrant the fiendish idea of hanging a victim in an extreme case in such a way that, when spread-eagled, one foot should remain on the ground. He argued that the mice would then attack the victim and gradually devour him from the foot upwards until death released him from his sufferings.

Another painful form of execution devised by Count Rollo was that of hanging his victim head downwards from a window in the tower until he died, and this punishment he had meted out on May 14th, 1631, to Johann Kostler. Young Albert Kostler, driven to fury by the death of his father, gathered together a number of young men of the valley, and they planned together to rid the community of this monster.

Unfortunately for them their plot was discovered before it was ripe, and Albert was waylaid by Rollo's myrmidons and carried off to the Mice Tower. It was after nightfall when he was brought in and Count Rollo was at supper with his companions. He joyously gave the word for the young man to be hanged forthwith head downwards from the window. Quickly the victim's feet were tied together with the end of a rope, which ran up over the end of a beam projecting out from the window, and he was slung out into the darkness to die a lingering death, while Rollo and his friends kept up a noisy carousal immediately above him.

For a few moments he hung like this while his executioners returned to their feast, and then with a sudden plunge he fell heavily to the ground. The rope had been partially gnawed through by the mice. Fortunately at that point the ground was covered by a thick growth of heath. For a few moments he lay practically stunned, but he was not materially hurt and, on coming to, he realised this, and having unfastened his bonds he made his way cautiously in the darkness out of the camp and into the rocky cliffs close by.

By good fortune he came across a small cave, into which he crept. He found that it receded a good way into the mountain-side, and he followed it up, crawling on his hands and knees, until he felt himself secure from pursuit. Here he lay down to rest by a small runnel of fresh water. Some time later--it may have been several hours--he was alarmed to hear voices of men evidently searching for him. This caused him to explore even deeper into the recesses of the mountain, till he found himself out of reach of any sounds. Haunted, however, by the fear of re-capture, he continued to creep on and explore farther into the tunnel-like cave, in the hope that he might find another exit.

How long he struggled on he never knew; in the total darkness it might have been hours, it might and probably was days and nights. In the end, starving, weak and utterly worn out, when he had given up all hope, and had resigned himself to dying in peace rather than at the hands of torturers, he suddenly saw a faint gleam of light. Dragging himself onwards, he eventually emerged into what he afterwards discovered was the Loetschen Valley. Here he was found, and succoured by friendly hands, and he finally made it his home.

Probably from fear that any report of his being still alive might leak out to the Kander Valley, he never confided to a soul his identity nor his story, until eventually, on his death-bed, he confessed it to the priest. He now lies in the third grave on the left as you enter the narrow churchyard overhanging the river valley at Kippel.

He asked me whether I had during my stay in the Kander Valley noticed, near the entrance to the tunnel, a small square tower. This, he said, was referred to in the document as "The Mice Tower". Certainly I had seen it, but had not paid it much attention on account of its insignificant appearance. But, muttering the old Swiss proverb "Little pigs nevertheless make good pork," he tottered off to the church to search the muniment chest for the paper. Meanwhile I waited, sipping my coffee and pondering on the inscription on the beam--"God protect this house and all who go in and out."

Presently he returned with the document and, deciphering with some difficulty the crabbed characters on the time-worn paper, he read to me the following grim story. I give merely the substance of it, omitting the lengthy if picturesque detail.

A note by the father-confessor explained it was the dying confession of a man who had come mysteriously to Kippel some years previously, and had established himself there as a recluse, living in a small hut high up on the mountain side. Being now about to meet his Maker, and no longer fearing the vengeance of man, he confessed that he was the only surviving son of Johann Kostler, a former well-to-do farmer in the valley of the Kander. (His chalet is still to be seen in Kandersteg today.)

While this man, Albert Kostler, was yet a young man, the notorious Count Rollo, known as "Rollo the Roisterer," was tyrant of the valley. The Count lived in the old castle of Tellesberg perched high upon a solitary crag commanding the valley. From this fastness with his band of armed retainers he exacted from the inhabitants all that he wanted from time to time in the shape of food or money or cattle, etc. When his demands were not met with the promptitude desired, he inflicted imprisonment or torture or even death on the wretched peasant; so that the whole valley was terrorised.

The scene of these cruelties was usually the Mice Tower at the head of the valley, where his victims went through a form of mock trial before being condemned to the punishment which he amused himself in devising. The upper room of this tower was also the scene of wild orgies and carousals on the part of himself and his boon companions.

