[Disclaimer: No cows were harmed in the making of this fairytale. And there’s no such thing as a stock cube staircase. At least not one you can climb.]
Jock loved spending the summer holidays at his Granny’s cottage by the sea. After a glass of milk and a buttery for breakfast, he’d spend the morning playing on the beach and the afternoon playing on the hay bales in the field. Until it was time for supper, Jock’s favourite time of day. Jock’s Granny made the best mince and tatties. He liked watching her crumble a stock cube into the mince while it cooked.
One morning after breakfast, Jock took the last stock cube from Granny’s cupboard and put it in his pocket. He spent the morning playing on the beach and the afternoon playing on the hay bales in the field. And when it was almost supper-time, Jock remembered the stock cube in his pocket. He took it out, unwrapped it and crumbled it through his fingers into the soil.
There was no mince and tatties for supper that night. Granny had run out of stock cubes. Jock sat quietly eating his tattie soup. He felt bad about wasting Granny’s last stock cube and he went to bed a guilty little boy. Granny stayed up listening to her Daniel O’Donnell records.
When Jock looked out of the bedroom window the following morning, he could not believe his eyes. Stretching far into the sky was a staircase made of giant stock cubes. Jock wondered if he had anything to do with it. After a glass of milk and two butteries, Jock set out to climb it.
Climbing a stock cube staircase was hard work. When Jock got to the top, he stood in an enormous field with a huge barn in the distance. Jock walked over to the barn and peeped inside. He was amazed to see a pile of golden coins. As he gathered the coins, the ground began to shake. The barn rattled and Jock trembled, the sound of giant hoof-steps growing louder. Jock hid in the hay as a giant cow burst into the barn shouting:
How now brown cow,
I smell the blood of a Scotsman now,
Be he alive or be he dead,
I’ll grind his bones and break his head.
Jock was terrified. The giant cow was bound to find him. But after a while it stopped stomping around and fell asleep. While the cow snored, Jock crept out of the barn with the golden coins. He darted across the field and scrambled down the stock cube staircase.
Jock showed Granny the coins, but she wasn’t impressed. ‘How am I going to spend them in the shops? And don’t you be climbing that staircase! You stay away from it, you hear?’
Jock promised his Granny he’d never go near the staircase again.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. What if there were more riches up there? Something of more use to his Granny than a pile of golden coins …
One morning, after a glass of milk and two butteries, Jock set out to climb the staircase again. This time, when he peeped inside the barn, he was amazed to see a hen laying golden eggs. As he picked up the hen, the ground began to shake. The barn rattled and Jock trembled, the sound of giant hoof-steps growing louder. Jock hid in the hay as the giant cow burst into the barn shouting:
How now brown cow,
I smell the blood of a Scotsman now,
Be he alive or be he dead,
I’ll grind his bones and break his head.
Jock was petrified. The giant cow would surely find him! But after a while it stopped stomping around and fell asleep. While the cow snored, Jock crept out of the barn with the hen. He darted across the field and scrambled down the stock cube staircase.
Jock showed Granny the hen, but she wasn’t impressed. ‘‘How can I make an omelette with golden eggs? And don’t you be climbing that staircase! You stay away from it, you hear?’
Jock promised his Granny he’d never go near the staircase again.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. What if there was more up there? Something of more use to his Granny than a hen that laid golden eggs …
One morning, after a glass of milk and two butteries, Jock set out to climb the staircase again. This time, when he peeped inside the barn, he was amazed to see a golden harp playing all by itself. As he picked up the harp, the ground began to shake. The barn rattled and Jock trembled, the sound of giant hoof-steps growing louder. Jock hid in the hay as the giant cow burst into the barn shouting:
How now brown cow,
I smell the blood of a Scotsman now,
Be he alive or be he dead,
I’ll grind his bones and break his head.
Jock was terrified. This time, the giant cow would surely find him. But after a while it stopped stomping around and fell asleep. While the cow snored, Jock crept out of the barn with the harp. But the harp began to play and the cow woke up with a bloodcurdling ‘MMMMMMMOOOOOOO!’
Jock froze for a second then ran out of the barn and darted across the field, the cow giving chase. Jock scrambled down the stock cube staircase, thinking ‘cows can’t climb down stairs’. But this one could – and it looked furious. Jock cried like a coward (someone who’s afraid of cows).
It started to rain and the stairs felt soft under Jock’s feet. He reached the bottom just in time. The staircase dissolved into a stock cube loch and the cow splashed into it and disappeared. ‘Phew!’ said Jock.
‘MMMMMMMOOOOOOOO!’ said the cow, rising from the loch ten times scarier and ten times angrier. This was one mad cow.
Hearing all the noise, Granny came rushing from her cottage. She threw her knitting needles at the cow, but they bounced off. She threw pots and pans at the cow, but they had no effect. Nothing seemed to work. Anything you threw at the cow only made it madder.
‘MMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOO!’
Jock took stock of the situation. He had an idea! He ran in to the cottage and switched on Granny’s record player, blasting Daniel O’Donnell out of the window at full volume. The cow looked confused. It began to stagger. Granny’s music was making it ill.
Granny ran to the kitchen and got her hands on the deadliest weapon you could throw at your enemy: a stale buttery. Such is the lethal power of the Scottish croissant when it’s past its best. Granny chucked the buttery and it struck the cow squarely on the head. The cow went down like a bag of tatties and Granny and Jock cheered.
Granny called the butcher and asked if he’d come and collect the cow. ‘You’re going to need a bigger van,’ she said.
Granny didn’t need to buy mince for a long time after that. And people came from miles around to see the stock cube loch and hear Granny tell how she and her grandson toppled the Loch Stock Monster. Everyone left with a ladleful of stock as a souvenir. Granny charged them for it of course. (She called it her stock market.)
Granny sold the golden coins and the hen that laid the golden eggs, but Jock made her keep the golden harp. It did a good job of drowning out Daniel O’ Donnell.
Connections
