Once upon a time... there was a boy named Tom Johnson who lived in Leicester with his seven brothers and sisters. Tom was born into a wealthy family and was sent to the best private school in Leicester. Unfortunately, Tom had an evil, greedy aunt and uncle who had no children of their own and so adopted him when he was 12, in order to keep their money within the family. Tom was forced to change his name to Tom Fielding Johnson. Sadly, (being from a wealthy family) his life had been planned for him and he constantly had to suffer the whims of his aunt and uncle, and his mother and father, who all sought to use him as a pawn in their chess game of success and business. Tom became a very wealthy textile merchant, but he was never truly happy. Misfortune struck his life again and again; with the death of his first wife, then the death of his son, then the death of his second son from his second wife. Yes, these were hard times (the early 20th c) it always seems so at least. Never a break for these people.
Tom, though very wealthy, was also a very generous philanthropist. His great contribution to the city of Leicester was the donation of 37 acres to the formation of a college and a school on asylum land. Yes... most of this property consisted of the Leicestershire Lunatic Asylum and the asylum grounds. The old asylum had seen deaths and tragedies, horrors and, on the whole, really really crazy people... For 70 years this building was a medical nightmare, until mysteriously, the patients and all who lived their vanished... Okay, they didn't vanish exactly. They were moved to another building, a new building, one without so much creepy history. Anyway, the building remained empty for 7 years, and wayward passersby swore they could still hear the screams of the patients and mad laughter floating from the empty corridors. Okay... maybe they did, maybe they didn't. There aren't technically any recorded accounts. But they probably did.
Well, the building sat cold and forbearing, looming over the town and drowning the streets in shadows from its monstrous wings. No one dared to go near this haunted building, except actually they did, because kids would dare their friends... so yeah literally people were dared to go near it. Also, the army was fed up with all this "haunted" nonsense and to prove their bravery, they set up a medical ward for wounded soldiers inside those hallowed walls. Eventually, the building was actually used for its intended purpose and became part of the college, adopting the name: The Fielding Johnson Building. The College House, which was connected to the asylum, became the quarters for the college headmaster. Creepy. I wouldn't live there. But you know who did live there? Freddie Attenborough who had two sons; the nature documentary guy and the old guy from Jurassic Park (David and Dickie, respectively). Yes, David and Dickie had many adventures roaming the haunted campus. One time, Dickie locked David in one of the old padded cells that still remained from the building's past as a loony bin.
Tom's old private school is now The New Walk Museum (Hooray for New Walk, it probably made a better private school). Tom was also given The Freedom of the City (whatever the hell that is) in a silver casket that is now housed within the museum. But in my opinion, why did he even get The Freedom of the City? He was probably scared shitless out of the prospect of owning an Insane Asylum and couldn't wait to get the thing off his hands. I know if I owned that property the first thing I would do is donate it to whatever fool I could convince that it wasn't haunted...
Today, the Fielding Johnson Building consists of a bunch of offices including the Cashier's Office, the Registrar's Office, etc. etc... The University of Leicester would like to stress that the Fielding Johnson Building is now a very pleasant and comfortable working environment for University Staff... but I doubt it. I would be surprised if a disembodied voice wasn't heard at some point during the work day... or that the last worker to leave for the night doesn't shudder as they walk the silent, dark halls alone.
Once upon a time... there lived an evil king who reigned over all of England. Actually, he wasn't so evil, it's just that everyone was against him. And that can make a person a little mad, that's all. Anyway, this king always got the short end of the stick. People were always spreading rumors about how bad of a guy he was, and making up stuff about him being a cripple. As you can imagine, the king was very upset about all this. He hired an artist to portray his likeness in a painting and it was beautiful... until a bunch of snot-nosed kids decided to deface the painting, turning him into a hunchback.
"Seriously now! What did I do to deserve this?" Asked the king. Then he cried himself to sleep, as he did almost every night. Nobody loved him. Actually, no, somebody did love him; his wife, the Earl of Warwick's daughter. Ahhh isn't it nice how everything just kind of comes full circle? Well, he was never appreciated. Being the youngest of eight children, you think he would be used to this by now. Most people accused him of being a child-killer though, which even I think is a little harsh considering the lack of proof. Poor, poor king.
"You are not the rightful heir to the throne!" Cried the gentry.
"You are a conniving, lying fool!" Spat one of the king's best "buds," Henry Stafford, which just goes to show you that friends in those days weren't worth much.
