The Journal of Primula Brandybuck 1 By Frances Barratt

THE JOURNAL OF PRIMULA BRANDYBUCK Part 1 By Frances Barratt Shire Reckoning 2nd LITHE (Written in the back of a school exercise book) It’s very early in the morning and I can’t sleep. No one else seems to be about yet so I thought I’d use up the time until breakfast and recount my feelings about yesterday. It was Mother’s birthday party and the first of the festivities since Aunt Belladonna’s death – which had happened when I was away at school. Anyway… there was the usual assortment of kinfolk from both sides: Brandybucks and Tooks, some of whom I’d never met before. Hobbit kindred spread out like the filaments of a spider’s web, touching almost every surname in the Shire! One name being Baggins as Aunt Belladonna had wed a certain Bungo Baggins from Hobbiton in the West Farthing. So that’s how it was that I came to meet Cousin Bilbo. I remember seeing this elegant personage; I mention ‘elegant’ because of the scarlet waistcoat he wore, its gilt buttons twinkling in the lamplight. He seemed a little shy around certain folk until he and Mother came face to face; then there were hugs and my heart went out to him as I realised who he was. The death of one’s mother cannot be an easy thing to bear, not even for a son. But as he tuned and looked at me… I cannot explain the feeling that exploded within me: an odd mixture of joy and sadness. His smile I can explain though; it was one of gratitude. He’d been grateful that I had mentioned his mother at a moment when everyone else’s attention was focused upon my Mother. When he spoke to me there was such softness in his voice; the tone of it especially, but the words too were tender and I can recall them: "Bless you, Little Cousin; your condolences are accepted with humble gratitude. I had not wanted to come – which is why I dragged poor Drogo with me!" The other hobbit was – I think I am right in stating – his second-cousin of the Baggins line; their respective fathers having been first cousins of that stock. I shall have to consult the Great Scroll in the Library to see if we have any Brandybuck connections as well. Well now, where had I got to? Ah yes, meeting Bilbo Baggins. Suffice to say that I liked him. Admittedly, he seemed a sober sort; while all the other young hobbits were dancing, singing and consuming the ale, Bilbo was reluctant to join in the more strenuous types of celebration. Rightly or not, I assumed it to be because he still missed his mother’s company. I did learn that he now lives alone in the ‘ancestral home’ as he called it. So do I! Live in the ‘ancestral home’ that is; but I gather that Bag-End is small in comparison to Brandy Hall. Still, I’d like to see it; perhaps I could take a detour to Hobbiton on my way back to school in Michel Delving, I’m sure Bilbo would make me welcome. Ah, I just heard someone moving around out there; no doubt it’s Betony starting on breakfast. I’ll go and help her and subtly ask if she noticed Mister Bilbo Baggins. * 2nd of AFTERLITHE Three days ago I met the most wonderful hobbit! Yesterday, I paid him a visit in his own home and he was most gracious towards me. He gave me tea and scones; they were not as fine as those that Betony bakes but I did not say so. The raspberry jam was excellent though so I did comment upon it. He smiled wryly at me as if he’d never had a compliment before. It led me to believe that Cousin Bilbo has led a rather sheltered existence. We talked at length though; I cannot recall every word – or even some of the subjects, since one seemed to merge into another – but I do remember Bilbo’s enthusiasm for pure knowledge. He yearned to go travelling – so he confided in me – a most unusual thing, for why would any hobbit wish to go beyond the borders of the Shire? I’ve been told there are Big Folk and Monsters dwelling in the lands to the East; I do hope they remain there. At least the High Hay deters intruders from setting foot in Buckland. But I digress again. Bilbo asked me what I most enjoyed about school and laughed when I replied: "Going home for the holidays!" He agreed that it was an awful long way from Bucklebury to Michel Delving, the prime reason I have to take board and lodgings in the Capital town. I do get homesick. When I told Bilbo, he became very sympathetic, then asked how long I had before Graduation. He just nodded when I said it was another two years away. "You seem so much more mature than twenty," he said. It was the greatest compliment anyone could pay me. My brothers still treat me like a child, though I must admit that Saradas is relenting a little and accepting that I have grown up. He Comes of Age next year so I shall ask if Bilbo can again be invited. Saradas is not a hobbit to want too much attention and will try to ‘make do’ with a quiet meal at home with the closest kin. But I shall insist that he have a splendid party. When I left Bag-End, Bilbo promised to come to Michel Delving on a weekend and we would take tea again. I shall look forward to that. My friends at School are well enough but some are a mite too flippant. They think me strange because I want to learn about the Race of Elves. I’ve heard so many tales and cannot imagine anything more wonderful than being Immortal! Saradas has a few books at the Hall but I feel there is much more to Elves than what is in those pages. Now, if I could guarantee not to meet Monsters then I might join Bilbo on a journey to where the Elves live – a place called Rivendell, so he said. I conjured up a place of eternal summer when he described it to me; though I do not think he has been there. There is far more to the World than the Shire – or Buckland. I must end this entry as it’s late and I must be well rested for lessons tomorrow. My thoughts are with my Friend back in Bag-End. Goodnight, Bilbo Baggins, sleep well and I shall visit you again very soon. *

