Wednesday, August 27, 2008

The Bell

My father used to tell me stories when I had some difficult times. He was a wise man and often sought to teach lessons through stories. I have one of his stories today. It is simple and has a small, simple moral
*

Near a small peaceful town in a small green valley there was a quaint monastery operated by a quiet group of monks. The monastery was noted throughout the area for the fine sounding bell in it's tower. A magical peaceful tone. But, being old the bell one day cracked and it's sound was missed throughout the valley. The priests, having taken vows of poverty did not have enough funds to either repair or replace the bell and were distraught that they could no longer pay homage to God through it's wonderful sound. After some discussion it was decided that they would convert some of their vegetable gardens to flower gardens and sell the flowers to raise the needed funding.

The project went well. The monastery and it's bell were well known and the good folks in the valley missed it's sound. The monks plight was common knowledge. Their flowers were of exceptional quality and their sales thrived.



All was working well and a feeling of good will spread through the valley. The only one not pleased was the individual who owned the sole greenhouse in the valley. He started to lose money. He asked the monks personally if perhaps they could not get into another line of business. Sell rosaries, crosses, incense, indulgences, pieces of the True Cross. Anything other than flowers. They politely declined. The greenhouse owner's funds continued to decline. He again pleaded with the priests and again, eager to replace the bell, they declined. Facing ruin he even sent his aged mother to beg his case. She was also turned down.

Ruin and bankruptcy stared the owner in the face. Panic and desperation gripped him. He committed, then, a foul and despicable act. He sought out and hired the town's roughest, meanest, toughest, Irishman, a man named Hugh McTaggert. He paid Hugh cheaply and plied him with volumes of cheap whiskey and beer and sent him to the monastery. Hugh trampled their flower beds, smashed their greenhouses, destroyed their shop and, for good measure, rudely beat up several of the priests.

They got the message. Went out of business.

The moral of the story..........................





Hugh.....and only Hugh, can prevent Florist Friars...gees, I said my Dad was wise; I didn't say he always made sense.





8 comments:

Randal Graves said...

BOO! HISS! HISS!

Don't worry, I'm laughing as I type that.

DCup said...

LOL! Okay, you got me with the pretty flowers.....

Missy said...

Oh Good Grief! You got me.

susan said...

Thank goodness his name wasn't Mick.

Spartacus said...

You sure Hugh's last name wasn't G. Rection? I'm just sayin....

okjimm said...

Thanks, all..... my father used to tell the worst puns. I wish I could remember more.

Seriously. It was one of Dad's favorites. He was a real pain-in-ass kinda guy, in the best way possible. I still miss him.

Steve Emery said...

I was really expecting something serious! I should have recognized the tell tale signs when that name was thrown in. It's more detailed than the rest - it ought to have sent up warning signals, "Danger! Danger!" Too late. My Dad likes to tell these too! I'll have to share this one with him.

Distributorcap said...

a regular jackie mason here

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