Companions of Christmas: Derby Tup!
Many, many years ago, a butcher named Joe Funny, who plied his trade in north Derbyshire, would travel from door to door on New Years’ Eve with his wife, leading a flock of goats a’string. One year, the last goat in this doomed line was Tup.
Over the course of many New Years' celebrations, Joe the Butcher and Mrs. Funny had built quite a demand for a service that they provided: they would butcher one of the goats right at the home of the customer for the customers' New Years' feast, providing the very freshest meat one could get.
As his fellows were slaughtered one-by-one, Tup began to sweat, knowing it would be his turn before long. Finally, he was the last goat a’string, and knew that he had to act decisively if he wanted to keep from having his innards emptied in front of a crowd of cheering revelers.
“You had more custom than expected,” Tup said to the pair as they led him along. “You brought too few goats, and there are at least five more homes hosting parties who would certainly want to buy your wares. Selling out when there are still customers at hand is like throwing money in a fire!”
Joe the Butcher shrugged, and said that it couldn’t be helped. But Tup offered a solution. “You’ve more meat at your shop. Send Mrs. Funny to fetch it, along with blood, and I’ll show you how you might increase your earnings.”
So Mrs. Funny fetched the meat, and the blood, and they went to the next house. The revelers welcomed the pair and their offering enthusiastically, but when it was time to do the actual butchering, the trio put Tup’s plan into effect.
Joe the Butcher slid his knife from Tup’s throat to his belly, and Mrs. Funny caught the blood in a bowl. But Joe had used the dull, back side of the knife, and Mrs. Funny poured blood gathered from the shop. The butchering was an illusion!
Tup employed all of his (rather broad) acting talents, hurling himself from one part of the room to the other in wild, manic death throes, simultaneously spouting laments about his own demise with enthusiastic wishes that the revelers would enjoy the feast his corpse would be providing.
At least, spent, he collapsed to the floor. The couple spirited him behind a curtain, made some chopping noises, and provided the party with meat from the shop.
Then they performed the exact same scheme at the rest of the houses on their route.
This method proved far easier than butchering meat on demand outside the confines of their own shop, and so, the next year, they took their stores with them, and enacted the same sham butchery on old Tup again, at each of their customers’ homes. And again, the year after that.
It didn’t take the people of Derbyshire long to realize that the same goat was being “butchered” each time, but they so enjoyed Tup’s death scenes, which grew ever more stylized and grandiose, that they happily went along with the conceit.
Eventually, they did away with the selling of meat altogether, and now they simply go from house to house in Derbyshire, Yorkshire, and Nottinghamshire, putting on their performance throughout the Christmas season, where Tup fakes his own murder for cold, hard cash.
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
vaporwave
titsay
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
stormborns