The Journal of Primula Brandybuck Part 2 By Frances Barratt 13th of Afterlithe Friday the thirteenth! I always dread these because nothing ever seems to go right; nothing important, but silly, annoying things happen. I remember once that two cups, a chair-leg and the catch of a gate all broke; as well as my apron-pocket tearing on a nail and a cloud of soot falling down one of the chimneys! Had it been practical, I’d have stayed in bed the next Friday the thirteenth. So what joys will this one bring? The only consolation is that Bilbo promised to come, his letter arrived yesterday: (pasted onto the page) "10th of Afterlithe 1340 Dear Primula, I felt I should warn you that I intend to take up your kind invitation to tea! All being well, I ought to arrive in Michel Delving around 11o’clock on the morning of Friday 13th. I’ll not tempt Fate by dwelling on the date! Perhaps luncheon would be a better idea? I trust your judgement in finding a suitable establishment; your parents would never forgive me for taking you to an inn! Until then, young lady, I remain respectfully, Your friend: Bilbo Baggins" My dear Friend, we shall have a splendid day! Evening I was right – we did have a splendid day. Cousin Bilbo was so much more… articulate I believe is the best way to describe it. He seemed more at ease than at the Party, probably because he didn’t need to be ‘polite’ to relatives that he didn’t truly like. He did tell me that his companion that day – Drogo Baggins – had spoken in flattering terms about me on the their homeward journey! What a surprise since he didn’t spend any time in my company! – well, not so that it registered with me – in order to make such comments. Some young lads are born flatterers and I vow never to be taken in by them. Michel Delving is a vast place compared to Hobbiton, or even to Bucklebury, and can be daunting to a newcomer – as I well remember – but Bilbo was fascinated by its architecture (that’s what he called the style of its buildings) and he reckoned they owed more to the influence of Men and Elves than Hobbits. It makes sense, though I had just admired the intricacies of the stone carvings. Carving in wood is one thing, but to lend the skill to solid stone must have taken an enormous amount of time and endless patience. Bilbo said there are lots of stone buildings in parts of Middle-earth. I want to learn about them; to read the histories of each Race. It’s not enough to sit back and let life just happen. Sending me away to school might have been a ‘modern’ thing for Father to have agreed to, but I’m certain he rues the day he signed the Education Contract. As I told Bilbo, I once overheard him complaining that I never stop asking questions. How else am I to learn? The Sun has now set and I must retire to my bed, though I am sure I shall not get much sleep. So many things to think about; so much to read up on when I get home. Home; I’d never been in such a hurry to return there, but now… Now I just want to tell Saradas about Bilbo’s theories on the ‘architecture’ and see if any of his books corroborate it. But I have another three weeks before the Harvest Break. Still, I can always write to Bilbo since he cannot come again for a fortnight. Roll on the 27th. * 28th of Afterlithe It rained all day yesterday – again! The whole week was one long downpour and the roads were a terrible mess: floods and subsidence stopped all unnecessary traffic. The carts that did venture out were few and far between; the Post became delayed and – as I feared – Bilbo did not come. I have another week before Harvest Break and I can go home, so I pray that the incessant rain stops in good time. I must get back somehow and I wanted so much to speak again with my dear Friend. He feels like a Soul-Mate… If I write a letter quickly, the Post-cart may set it on its way to Hobbiton. I need to tell Bilbo that it is my intention to repay his courtesy-call and visit him at Bag-End on the journey home. He’s sure to welcome me and -- should conditions still be bad – perhaps even allow me to lodge there a day or two. Ah, even such simple plans serve to raise my spirits. Now to word the letter. His was quite formal and proper, but we are kin so I see no need for further formalities. (Draft of the letter sent to Bilbo) 28th of Afterlithe 1340 Dear Bilbo, I was sorry the weather thwarted out meeting yesterday. As I write this, the rain is falling like pokers from the sky! Will it ever end? There is but one week of term-time and then I am free until the 4th of Halimath. That is: if I can find transport – to Hobbiton at least. May I be quite forward and beg leave to lodge with you, just for a few days? Hobbiton is such a pretty place and I would dearly love to see more of it. Always supposing none of us is flooded out by then! Do you think some angry god is punishing us for bad behaviour? If so then – I AM SORRY; PLEASE STOP THE RAIN! Let’s hope I am heard; I’ve so missed our chat. In Humble Friendship: Primula. * 5th of Wedmath I’m sitting on a bed in a cosy room at Bag-End! For one night only, I am to sleep here and continue on my way home tomorrow. It’s less than I hoped for – and requested of Bilbo – but I must not be greedy; it’s fortunate that I was able to make the journey at all, given the weather conditions this past week. However; Saradas seemed to have persuaded Mother and Father to permit me to ‘break’ the journey as my dear brother had worded it – for one day and one night only. So that’s what happened. I finished school for the academic year but had to remain in Michel Delving last night and begin my journey at first-light this morning. Late summer – and roads like swamps! If there’s any harvest left to reap this year it will be a miracle. But to continue… The Staging-cart bound eastwards to Bree, far beyond the Brandywine, took me to the fork in the East Road which led to Bywater and thence to Hobbiton; five miles from the main road. From there I awaited the Post-cart coming from Frogmorton, setting me down about ten o’clock. I walked the last few yards up Bagshot Row to where Bag-End nestles beneath The Hill. By the time Bilbo had welcomed me and shown me to this wonderful room, he announced elevenses and we sat down to tea and jam-tart; raspberry-jam tart. The pastry melted in my mouth so I paid my compliments to the cook. "That’s Sorrel Gamgee," Bilbo told me. "’Roper’s’ wife. Their lad Hamfast has green fingers; he can make dried-up seeds and withered plants sprout like magic! He has a future, that lad." Once again, Bilbo’s homely talk made me feel as if I belonged here. Typically, our day flew by and come dinnertime I actually met the famous cook. Sorrel Gamgee was the most cheerful of ladies – and I always thought our Betony took that honour. She has children of her own to cook, clean and launder for; at least four names I counted as she set down the dishes of vegetables. One lass amongst them; about my own age too I gathered. I believe her name was May. No doubt born when the May-trees were in full blossom, but a pretty name for all that. Tomorrow I have to go back by cart to the East Road and await the Staging-cart again; leave that at the Brandywine Bridge, cross over and then meet the Circuit-cart which goes down to Brandy Hall, across the Ferry then back up to Stock. Needless to say, it’s a smaller cart since it has to board Bucklebury Ferry in order to make the circuit. I just wish I could stay here a day or two longer. Now to bed; my only consolation in going home is to tell Saradas all about the things I’ve learned this term. I’m sure he’ll be fascinated by Bilbo’s theories concerning the buildings in Michel Delving. * 30th of Wedmath Three more days at home then I leave on the 2nd of Halimath to be back in Michel Delving for the first day of the autumn term, which begins on the 4th. What a wonderful time I’ve had these past four weeks. Saradas has been exceptionally attentive towards me and very interested in all my ideas. I told him all that Bilbo told me about the stone buildings, their carvings and that they were probably copied from those of Men or Elves. He nodded as if he already knew the theory and I had to ask if he and Bilbo had ever discussed it; but he said not. My dear brother appeared very pleased by my genuine interest in the matter and my keenness to know more about other Races, so he invited Bilbo to visit us! What a team we three made! There cannot have been a single book in our Library that we didn’t search through for evidence on how the Big Folk adorn their dwellings. This study of history is most rewarding and enlightening too. Unless I am reading things wrongly, the Races of Men and Elves are distantly related. Now there’s a surprise. Because of all this book-learning, I haven’t had time to make entries in this Journal. Anything other than what is in those books seems insignificant now and I came t understand that the lands occupied by we Hobbits, accounts for but a fraction of the greater lands we dismissively term as ‘Middle-earth’, without a thought as to the vastness of it all. Suddenly it became to frighteningly overwhelming and I needed to withdraw from it. Bilbo was here that day and he was a great comfort. Thinking about it now – in the relative quiet of my own room – I realise something else. Parting from Bilbo today was a great wrench; no matter that he has granted me permission to split the journey again and stay overnight at Bag-End; no, seeing him leave was actually painful. I’ll not say anything to Saradas in case he thinks me a foolish child, but I do honestly believe that I have come to love my Cousin…

