The Year of Our Lord 1527 saw the annual gathering of the Guild of Town Criers being held in The Potted Ferkin in the county of Yorkshire. Yorkshire was, at this time, a filthy agglomeration of huts surrounded by pig shit, horse shit, cow shit and the occasional bird shit for colour.
In other words, the surroundings perfectly matched the mood of the gathered criers.
“‘Tis all gone to shit, ‘tisn’t?” asked Tom of Browngreen into his beer. The other Criers couldn’t mount much enthusiasm for the sentiment, but they did nod sadly into their alcoholic beverages. Well, all except Tom of Langford-Staffordshire & The Steppes, who had been put on a goat’s milk diet so as not to aggravate the ill humours of his stomach.
Attendance at the proclamations of Town Criers had been declining for a decade or more. Where once they could expect eight or nine good men strong and true to attend their readings of the latest events when they arrived in a small village, now they were lucky to get four or five. Attendance in the middling sized villages that was the Crier’s primary demographic was even worse.
People seemed to be losing faith in the Town Criers. It wasn’t just that they had become obsessed with celebrity trivia (all agreed that the years of coverage devoted to what was really behind Mona Lisa’s smile was excessive), but that they seemed too close to the Powers That Be. They had, for instance, continued to proclaim that the Mamluks were holding their own against the Ottomans long after it had become clear to everybody that the Ottomans were partying in the streets of Egypt, Arabia and the Levant.
Especially the Levant.
The sad truth was that the Town Criers were at this point in history held in less esteem as a source of information than –
“Hey, how ya doin?”
Court Jesters!
“Mind if I pull up a seat?” Jon of Stewart, the most successful Court Jester in the land, grabbed a stein and, without waiting for a response, sat next to Tom of Browngreen.
“What be your business here, Jon of Stewart?” Tom of Browngreen asked in a none too friendly manner.
“Oh, you know,” Jon of Stewart took a healthy swig and responded. “I was just passing through on my way to London – got a gig at the Royal Court, you know – and I thought I’d see how the ‘real newsmen’ are doing.”
“Thou art truly a knavish cur,” Tom of Browngreen spat.
“Hey, I’m just having a little fun with you,” Jon of Stewart good-naturedly said. “No need to be a dick about it.”
Tom of Browngreen appeared ready to do Jon of Stewart physical harm, when Phil, the owner of The Potted Ferkin put a beefy hand on his shoulder. “All is well, here, gents?” Phil asked. Nodded agreement all around.
After a couple of minutes of silent imbibing, Jon of Stewart said, “Look, I’m not exactly comfortable with this situation either. I mean, I’m a comedian. I do schtick. I come on after the Punch and Judy show – my warm-up act is puppets hitting each other with slapsticks! You think I like being a more respected source of information than the Town Crier?”
“Aye,” Tom of Browngreen replied. “I believe you do.”
“Okay, you got me there,” Jon of Stewart admitted with a grin. “But, really, I never meant for things to get like this. I do a couple of gags, throw in some funny voices and I’m home before the week is out. That’s me. If people aren’t taking Town Criers seriously, maybe it’s because you don’t take the news seriously. It’s like – Martin Luther. Instead of dismissing him out of hand as an agent of Satan because that’s what the King says, would it kill you guys to hear him out? Maybe, I don’t know, accurately reflect what he’s trying to say?”
“I’ll think on it,” Tom of Browngreen quietly responded.
Jon of Stewart finished his stein and arose. “Gotta go,” he said. “Gotta be at the palace by noon Thursday or somebody could lose his heeeeeead.” The elongated vowel and rising voice was his signature. As he hit the door, Jon of Stewart turned back to the assemblage of Town Criers and shouted, “Try the veal!”
Then, he was gone.
How Tom of Browngreen hated him. And, envied him. He would have pondered further, but there was a seminar on Strategies for Enticing Wayward Youth With Tales of the Sordid and Demonic that he simply had to attend!