The true story of
the Beast of
Bradford
B
radford was once a poor village surrounded by a dense dark forest. The only big building was a castle. The only rich person was the Baron who lived in the castle and ruled over the village just as his fathers had done before him. Now the Baron was old – he lay sick on his bed and he knew that he soon would die, but he had no children. Who would inherit his money and his castle and the village of Bradford?
I
n the dense dark forest lived a wild Beast who would charge, snorting and slavering at anyone it ever spied with its small red eyes. The Beast stalked through the woods, the moonlight glinting on its yellow tusks. The people of the village were scared. And so they should be – hadn’t the Beast entered the village houses one night, smashing everything it could see with its small red eyes? The Baron had a plan – he would put an end to the Beast and find a brave and cunning person to inherit all his wealth. He decreed that whoever could prove that he (or even she) had killed the Beast would inherit all his money, and the castle, and the whole of Bradford too.
N
ow there was a young girl whose job was to cut fence stakes from wood in the forest. She sharpened the stakes to a fine point with a knife. One day she was returning from her work with a bundle of stakes when she heard a snort from behind a tree. The Beast! She dropped the stakes, and one of them wedged itself against a tangle of roots with the very sharp hard point sticking out. The Beast was angry as ever. It charged, but the girl jumped swiftly aside...
T
he Beast ran straight at the stake which went right through its heart. Letting out a great roar, the Beast died.
The girl could not believe her luck – she had killed the Beast! It seemed like a gift from Heaven. She took out her knife and cut the huge black tongue from the Beast’s gaping mouth. She coiled the wet slippery tongue into a neat spiral, wrapped it in her scarf and set off with it to the Baron’s castle to claim the reward.
M
eanwhile a hunter riding through the forest heard the Beast’s roar. Trembling, he drew his sword – but then he saw it – there in a pool of blood, impaled on a wooden stake and dead as night, lay the Beast. It seemed like a gift from Heaven. He cut off the head, and, never noticing that the tongue was missing, wrapped it in a cloth and rode off with it to the castle. “I have the head of the Beast” he shouted as he rode up to the castle gate.
T
he Baron was lying in his chamber when the hunter entered with the stinking blood-soaked bundle.
“See - I have killed the Beast.” he lied as he unwrapped the head. The Baron looked at the hunter, then at the dripping head there was a long silence while he summoned all his strength. “Well done my son, you have earned your reward” he said. And these were the last words he spoke, for at that moment he died.
B
ut the girl who had really killed the Beast was running towards the castle with its coiled-up tongue. She arrived breathless at the castle gate. “Let me in, I have killed the Beast” she panted.“Be off with you, you lying wretch!” shouted the gatekeeper “or I’ll lock you in the dungeon.” “But I have the tongue” “I’ll give you tongue – and I’ll give you the sharp edge of my sword if you don’t run off as quick as you came – and never come back!” What could she do? She turned and ran home as fast as she could. But on the way, she buried the coiled-up tongue in a secret spot in the woods.
M
any years passed. The castle crumbled to dust and Bradford became a city, ruled over by the hunter’s descendants.
But what of the tongue? It is still buried somewhere, waiting to uncoil and speak the truth.
This story is based loosely on a 14th century tale of treachery and a fearsome boar from Cliffe Woods which terrorised the people of Bradford.
The Boar’s Head (without a tongue) appears on the Bradford coat of arms.
Words and pictures by Mike Barrett
FROGPRINTS www.frogsdesign.co.ok