Primula Brandybuck, mother of Frodo Baggins

3rd of Halimath THE JOURNALS OF PRIMULA BRANDYBUCK By Frances Barratt Part 3 Here I am – back in my lodgings at Michel Delving – already missing my dear Friend. We had hardly any time together; no sooner had I arrived at Bag-End than it was suppertime and then off to bed to get a good night’s sleep before beginning today’s journey after breakfast. Except that I could not sleep for thinking of things to ask Bilbo; places we might go of a weekend, and counting the days to our planned birthday party. My birthday is on the 12th of this month and his – as I only recently learned – is on the 22nd. I would dearly like him as my Guest of Honour so that I can present him with a gift I’m sure he would find a use for. There is a red-leather-bound book in the stationery shop here; plain pages like a Journal, but much larger. With all his theories and observations, Bilbo could produce a book of his own to rival some of those in our home Library! He’s a gifted storyteller so why should he not commit some of his notions to paper before someone else does? I must sleep tonight otherwise I shall not be fit for lessons tomorrow. How am I to stand another two years of school when it has already become tedious to me? Perhaps I can use my friendship with Bilbo as a crutch; if I explain to him that all the knowledge I deem important can be found within books he and Saradas own, he might spend more time with me. Now, I must be honest with myself; any time that he and I can be together will brighten my life, though it seems highly unlikely he would feel the same way. * 12th of Halimath Today is my twentieth birthday. One score; not long in the scheme of things, nor by hobbit reckoning. Grandfather Took was 130 years old when he died – the year I was born – though that is exceptional. I can’t imagine living so long. However, today is just a normal Monday with lessons as usual. Dance and Deportment this afternoon; I cannot think of a subject more boring! Hobbits can dance well enough without special lessons! Then, having allowed us to cavort about, we are told to ‘stand up straight and behave like young ladies’! Why? Manners are taught at home – to lads as well as lasses – as soon as we can sit up and pay attention. No, I believe it to be an unnecessary fabrication; a false impression. I prefer to judge folk by their demeanour and pride myself upon being a fair judge of character too. That Drogo Baggins for instance; there was something sneaky and underhand about him… Evening How I managed to hold my concentration today I shall never know, for as I was leaving my lodgings this morning, a letter arrived; a letter from Bilbo! (pasted onto the page) 10th of Halimath Dearest Primula, Please accept my sincerest wishes and hearty congratulations on attaining a full Score in years and I hope you will not mind me calling upon you during the evening of your Birthday. I have arranged lodging for my own comfort so that we may sit and talk about the things you find of interest without needing to adhere too closely to time – though I appreciate you have schooling again the following day. If all goes to schedule, you may expect me about 5o’clock. Until then, I am, and always shall be, Your Friend: Bilbo Baggins. He will be here in half an hour! So little time to prepare; I arrived home at ten minutes past four o’clock and concentrated on being clean and presentable; food must be a secondary consideration, though dinner is served daily in the dining hall here at six o’clock prompt. As it’s Monday then it will be stew; I’m sure Bilbo won’t mind. Later I am much too excited to sleep! We had a wonderful time and it seems ludicrous that talk of times long since past – and that none of us living has any experience of – can fuel such passion within me. But perhaps it was the Singer and not the Song, which inspired that passion. Bilbo and I took dinner and I noted some raising of eyebrows amongst the other lodgers. It was no use trying to ignore the insinuation in the dark glances so I stood up and introduced my Cousin to my fellows! Bilbo was amused but appeared to appreciate my reasoning and fell in so easily with the squashing of their preconceptions. He engaged the occupants of the neighbouring table in conversation, telling them that our respective mothers were sisters, and relishing the startled expression on their faces. It was rather naughty of him – the way he kept on referring to my Mother as: ‘dearest Aunt Mibs’ just to drive home the innocence of our meeting. Except that – in my heart – I rather enjoyed the presumption that Bilbo was my sweetheart. Now, he has retired to his own room and will leave in the morning as I head off to school. But – there is the Party still to come, and that is set for Saturday the 24th. * 24th of Halimath I’m back in Hobbiton! Do I need to write anything more? Maybe not – but I will. The journey here seemed slow, even for a Saturday; but I knew that to have been due to my anxiety. I sat on the Cart, clutching the parcel all tied up with brown-paper and string, hoping that dear Bilbo would accept its contents in the spirit it is intended: for him to fill its pages with those words and phrases which are the embodiment of his skill as a Storyteller. ‘Bilbo Baggins; Master Storyteller’ is how I shall describe him. I ought to have inscribed the Red Book in that manner, but he might have felt it to be too constraining. It was so amusingly coincidental. I handed the parcel to Bilbo after I had unpacked my travelling-bag and we sat down to luncheon. He smiled so warmly that I felt my stomach flutter and a flush burn my cheeks. "I have a gift for you also," he said, reaching down beside his chair and handing me a smaller, slenderer packet. "What’s this?" I remember asking; stupid thing to say. "Well, let us each open our presents then we’ll both be wiser." So we did. But I kept on glancing at Bilbo; I wanted to see the reaction on his face and a great relief swept through me when his smile broadened momentarily before his lip trembled. He sighed; looked at me and said: "This is… wonderful. It must have been expensive." "Not if you do it justice by filling it," I told him. "I shall; I promise. Now then, what you hold in your hands is going to appear insignificant by comparison." That’s when I opened the gift… It too was a notebook; of similar size to my school exercise-book, but with a board-cover. "I know you keep a journal," Bilbo had said, disturbing my thoughts so that I met the merry twinkle in his eyes. "Deal kindly with any mention of me!" "Always." I can still feel the shudder in my voice as I said that one word. Had I betrayed my emotions in the way I spoke it? If I had then Bilbo never made a comment or any sign. To cover my embarrassment, I threw my arms around his neck by way of a thank you gesture; but I heard the snort of surprise. However, I dare not add interpretation to that; I took him by surprise that’s all. Bilbo has not been shown affection for a long time, I dare wager on that. We spent a lovely day with the kinfolk arriving hour by hour and all eager to celebrate Bilbo’s half-century. I must admit that it was the best party ever; my brothers and sisters came from Bucklebury and my Parents were most gracious to Bilbo. But that arrogant Drogo also put in an appearance. I cannot dwell on his attitude; suffice to say that I found it insufferable! I do not like him. * 25th of Halimath How soon the good days fly; now, here I am, back in my lodgings in Michel Delving and the Birthday Party already a memory. I wept as I made my farewells this morning. Mother and Father seemed sad to bid me farewell also, but Saradas was the only one of my kin to put it into words. "Take care, Little Sister," he said; hugging me so fiercely that I could hardly breathe. Across his shoulder, my eyes met Bilbo’s and I thought I detected a similar reluctance in them as Saradas displayed. Can it be..? I do wish it could be so. I must write to Saradas and confess my heart to him; maybe he can intercede on my behalf, for I know full well what the Elders will say against me. But before Saradas released me, he said the strangest thing: "Follow your heart, Prim. Do not let our Parents choose whom you will wed. I trust in you to hold onto your free spirit." Then he let me go and waked away. I sensed the heaviness in his heart and – though he’d not mentioned it – I suspect that the understanding between the Chubbs and our branch of the Brandybucks means that my beloved Saradas will soon be wed to Acacia Chubb. I never liked her either; for all that we’ve only ever been in each other’s company a handful of occasions. Then the awful truth dawned upon me! My brother and I have always been kindred spirits as well as blood kin, for all there are siblings between us, plus a twelve-year age-gap. It’s as if we were intended to be twins. And therein lies the route-cause for our current positions: we have been deliberately separated! Kept apart to erode the support I would naturally have given him concerning the betrothal plans. Poor Saradas. Well, I’ll not permit them to ruin his life – no! -- I shall return home and challenge these heartless decisions. I am weary of school; besides which, our lives are our own, only we can live them. Who does a loveless marriage most harm? Those within it would be my answer; the two people it should most benefit. I intend to wed where my heart dictates!