"Run away. Run away and never return," snarled Scar.
Anyway, Henry Stafford, that double-crossing back-stabber, sailed to England to dethrone his "friend" but a rainstorm made him turn his ships back around, serves him right. Still, a bunch of guys managed to form a rebellion and the king was called for battle in Leicester. Sulking about his ill luck and misfortune, the king decided to see a very wise and very famous seer in the town before the battle.
"Oh wise seer, please, tell me some good news. Frankly, I don't know if I can handle another let-down," the king grumbled. The seer swirled a hand over a crystal ball and said:
"You will trip on the way into battle, and you will bump your head on the same spot on the way out." The seer glanced at the king. "Sorry," he added as a footnote.
"Son of a bitch!" Cried the king. Glumly, he headed off to battle. Passing over Bow Bridge, he promptly tripped and fell in the mud.
"Oh I'll show them! I'll show them all!" He shouted. But no, he wouldn't show them all. Not long after, he was surrounded and killed by the rebellion.
But even in death, there was no escape for the pitiful king. The rebels threw his body unceremoniously over a horse and preceded to carry him back over Bow Bridge. As the seer predicted, his body slipped sideways off the horse, and his head hit the same spot where he stubbed his toe. He was buried at Greyfriar's Church, but about 50 years later his body was dug up by a bunch of idiots and thrown in the river.
Today, a monument stands to commemorate this king; the last English king to die during battle. He was given a mighty sword and a handsome shield... but dumb idiot kids broke off his sword and threw it in the river. Then his sword was replaced by another sword, and that sword was broken off and thrown in the river. So now, he holds a tiny dagger. Thus is the story of poor Richard III of England, who has a statue in the castle gardens. And college kids pass by his statue and laugh at his tiny sword.
Once upon a time... there lived a poor milkmaid who owned only one cow. This was no ordinary cow, but a giant cow (it was also previously owned by a giant, but somehow this cow fell into the hands of a regular milkmaid, probably the milkmaid stole it.) Anyway, this cow, although of massive proportion, could be milked once a day and once a day only. The milkmaid, knowing this, filled her pail and turned to leave for the day. Well, she thought, it's such a giant cow, there must be loads of milk in those udders... and whipped out her sieve and began to fill it. The cow, noting the girl's clear disregard for its welfare and personal limits, immediately became enraged and started kicking everything in sight. The girl shrieked and tried to run but the cow trampled everything in its path and kept going, out of the barn, and into the central courtyard.
"MOOOOOOOO!" roared the cow, madness flaring in its eyes, and continued its reign of terror and destruction.
"Can no one save us!?" cried the townspeople. They looked at the falconer.
"I can't, I have bird flu," said the falconer. The townspeople looked at the sword smith.
"I can't, I have cramps," said the sword smith. The cow loudly stomped someone's legs off in the background.
Finally, Guy of Warwick let out a long sigh and said: "I suppose, if no one else will..." and grabbed his bow and arrow. The townspeople eagerly pushed Guy of Warwick out to the front of the group. Guy of Warwick cocked his bow, took careful aim, and let loose a volley of arrows on the giant cow. The cow, who was in the middle of squashing legs, looked the archer square in the eye and stomped a couple more times for good measure, clearly unhindered by the arrows sticking out of its back. Then the cow let out a terrible battle cry and flung itself at Guy of Warwick. Guy of Warwick was completely surprised and didn't even have time to yell "Oh fuck" before the cow was beating him to the ground with its hooves. Guy of Warwick then spent a lot of time whimpering, in the fetal position, under the cow's massive hooves, before rolling over and punching the cow in the udders.
"Take that!" He yelled and sucker-punched the cow in the privates.
"MOOOOOHOOOHOOO OHHH OWWWWWW" cried the cow, clutching at its udders.
While the cow was currently incapacitated, Guy of Warwick took the opportunity to land a really cheap move. He leapt on the cow's back and grabbed its horns, twisting the cow's head back until it said "Ow, mercy!" but he kept twisting until he heard its neck break. Guy of Warwick was working on adrenaline though and had lost his senses entirely, so even after its neck was broken he kept on twisting. He twisted and twisted until the head was completely severed from the cow's body. Guy of Warwick went home a hero, and the poor cow was nicknamed Dun Cow and one of its horns is still on display at Warwick Castle to this day.
The End