Count Rollo had some iron staples let into the outer wall of the Mice Tower, to which his victim was triced up by the wrist and ankles in a spread-eagle position, and exposed naked for hours to the blazing sun in the summer and to the freezing wind in the winter. (These staples can still be seen on the walls of this harmless-looking building.)

My host, having read the confession to me, went on to say that tradition maintains that Count Rollo the Roisterer, after a life of cruelty and debaucheries, came to a bad end--as bad men do.

The story went that he was investigating the Blausee, or Blue Lake, which lies below his castle, when a sudden rise of the water from melting snow in the mountains forced him to try to cross the lake on a fallen tree. In doing so he slipped and his foot became entangled and held, as by a vice, among the branches. The water, rising gradually higher and higher, submerged him inch by inch; and though his screams attracted his followers they were unable to do anything to save him before he was finally submerged and drowned. My friend had not himself been to the Blausee, but he maintained that on particularly clear days Rollo's skeleton can still be seen among the trees at the bottom of that wonderful blue lake.

He also added that it is widely believed that between the hours of twelve and one in the morning, on September 13th every year, his ghost may be seen gliding round the Mice Tower, wringing his hands in an agony of remorse--or it may not.

Note. - The probability is that Count Rollo's Ghost will NOT be seen because there never was a Swiss proverb that "Little pigs nevertheless make good pork," nor was there an Albert Kostler, nor even a Count Rollow the Roisterer, though there IS the Mice Tower and the Blausee! So, I'm sorry, but the whole yarn is a fake. B.-P.

Five in the Bed

(actions in brackets)

There were five in the bed and the little one said, (make #5 with your hands)

"Roll over! Roll over!" (roll motion with hands)

So they all rolled over and one fell out (roll motion)

And bumped his head and shouted out, (knock on head, cup hands around mouth)

"Please remember to tie a knot in your pajamas, (tie an invisible knot)

Single beds are only made for one, two, three, four!" (number 1, 2, 3, 4...)

There were four in the bed and the little one said...

There were three in the bed and the little one said...

There were two in the bed and the little one said...

There was one in the bed and the little one said... (clapping to the beat)

"I've got the whole bed to myself,

I've got the whole darn bed to myself,

I've got the whole bed to myself,

I've got the whole bed to myself!"

Clementine

In a cavern, in a canyon,
Excavating for a mine,
Lived a miner, forty-niner,
And his daughter Clementine.

Chorus
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
Oh my darling Clementine
You are lost and gone forever,
Dreadful sorry, Clementine.

Light she was, and like a fairy,
And her shoes were number nine,
Herring boxes without topses,
Sandals were for Clementine. [Chorus]

Drove she ducklings to the water
Every morning just at nine,
Hit her foot against a splinter,
Fell into the foaming brine. [Chorus]

Ruby lips above the water,
Blowing bubbles soft and fine,
But alas, I was no swimmer,
So I lost my Clementine. [Chorus]

In a churchyard near the canyon,
Where the myrtle doth entwine,
There grow roses and other posies,
Fertilized by Clementine. [Chorus]

Then, the miner, forty-niner,
Soon began to peak and pine,
Though in life I used to hug her,
Now she's dead I draw the line. [Chorus]

In my dreams she still doth haunt me,
Robed in garments soaked with brine,
Though in life I used to hug her,
Now she's dead I draw the line. [Chorus]

Listen fellers, head the warning
Of this tragic tale of mine,
Artificial respiration
Could have saved my Clementine. [Chorus]

How I missed her, how I missed her,
How I missed my Clementine,
Till I kissed her little sister,
And forgot my Clementine. [Chorus]

 

London Bridge

London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down,
London Bridge is falling down,
My fair lady.

How shall we build it up again,
Up again, up again,
How shall we build it up again,
My fair lady?

Build it up with silver and gold,
Silver and gold, silver and gold, ...

Silver and gold will be stolen away,
Stolen away, stolen away, ...

Build it up with wood and clay,
Wood and clay, wood and clay, ...

Wood and clay will wash away,
Wash away, wash away, ...

Build it up with iron and steel,
Iron and steel, iron and steel, ...

Iron and steel will bend and bow,
Bend and bow, bend and bow, ...

Build it up with stone so strong,
Stone so strong, stone so strong, ...

Stone will last for ages long,
For ages long, for ages long, ....