A few of Primula s journals

The journal of Primula Brandybuck By Frances Barratt Part 4 1341 SR 6th of Afterlithe Winter in Tuckborough! Not quite exile but it may as well be. Cousin Adalgrim is stern but fair so I do have some freedom. He only has one son and four daughters, so philosophically thought one more lass wouldn’t make too much difference to his household! I intend to prove him wrong on that and – ashamed though I ought to be – played the wilful child in the hope of him sending me home. He dashed my hopes. My life has been in turmoil these past months and I’ve not had the heart to put pen to paper and record any of it. Tears fall easily and often; my eyes and throat hurt from the constant shedding of them, yet nothing alleviates my misery. It’s as if last summer’s joy was some beautiful dream; not real at all. Yet when I leaf back in this miserable excuse for a Journal, my own words tell me that it all happened. Then there are the letters… Whatever would I have done without the regular delivery of Bilbo’s letters to me? His words have comforted, inspired and encouraged me, even though I detected gentle chastisement amongst his phrases. Each additional communication from him is being added to a growing bundle which I had to tie together with a blue hair-ribbon. I’ve hidden them too; I wouldn’t want any of the children to find them and maybe show Adalgrim. His wife is a calm soul and as far as blood-relatives go, Tansy is amiable and kindly disposed towards me, but she might consider it a ‘duty’ to report to my Parents if she believed I was being underhand, inasmuch as none of Bilbo’s letters are delivered here, to the house; I go and collect them from the Post Office in the town. Eighteen miles now separate Bilbo and I; the shortest distance ever… * 5th of Solmath Another Saturday has begun; another month has passed since I found sufficient need to write in this Journal. Tansy told me yesterday that I was to ‘behave myself’ as she put it, as guests were to visit today. She refused to say who is coming and I suspected it may be Mother and Father. Perhaps they are coming to take me home. At this point, I think I’d even welcome that. Evening Bilbo came! No one warned me beforehand so that when he walked into the house, I almost stopped breathing due to the shock of seeing him. Young Arnica (Tansy’s eldest daughter, who is but four years my junior) was the first at my side with words of comfort and instruction; chiefly being to take deep breaths. Whilst attempting to comply with such a simple – and instinctive – action, I couldn’t help but notice the look of fear upon the face of Esmeralda: the youngest of the brood. Somehow, her fearful expression alleviated my own anxiety and my breathing returned to normal. Naturally too, Tansy’s remedy was to go and make a pot of tea! The tea served to settle my nerves somewhat, but I placed more remedial-power in Bilbo himself. "Did no one tell you I was to come?" he asked me, taking a hand of mine -- my right one I think – between his two and patting it as he spoke. I cannot recall my actual reply but I do know that he tutted at Adalgrim and Tansy, earning himself a glower from my cousin but an apology from dear Tansy. Perhaps I am too ready to read conspiracy in the actions of my elders. If anyone were conspiring to keep Bilbo and I from meeting then I ought to have been sent somewhere today and there never was any attempt to do so. So we all spent an agreeable day together, despite the inclement weather – to be expected at this time of year. Dusk is also a drawback to these months: it descends far too early and was the cause of Bilbo leaving well before dinnertime. He wanted to be back in Hobbiton by suppertime; so he said. But before he left, he again clasped my hands in his and said softly to me: "I shall come again – soon, dear Primula." The emphasis on the word ‘dear’ being his, not mine. There I go again, reading more into something than may have been intended. He is kind to me, that’s all; after all, he is my cousin – like Adalgrim. Yet not like Adalgrim. Oh, I cannot find the words to convey on paper what I only sensed. I do solemnly swear that Bilbo has an affection for me that goes beyond the ties of kinship. * 10th of Rethe Spring is in the air; I have seen the evidence on the ground too, the first flowers of the year are sprouting and the trees are budding. How I love this season, it offers such hop… Hope; any hope that I may have had that my love might be requited seems highly improbable now. I am to return to Brandy Hall to live! The excuse being: that with spring waxing and summer on the horizon, the extended journey home for the holidays will be possible. I do not believe the reasoning; they do not want me out of their jurisdiction unless it’s absolutely necessary. But Hobbiton lies between Bucklebury and Michel Delving – and far nearer to school! Term ends on the 23rd, we have a week’s holiday and I am to go home then. All this information came to me second-hand; Adalgrim told me. No one from my own kin has come to speak to me; not even a letter for my eyes only, just a hastily delivered sentence from my Took-Cousin. "Uncle Gorbadoc says you are to leave us." I asked all the questions. Why? When? Permanently? The answers being as I have written them. Is the decision mischievous on the part of my Parents, or their selfishness? No doubt I shall be better able to judge once I reach the Hall; which will be sometime on the 25th. Oh those horrendous long journeys… * 3rd of Astron Today will be spent in travelling – again! My only consolation is in the knowledge that the Staging-coach has to stop at Bywater to feed and water the Pony. Bilbo knows this. However, since all my letters are intercepted now, there’s no way I could arrange anything definite. I have just written the confirmation of my suspicions! Somehow – I do not know how – my Father got it into his head that Bilbo has been paying me ‘undue attention’ were the words used. What does that mean? Stupid Brandybuck pride! Adalgrim’s mother is a Baggins; Aunt ‘Donna wed one too so what is the problem? Tooks, Brandybucks and Bagginses are so intertwined it’s hard to separate one from t‘other. But I heard a name mentioned in the heated argument I had with Father – a Baggins by thunder: Drogo Baggins… The pedigree is the same but the blood-tie a little more remote. The more remote Drogo Baggins is from me, the happier I shall be! I cannot abide his sickly smugness. He tries far too hard to be ‘agreeable’. No more time for this Journal but I fully intend to make time and call in upon Bilbo. * (This was the final entry in the Exercise Book that got mysteriously left at Bag-End…) 1st of Thrimmidge (Written in the Board-covered Exercise Book) Bilbo has disappeared! He hasn’t been seen since yesterday when he had a vast company of visitors – or so the Carter told me. It seems decidedly odd; there was no letter from him to warn me of an impending trip somewhere, so for him to just up and leave begs so many questions. It hasn’t been a good month as far as I was concerned. The time wasted on travelling all the way to Buckland on a weekend – and more or less being times to the minute as well, so that if the Staging-carts were in anyway delayed, I was blamed for my own late arrival! So unfair. Nor am I allowed to explain or ask why this sudden distrust of me. It makes me so sad. Saradas hinted that it’s because I am growing up. It’s true; I shall celebrate my 21st birthday this Halimath so am at that ‘in-between-age’’ the Elders fear so much – no longer a child yet not an adult either. But it’s Monday; a school-day, and I have no opportunity to make my own enquiries about Bilbo, I must again be patient. At least it will be a good discipline; a way to show everyone how mature I am. This book was Bilbo’s gift to me at my last birthday so using it he will be with me. I hope he is safe and well and that he will return – sooner rather than later. Make it so… * 25th of Forelithe He’s been gone four full weeks now. Tomorrow is the celebration of Saradas’s Coming of Age and I am allowed home from school for the occasion. Perhaps he will have heard something about Bilbo. There are travellers who come from Breeland and make a detour to our town of Bucklebury. It’s known that most folk who do travel, pass through the infamous place called Bree. It always sounds such a scary place to have to enter that if I were to go east, I’d hope to avoid it. So now to pack a small satchel for the lengthy journey back to Brandy Hall – and no hope of breaking the journey on the East Road. My heart is not in this writing so I shall close the Journal until such time as I have something worthy to enter… *

Bilbo Baggins was also invited to Primula s  birthday party

The Journal of Primula Brandybuck Part 5 By Frances Barratt 1342 Shire Reckoning 22nd of Forelithe What strange hand of Fate took me to Hobbiton on a Wednesday in mid-summer? As it’s my Final Year of school the timetable has become more relaxed and I was given leave to take a day for myself – and I chose this one. For a year now, I have lived each day as it dawned; never thinking ahead nor daring to think back. This Journal has been barren; devoid of any attempt to mark down the passage of time. But now… Now there is so much I want to write on these pages and it’s all bound up in the happenings of one single day. As I began this entry, it does seem that there is some Guiding Hand or else why would I even contemplate visiting a place I had tried so hard to forget? During these past twelve months, I had to learn to accept the general opinion that Bilbo Baggins was dead. For a hobbit to vanish without trace, or a written note, was unprecedented. Some had chosen to abandon our simple lifestyle and go adventuring, but Bilbo had never been seen as that sort. So when no logical explanation could be applied to his disappearance, folk muttered that maybe he’d not gone willingly. They pointed out the dozen strange had also come and gone with barely a word as to their business. Then there had been the appearance of the Wizard… But now I know the whole story and had it not been for gossip concerning an Auction, I might never have learned it; at least: not the truth. Much had been going on behind my back and Bilbo had more or less been warned not to seek my company unless the entire kindred were gathered together. How do I know this? Because he told me; Bilbo has returned! Just in time too as his unscrupulous Baggins-kin were about to auction Bag-End and its entire contents. Fate had guided his footsteps too and we both met on the road to the Hill. He’d hardly had time to compose himself after the shock of meeting me – shock that was mirrored in my reactions – when we saw the notice advertising An Auction. "Come along," he said, snatching at my hand. "I have to put a stop to this." Fortunately, he did, though not without a good deal of shouting and sharp words on both sides. I do not know all of the Baggins kindred, but I remember mention of the Sackville-Bagginses – spoken bitterly by Bilbo. He ushered everyone from the garden and then cleared the house too. Many asked who he was and when told, they merely laughed in his face. Yet, he looked the same hobbit to me; a mite careworn and shabby, but the same Bilbo I knew and had come to love. Finally, Bag-End fell silent and its Master closed and bolted the door. He slumped down in a chair as if he’d never leave it. Leaving him to rest, I made afternoon tea. When serving it to him, I knew at that moment that he loved me too. * 4th of Wedmath Today I Graduate from School – no more lessons! No more listening to Elders chanting tales they do not understand or attempting to reply to questions to which they have no answers. Free at last! Free to pursue my life and the friendships I most desire. Ever since our chance meeting at the aborted auction, Bilbo and I have spent all available spare time at my disposal in each other’s company. He has regaled me with the details of his long journey and apologised daily for having abandoned me. "There was no time to leave a message," he told me. "Besides, I could not be sure you would receive it even if there had been time to write one." "Our friendship is frowned upon," I remember saying – he did not deny it. Today, no-one can frown upon us speaking together. Graduation Day is a public event; friends and relations are welcomed and all are encouraged to attend. Evening It all went well I am pleased to note. Father was a mite curt when he first encountered Bilbo, but my beloved cousin soon diverted his attention by mentioning the Dragon! Father’s eyes became enlarged like saucers; he’d always dismissed talk of such creatures as myths. It took Bilbo to remind him that all myths contain a grain of truth, no matter how preposterous it may seem. That thought alone made me wonder at the truth buried in some of the Legends told to hobbits of the Shire. Tales of a Dark Lord and his Magic Ring sound more to have been invented to frighten small children into behaving themselves. But I like the part about Noble Elves lending aid to the Big Folk and together, the two Races defeating the Evil Lord. That is as it should be: a happy ending. Seldom does life offer such simple solutions. Before he left Michel Delving School, Bilbo invited me to tea at Bag-End on my way home for the last time. I accepted with gladness for neither of us knows when we might next have chance to speak at length. And so tomorrow, I pack up all my academic life and head home. I have been given leave to stay in Hobbiton for one night and resume my journey the following day. It isn’t long enough but we must be content in it; as it is, Father more or less bullied Tansy into ‘visiting’ too. To avoid any arguments, we all accepted his ruling. *

The Journal of Primula Brandybuck Part 6 By Frances Barratt 1350 Shire Reckoning 1st of Afterlithe Routine; nothing but routine. The Elders keep a close watch on me still; even Saradas has taken to telling me I ought not to grumble so much about the restrictions placed upon my movements. A new year dawns but it will probably be no different to the past seven! Ever since Bilbo returned, his numerous relations have steadily withdrawn from him – not out of fear; though that is what they claim. They seem to resent the fact that he returned at all! I do know from the murmuring that several were under the impression that Bilbo would share his ‘treasure’ amongst them. Were he to do so then no matter how vast it was, by the time he’s given over portions to the various branches of his family, then he’d have little for himself! But they don’t see it that way. Why should he share any of it? He suffered the privations and dangers so it rightly follows that he keep all the things he found. Not that anyone has seen this so-called ‘treasure’; apart from a dwarven-shield and an elven-knife, anything else is pure speculation. I heard that a dwarf went visiting last year and with him was one of the Big Folk; rumour claims him to be a Wizard. Maybe so; I’ve not seen my dear Friend in almost a year to be able to ask him. And that’s what I miss. I have to get away from here; away from my sister-in-law and the brat she spawned! How my beloved Saradas managed to father such a disagreeable child as Seredic is beyond my understanding. It proves that we must chose our life-partners with extreme care – though Saradas hardly had any say in the matter of his. Acacia Chubb was a haughty lass to begin with; but once the betrothal contracts were signed, she became insufferable. Then, once her son had been born, she behaved as if she were Mistress of Brandy Hall! That she will never be. Our elder brother’s wife will inherit that honour – eventually – and they too have a son; so Acacia can never hope to rule this roost! However, one hobbit whose arrogance had annoyed me beyond bearing, seems to have sobered with the passage of time. I know that by their encouragement of Drogo Baggins, my Parents have been attempting another union; but Drogo himself has never pursued me in that way, for which I have to admire him. Since our first meeting – almost ten years ago – the years have turned him from the fawning flatterer to the best friend Saradas could wish for. They are of an age it’s true, but their friendship has surprised us all. At least I have a friend whom my Father approves of – and one who can bring me news from Hobbiton, and that he does with increasing regularity. Oh, I know he only carries messages in order to ingratiate himself with me, but as long as he curbs the flattery then we shall remain friends. If I can teach Drogo Baggins to do things my way then I shall not turn him away from our door. * 23rd of Rethe The weather was warm and pleasant enough for me to take a long walk. I welcome spring-days, which permit me to escape from the overwhelming oppressive atmosphere that permeates Brandy Hall. In my wanderings, I took the lane leading to Bucklebury Ferry and spent a quiet hour just watching the movement of the Brandywine. At a safe distance of course. Like all hobbits, I have no wish to be closer than is necessary to any stretch of deep water. There was no passage of the Ferry today; it remained tied up on the opposite bank, and the Ferryman’s cottage on the Buckland side also seemed deserted. I was the only hobbit abroad today. My other reason for needing to be alone had come by the morning Post. A letter from Bilbo. I have to be thankful that our correspondences are no longer intercepted or censored. But I still derive comfort from seeing the awkwardly-penned name and in anticipation of his news: (Pasted onto the page) 21st of Rethe My Dear Prim, The weather is improving and so is my temper! My poor neighbours are always complaining that lack of sunlight means the lack of my humour. I find winters an increasing torment; those dismal days of meagre daylight too readily bring back memories of dark caves and eerie tunnels… you will recall me mentioning such things were the bane of my Great Adventure. When can you come to Hobbiton? My cousin Drogo keeps me informed as to your welfare; I do envy him the approval of your parents. But I should not complain to you of the matter since it is beyond your means to alter. I do so miss our long talks and wonder if you are much changed in appearance since our last meeting? Write with your news, my dear. Perhaps we can arrange an outing somewhere – soon? I remain your True Friend – Bilbo. We shall meet again, I swear it! (Draft of a letter posted to Bilbo) 23rd of Rethe Dear Bilbo, You gladden my heart by telling me that you miss our talks, for I too long to sit and speak with you. Circumstances have conspired to keep us apart – but no longer. My Parents trust Drogo and therefore he can be our go-between. Would that you too were welcomed here as readily as he, but at present, that possibility seems a long way off. But I am endeavouring to alter their perception of you! In the meantime, may I suggest we meet in Tuckboroough? I think our mutual Took relations can be trusted. I anticipate your reply and a suitable date for our ‘outing’. In Love and Friendship. Prim. * 30th of Rethe Tuckborough never was so appealing to my eyes as this day! In choosing this place for our meeting, I judged aright: the Took kindred are not as harshly disposed towards Bilbo and the Bagginses – nor the rest of his various cousins. Mother too is more liberally-minded towards her nephew; perhaps I am more Took than Brandybuck. Arnica welcomed me as if I was her sister and she was full of gossip; mostly about nothing in particular – of particular interest to me at least. She has a romantic streak which rather unfortunately does not spread further than which lad is courting what lass. That sounds a mite churlish on my part… Had my heart not been captured at so tender an age perhaps I would have been as eager as she to speculate on when the next wedding might take place – and between whom. As things are, I have no desire to look beyond the Master of Bag-End. Bless her though, she means well. I can appreciate her assessment of which are the most physically attractive lads, but there is more to a person than a pretty countenance. Beauty cannot dispel the gloom of a long winter’s evening and is no substitute for knowledge and a caring soul. However, few now see Bilbo as a caring soul; except me. Can it be that I am the only person he does care for? But I am avoiding recording something he said to me and which has troubled me. Soon after our arrival, we took leave of the others and left the house, heading towards the hills where the borders of West and South Farthing cut a trackway running roughly north-east to south-west. Bilbo was unusually quiet and once we’d put the house well behind us, I asked him if anything was wrong. He stopped; turned towards me and said: "Drogo speaks very highly of you." "I am pleased to hear it, " I replied. "I am courteous towards him; good manners cost nothing." "He has hopes for more." "Does he?" I’d not liked the way Bilbo had spoken of Drogo’s supposed intent. "Hope and reality are seldom a good match." Bilbo had sighed and fear gripped me when he took a pace closer and gazed into my eyes – much in the way that Father does when he is about to forbid me to do something. "Prim. Dear Primula, you know we can be no more than friends." "Do I?" though to hear it from him seemed to seal my Fate. "Hobbits rely upon kindred ties and the blessing of a close family. I have no close family, whilst yours regard me as an oddity." "Shame on them for their short-sightedness." "No; shame on me for giving you false hope. For encouraging you to defy your Parents and denying you the companionship of your own age-group. Listen to your Father, Prim; be guided by him and our friendship need not suffer." I couldn’t find the words to argue or even agree with him; it was as if some court had decided my Fate in my absence and even my own Defence Counsel had agreed to it. Of course, I suspected a conspiracy – though who was involved beyond my Father is a matter for me to discover – and I think I may have said so; but the hopes of the dawn had been dashed by dinnertime and I felt utterly alone. Bilbo was kind as ever and insisted on escorting me back to the Great Smials, but all joy and hope had been left out there in the Hills. If he is not permitted to love me, as I believe he wishes – and I hoped for – then I shall not wed. Drogo Baggins may be as sweet as honey and as fawning as a beaten puppy, but he shall not prevail! I SHALL NOT WED… *

Shire map

The Journal Of Primula Brandybuck By Frances Barratt Part 7 1353 Shire Reckoning 12th of Halimath Whatever happened to the last three and a half years? This Journal has been sorely neglected in that interim and I too felt decidedly neglected. Having just re-read its last entry, I bless the passage of time. Whilst none of the opinion set down has altered, the raw emotion that caused so fiery a vow to be committed to paper, has healed to a degree. One thing I have to be thankful for is my on-going friendship with Bilbo. When he initially told me that our friendship need not suffer, I did not believe him; my heart was so totally given over to him that I would have gone anywhere with him to maintain it in its original form. I did not think I had it in me to accept a loveless companionship. But I have done. So today is my Coming-of-Age; the time in every hobbit’s life when they are officially deemed to be an Adult – and free to choose their own path in Life. But I have another traveller on the Path to my Door and I know only too well what is in his heart. He will be here later this afternoon to speak first with Father; then he’ll come seeking me. There will be the delivery of a carefully-worded and rehearsed speech, to which he will expect an answer. Should I break the Vow I made in the wake of disappointment? I would like children of my own, I realise that now, so perhaps I ought to look a little more favourably on Master Drogo Baggins of Hobbiton. Evening: Just as I predicted, Drogo approached me and made his pretty speech. I remember some of it, laced as it was with obvious flattery. "Sweet Primula; Dearest – if I may make so bold as to address you," he had begun; having cornered me in the kitchen of the Hall. "You have known for some time now of my high regard for you; love and respect for your kindred has held me back from declaring it, but no longer. I love you, Primula Brandybuck – what hobbit would not? – but feel I can offer you happiness also. Oh, I am aware of your strong will; Saradas warned me that any attempt to woo you may meet with harsh dismissiveness. However, I shall not be swayed by that, as long as you will permit me to at least try to persuade you of my sincerity." His voice had been calm and gentle in its tone and delivery. All the arrogance I had so despised, seemed to have vanished. Or, he was a master-deceiver. Whatever the truth, I owe him the chance to prove himself worthy to court the youngest daughter of the Brandybuck clan. So I consented. "Master Drogo," I addressed him, "you may come courting if you think you have the time to waste on a lass who has vowed she will never wed." My intent had been to shock him into letting down his guard. "I have the time, Prim," he said in self-assurance; but I noted sincerity in his eyes. "But do you have the patience?" "Have I not been patient these past thirteen years?" he countered. There was no arguing with that, but I could not offer him my love as easily as he had declared his. "I do not love you," I said, and it came out rather coldly. "No, not yet, but I hope you may come to love me." "Hope costs nothing," and that was all I could reply, but he accepted it. Post-script: My actual birthday celebrations were joyous and at least Bilbo had attended – as I’d hoped. Our contact has been limited of late and I grow more of the opinion that he was warned away from me. He’s never hinted of course, but such radical changes always have a cause, and his eyes kept straying in my direction this evening. He is Father’s guest tonight and has to leave in the morning so I must be up early and take a few moments with him. Dear Bilbo, my heart still yearns for what has been denied us. * 13th of Halimath Gone! Bilbo has gone and I cannot believe it was with such speed. I arose early in order to wish him a safe journey and caught him in the process of packing the last remaining items into his satchel in readiness to walk to the Ferry. Ever independent, he declined to wait for a cart. "I can be there in the time wasted on the timekeeping of a carter," he’d said to me. Had I truly detected a quiver in his voice? I know that he could barely meet my eyes so I blurted out what the hours of darkness had been repeating in my brain. "I’ll always love you," I told him. His face as he turned his gaze on me appeared a maelstrom of emotions. He shook his head. "They’ll never allow it," he whispered. "They cannot command my heart," I recall saying defiantly. Then – as the sun struggled to illuminate the passage – Bilbo darted towards me and hastily kissed my mouth. My reactions froze in the surprise of the moment. He’d not laid a finger on me, yet that brief moment of contact ripped through me like a red-hot branding-iron. I think I gasped his name; blinked, but he’d gone when I next looked for him. I’d run to the door and down towards the road, desperately calling out for him to stop, but he didn’t. Something told me that he hadn’t dared to; that he had to go forward and accept the will of my kin. My kin! I am ashamed to own that I am a Brandybuck. But the Took side of my bloodstock rose up in defiance and I screamed into the autumn dawn: "You are my one true love, Bilbo Baggins!" For a heartbeat his footsteps faltered and I saw his shoulders slump – then rise in grim determination and turn. He raised a hand then blew me a kiss! I saw his lips move and I’ll never know if he spoke or imagination set the sound in my ears. The word was not of our tongue because there was a rich lilt to it, but I remember its sound… nam – are – ee – ay. * When I returned to the Hall it was to the image of Cousin Adalgrim’s youngest daughter busily setting the table in the dining room ready for breakfast. On hearing me enter, she turned and smiled. "I know you won’t be hungry," she said, "so you can help me serve.2 "How can you judge my appetite?" I replied. "I just know," and she carried on with her task. It seemed churlish to scoff because she had guessed aright; yet she’d not been cognisant of my departing cousin. Or had she? "You were spying?" I accused. "No; just observant of your actions last night. I sense what is in your heart," and she said it in so wise a fashion it begged belief. A cold chill coursed down my spine and I questioned her further. "You… you delve into the Arts?" "No, Cousin – not delve. I am shown things." It frightened me a little. I knew that a Wizard had visited Bilbo and to hear the lass speaking of… magical things was a mite disconcerting. "Then tell me my future," I challenged. She shook her head. "Even if I knew – which I do not – I would not tell you." "Why not?" I demanded. "Because, unless you liked what you heard, you would refuse to believe me." "Then what is the purpose of foresight?" "To prepare us." "So you know why Bilbo and I are forbidden to love each other." I’d got no answer for that and I pursued her. "Esmeralda, please tell me. Please." "You know why." She was right, I have always known why. "Shall I cook the eggs or cut the bread?" I asked her. "The bread; my hands are shaky this morning," she smiled. "Then take care not to burn them on the pan, Esme." "Esme? Mm, I like that. Shall we be friends then – Prim?" "If you do not mind our age difference." "No; no, I think age is a matter of the head and heart, not the years on a calendar." "Friends we shall be then." And I believe we shall. *

The Journal of Primula Brandybuck By Frances Barratt Part 8 1356 Shire Reckoning 8th of Astron It should have been just a normal Saturday doing routine things; but normality has been swept aside in the floods which have hit hard and fast at all the land bordering our river-system. Floodwaters do not just bury pasture; they create a deadlier enemy – mudslides. Though hobbits cannot swim, face with the prospect of drowning or striking for the surface, most make it back to land. Not so with mud. It strikes with the force and density of an avalanche or falling trees, suffocating any creature unfortunate enough to be in its path. Which is what happened to Madoc Hornblower. Poor Esme… My hand shakes as I recall her expectant face. None of us ever imagines that death will claim one so young. Twenty years old is no age to face extinction. She and Madoc were so much in love, that much I knew; though others dismissed it as ‘puppy love’ or even ‘friendship’. Love is born out of friendship – as I know only too well – and can withstand anything Fate throws at it. Whether it can survive the brutal separation from its other self, I know not. The separation I have endured these past three years has been a softer severing; painful, but at least I had the chance to prepare. Esme has not had that chance. I feel she will need the comfort that someone such as I can offer. At least I hope she will accept my offer. * 12th of Astron Just as swiftly as they arose, the floods subsided – and we buried Madoc today. I took it upon myself to stand beside Esme at the funeral and remained close to her during the Wake that followed. There wasn’t a lot to celebrate of the life of a twenty-year-old, except his temperament and good nature, so that was the repeated cry as flagons of ale and cups of wine were held aloft. "To Madoc: never had a bad word to say about any hobbit." Or: "Madoc the Generous, may he find as much generosity in the Hereafter." Empty words to those who grieve. One other offered a sympathetic ear to Esme: my nephew Saradoc; Rory’s lad. He is of an age with Esme and I know him to have been on friendly terms with Madoc. It doesn’t take a Wizard to know that our Saradoc was sweet on Esme long before this tragedy, but seeing that she and Madoc were bound to each other, he remained in the background. My senses tell me that a match may be forthcoming. But time needs to pass before it becomes reality. How much time, I cannot tell. * 16th of Forelithe Today is Thursday; nothing special about Thursdays as a rule but this one was different. Summer is here at last; after suffering a wet spring and the floods that robbed my closest friend of her sweetheart, I never thought to see sunshine again. Fate deals us peculiar cards sometimes. We come to appreciate Life isn’t as it presents itself and blot out all hankering for things that might have been. I never thought to confess this, but I too have made a new friend – a male friend that is. Whilst Esme and our Saradoc found mutual comfort in each other’s company, my dear Brother Saradas opened my eyes to the goodness within Drogo Baggins. Word and deed convinced me that I had cruelly misjudged the hobbit. Perhaps the solemnity of Madoc’s death had woken his inner compassion, for, ever since the Wake, Drogo became more sober; more like Saradas in fact. All the former taunts and caustic remarks about being the ‘poor relation’ of the Bagginses, ceased to be spoken. He mellowed; yes, that’s it – mellowed. Yet I do not believe his new demeanour to be a fabrication intended to dupe anyone – least of all me. It’s almost ten weeks since the tragedy and not one weekend has passed but Drogo has visited our kindred. Oh, I am well aware that Father approves of this and have long known that he desires for me to wed Master Baggins. Mother – in the forthright manner of the Tooks – has been a mite more cautious. Probably, like all mothers, she better understands the emotional commitment needed for wedlock. Esme’s grandmother was a Baggins, so if I wed Drogo, our kinship would become closer than ever. I’ve just read that line again. Me? Wed Drogo? He’s not yet hinted at such a thing! He’s coming again on Saturday and he wants to take me in a boat! Using the Ferry is as close to water that I want to be but he insisted that boats are safe when the river is calm. Dare I trust him? I’ll ask Saradas for his opinion. Later Saradas confided to me that there is an ulterior motive for Drogo having suggested the boat-trip. He told me that Drogo Baggins wants my undivided attention as he has a more serious proposal to make! Surely he dare not suggest that we wed? I’d asked the question directly and my wonderful brother laughed at me! "Sweet Sister," he said, spluttering at me as he spoke. "I do not think he will suggest that – not yet at least!" I felt relieved; nevertheless, I insisted Saradas tell me all he knew of Master Baggins’s intent. "He wishes to court you, Prim: to get to know you on a more personal level. You need not be alarmed." Alarmed? No, I was not alarmed; in fact, I felt rather flattered. My self-assurance had kept all such offers at arms’ length since my Coming-of-Age – and the finality of Bilbo’s farewell. I hope he’ll be happy for me. *

The Journal of Primula Brandybuck By Frances Barratt Part 9 18th of Forelithe I enjoyed the boat-trip! The weather was perfect that much is true, so the river waters remained calm, but the atmosphere is difficult to describe. Sitting in a small, wooden vessel, out in the very centre of the Brandywine is something I will remember for the rest of my life. Dragonflies gliding amongst the reeds on the riverbank. Sunlight bouncing off the glass-like water. Myriad colours spreading from the draught of the oars – so much to describe; virtually impossible to do it justice. And then there was Drogo Baggins… Perhaps my girlhood opinion of him was born out of childish ignorance, for I cannot fault his manners or courtesy in general. He talked on every subject known to hobbits. Of course, he may well have been tutored by my beloved Saradas in the topics dear to my heart, but despite that suspicion I have to admire his courage and tenacity. The day just flew by and I cannot in all honesty account for every hour. When we parted company and he met the staging-cart bound for Hobbiton, I was mindful of his destination for the first time. Hobbiton; home of my dear friend Bilbo Baggins, whose name and person had not even entered my head this day. And so I end this entry with a question. Was my love for Bilbo another foolish childhood fancy? * 12th of Halimath What an extra-ordinary birthday I have to report! The entire Hall was abuzz from the moment I awoke until just a few minutes past. Like a veritable beehive, hobbits were swarming along the passages of our home, avoiding collisions with as much skill as honeybees on sunflowers. And all of it for my benefit. I have to say now, no Lass was ever so deliciously spoiled; not even my Coming-of-Age felt so grand. Perhaps because it was overshadowed in my consciousness by parting company with Bilbo. I lost one friend that day and gained a new one. Esme has become my conscience during these past three years. She has shored up my flagging spirits and helped me to carve out a new life for myself. Cousin Adalgrim’s youngest bairn grew into the sister of my imaginings; all born out of a common understanding of loss and grief. My two blood-sisters were never as close to me -- never! – not even during my own infancy. Amaranth and Asphodel were always far too interested in their own lives to take note of mine; in all honesty, of my half-dozen siblings, only Saradas proved selfless in that regard. But he is also responsible for establishing Drogo Baggins as part of this renewed life. Mister Drogo Baggins of Hobbiton has become an immigrant to Buckland! He fawns upon me, everyone comments upon it. Were I not as level-headed as I pride myself upon being, then his attention would have robbed me of all resistance. Except, I know the nature of the game. He has Father’s blessing and even complicity in his endeavours. I am waiting for the contrived excuse for him moving into Brandy Hall as a permanent resident! However, that’s by-the-by. Drogo remains courteous and has endless patience. Mother though, does not appear to be as totally besotted by Mister Baggins as Father is. I know I am the last child and the one still unwed, but at 36-years-old, I can afford to wait a little longer. The ‘extra-ordinary’ factor of today was in the attendance of Bilbo. I was greatly surprised by his arrival and that Father seemed pleased to see him. Perhaps he thought – or thinks still – that Bilbo and I do not care for each other anymore. Well, he’s wrong! How can I abandon, or even ignore, what friendship we once had? That hobbit shaped my mind more surely than any of the teachers at Michel Delving; for that alone I will always love Bilbo Baggins. I cannot deny that it hurt a little to see him today, standing in our Great Passage, looking extremely nervous and hardly daring to raise his eyes. But I was glad that Saradas soothed the awkwardness so that I even had a couple of dances with my truest friend. Esme came up to me when Bilbo had departed for Hobbiton. She said… let me try to recall her exact words. Ah, yes. "He will be immortalised; not just in your heart, but in flesh too." I cannot pretend to understand, nor do I have energy enough to decipher it this evening. Perhaps tomorrow it will make sense. * 27th of Blotmath Saturday again and just one month of this year remains. Mother was taken ill last month; the weather turned decidedly unseasonable and added ague to her discomfort. I heard it whispered that her health had never been perfect after I was born. Seven of us she brought into this world, yet she was one of eleven! I hope not to have so large a brood; to have mind and body always tied to the rearing of children cannot be entirely as the Creator intended. If there is a Creator of course; that subject has never been a topic of discussion in the Hall. Father always muttered about: "The way things are," or that: "All is as it’s meant to be." As a small child, I accepted it and found it a comfort; but growing up and reading the books in our Library, I learned that it is possible to change the course of history for the better – or is Evil the intention of the Creator too? No time to dwell on the matter, even on such a fog-bound and dismal day. Drogo is due here – if the staging-cart hasn’t taken a wrong turn and fallen into the Brandywine! – and Father has invited him to stay until Monday. I tried to explain that Mister Drogo Baggins had business to attend upon – he is a corn-merchant and very successful too – but my common sense was pushed aside. "Your Mother will be pleased to have the company now she’s on the mend," he excused. For her part, Mother remained silent and I took it to mean that she agreed with me; but once Father makes a decision, we all have to abide by it. I wonder how Drogo Baggins would fare in a difference of opinion! Evening He’s here! Drogo Baggins has been given one of the guest-rooms and Father fawned upon him as if he was the Mayor! For all that I have grown accustomed to Mister Baggins (the younger), seeing him pampered and praised made me feel a little sick; even Saradas commented upon it at supper. His shrew of a wife was busy putting their toad of a son (how ungracious I sound!) to bed – their absence was a relief rather than a loss – and my Brother sought my company as he often does. That was a match our Father contrived and my misgivings have borne fruit. Acacia Chubb is a bitter-tongued person who looks down her nose at virtually everyone. Her gaze is now focusing upon Esme since she formed a friendship with Saradoc Brandybuck; our Rory’s lad. Saradoc is the natural heir to Brandy Hall of course and Acacia resents being wed to the second brother of the kindred. Rory doesn’t like his sister-in-law anymore than I do, but I fear she’ll make trouble one day for the kinfolk. But no more of this. I must put down my pen and go to my bed. There are plans to be made for the coming Yule festivities and I do not intend anyone to spoil this year’s celebrations. I wonder if I could contrive to get Bilbo invited…

The journal of Primula Brandybuck by- Frances Barratt Part 10 1358 Shire Reckoning 3rd of Rethe Tomorrow I am going into Hobbiton for the first time in a long while. The past 18 or more months have been a settled and quiet time for me; or I have become accustomed to the routine of life here. Every morning I awake around seven of the clock and make my way into the kitchen where Betony is more than pleased to have me help in the preparation of breakfast. It’s something I enjoy – it makes me feel useful. Father has become rather fractious of late. He hovers around me like some great spider watching a fly caught in its web. Mercy! What an analogy! Too harsh, Primula; far too harsh. He would see me settled, I know that; the last of his children. Mother’s health is a concern too, for all of us. She attempts to conceal it but doesn’t always succeed; nor does she speak of it. Whenever I have asked her where the pain is, she has stood up straight and denied any such thing. But I have heard whispers. It creeps about her; slowly robbing her of movement, and the most frightening thing I overheard is that it is common amongst her kindred. Rather would I be carried off in a storm – like poor Madoc – than to linger and die by inches… Ah, Mother, where is there a miracle when it is needed? Drogo wants an answer and I cannot give him the one he wants to hear, not while my Mother needs me. But I owe it to him to tell him face to face and since he cannot come to the Hall at present, then I intend to go to him. Chances are that I may run into Bilbo during my visit. I must record that the prospect is a mite daunting; I see so little of him these days and whenever I do, it awakens that Great Wish in my heart and makes me discontent. What to do – remain a spinster and nurse my impossible love; or wed with a hobbit who has the utmost respect for, and loves me with all of his heart? Head or heart? Or half of each… * 4th of Rethe It’s become a habit to bring this Journal on any journey that I make; this being no exception. The actual travelling part was pleasant, it being springtime, and reminiscent of those days when I regularly came by the same route on my way to school. Sixteen years since Graduation; 16 years… My destination on this occasion was the Old Grange out to the west of the Hobbiton Road and north of The Water. Drogo has a dwelling nearby the Granary from where he supervises the sharing-out of corn and the marketing of the surplus. To reach his home I had to pass Bagshot Row with its view of Bag-End above it. The urge to call a halt of the Cart almost overwhelmed me and my resolve weakened. But I put head over heart and averted my eyes. And so the Cart set me down before the home of Drogo Baggins, whom I will wed. He greeted me with all the proper respect and formalities; afternoon tea had been laid out in his comfortable parlour, served to me by a matronly hobbit whose name I do not know. She was a shadowy presence all the time; there to ease my mind I suppose, but if truth be told, she made me nervous. However, I accepted her role and tried to be polite in return. When she did leave the room – to clear away the tea-things – Drogo came and sat beside me and I knew the time had come. "My dear Primula," he began, edging forward so that he could face me. "Prim; you know my heart has long been given over to the love of you. Therefore, would you consent to be my wife?" Hearing the words sent a cold shiver down my spine, yet there could not be any further delay. Summoning up courage to speak honestly, I gave my answer thus: "Master Baggins, our relationship has not always been congenial; in fact, at first, I did not care at all for your arrogant manner. But," and I had to forestall his interruption. "But over the years I have come to respect your patience – and tenacity!" I added with a smile; which seemed to brighten his spirits. "Therefore, I can no longer hold back what is in my heart. I… like you, Drogo; whether it can be said to be love only time will tell. Which is why I am agreeing to betrothal; the wedding must wait." He had interrupted and tried to dissuade me, but I insisted on giving the reason for this further delay. "My Mother is sick and needs me far more than you do." "Perhaps seeing her youngest child wedded and settled would improve her health," he’d reasoned. "It might; it might also make her worse and that I cannot – will not – risk. Let us present her with the news of our betrothal; judge the reaction and proceed from there. Please, Drogo, do this for me." "As you wish. When may we celebrate this… consolation?" "On my birthday." "Your birthday?" he’d said, with some degree of scorn I might say. "That’s six months away." "Yes; time for you to have the Harvest safely gathered and know your profit for the year." As I write this I can still see the expression on his face. The initial disappointment had blended into anger and then mistrust. He believed that I was deliberately keeping him at arms’ length, so I offered him the chance to retract his proposal. He declined. "I will hold to the bargain," he said. "But no longer than two years." "So be it." The remainder of the day was spent in a guided tour of Drogo’s holdings. I think he might have hoped to impress me with the place; hoped I would change my mind and bring forward the wedding date. My heart will not permit me; and I have to be true to my heart. * 12th of Halimath Today is my birthday and the agreed day to celebrate my betrothal to Drogo. I placed my Mother’s health as the prime reason for delaying it and she is markedly better now. She knows my reluctance and the reasoning behind it because it was actually spoken of – privately, just between the two of us, but I recall her words to me… "Do not be bullied into this union, my Sweet; wedlock can be a terrible burden if not entered into with a joyous heart. I can see into your heart and its reluctance where Drogo is concerned. Your Father would not be pleased if you undid the Betrothal, but he loves you, Prim and that will be your redemption. End it now if you must; do not give the lad any false hope of your loyalty as his wife – I beg you!" She had become so passionate by the time she uttered those last few words that I wondered if she had been given some foresight into my destiny. When I asked her about it, all she answered was: "I trust you to do what is right." Right? For whom? Her reply? "Your Cousin cannot come to your rescue, Prim. That Dream died a long time ago. Let it go; let it go, Lass." I wept then. Wept for what I know can never be. Wept for the only option left to me. Wept because I had caused my Mother grief. I promised her that I will wed Drogo in two years’ time. Two years in which he can build our own hobbit-home… *

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