In a small town, not far from here, there lived a man who was proud of his vegetables. It was said that his dominance of the largest vegetable category at the local fayre was undisputed. For many years, since he had ceased to work as a tailor in the town and passed that responsibility on to his daughter, he had cared more about the sizes of his carrots and parsnips than he had cared about his grandchildren.
He spent all of the growing seasons patrolling his vegetable garden. Feeding, protecting and generally nurturing every plant, flower, tendril, stem, root and fruit that filled his world. When the time of the summer fayre was approaching, his activity rose to a fever pitch, until the time came to take his cart, proudly loaded with his beloved specimen vegetables, down the main street of the town to the fayre ground where he would place his vegetables out on the display stand to be judged. Then, having won all the prizes, he would ride the return journey, head held high, another set of victories under his belt.
His life was complete and his future as king of the vegetables was assured. At the inn, where he was a frequent and respected visitor, he held his court amongst the locals that aspired to his crown. Dispensing advice and remedies for ailing vegetables to anyone who would listen, safe in the knowledge that his vegetables were undeniably the greatest.
One day, as he related the story of his potato triumphs in a confident and slightly louder than necessary voice, a man, a stranger, not a member of his court, piped up to mention that he had heard, although he had no proof, that a woman in the next town had, this last season, grown a Potato the Size of a House.
Well, for a long moment there was silence, which was a rare event in the court of the Vegetable King. But then, as if he had not heard, the Vegetable King continued to relate the stories of his triumphs. His listeners and adherents were all stunned at the way that this extraordinary news had been first delivered and then subsequently ignored. They were too tactful to ask if he had heard, and the individual who had made this pronouncement seemed unwilling to repeat his statement and soon left the Inn, having correctly interpreted the looks he was receiving to mean that his presence was no longer welcome.
Not long afterwards, slightly earlier in the evening than was his custom, the Vegetable King quit his court and went home in the dusk with an identifiable frown on his countenance which expression had not visited that place for some years.
His mind, unaccustomed to any kind of challenge, was wrestling with the shame that this news had brought. He felt himself found out to be a fraud, with his oft repeated boasts and tales of victorious roots. But rather than reaching for the corroborating evidence that an inquiring visit might bring, he almost instantly began to plan his next years campaign to grow a potato that was not just as big as a house but larger than one.
As the autumn and winter passed, his visits to the Inn ceased and he turned inwards on himself, constantly debating the stratagems and tactics that he would use to produce this monster potato. He sorted through his seed potatoes with infinite care and nestled the best ones in soft cloths to prevent damage. He placed the finest compost and well-seasoned, farmyard manures on his vegetable beds, and introduced earth worms, which he collected from the fields, to work the soil for him and distribute the goodness throughout the structure of the tilth. When spring finally came, he cut any surrounding trees and bushes short enough to allow full sunlight throughout the day whilst still tall enough to protect from the winds, cold or hot. Eventually the day came which was not too cold or damp, when the frosts were all passed, and the sun was beginning to find its feet and wake the slumbering earth.
He gathered his best seed potatoes, having chitted them in a warm cupboard and breaking off all but the strongest shoots, he placed them gently at the correct depth into the beds. Usually he planted a range of vegetables in his large beds, but now that he knew what was possible, and expecting growth on a gargantuan scale, he only planted one potato plant in each bed. No carrots or onions or leaks or parsnips until the potato had exceeded the size of a house and his reputation was reinstated.
It was a kind year, no late frosts, and the plants grew strong, spreading their canopy of leaves to receive the suns beneficent warmth each day and benefiting from sufficient rain without being flooded or wanting for drainage. The man inspected the plants ten times a day, removing any unwanted insects and making sure the burgeoning roots remained covered, banking up the soil as he knew he should. He was pleased with their growth and although he could not view the roots where the potatoes could be found, he was heartened by the bulging of the ground which in his mind suggested a wonderful rate of growth.
And so, the summer came and went without incident. The time for uncovering his crop and his annul visit to the fayre arrived and he found himself in a fever of anxiety, unable to sleep and eating very little. But he felt that all would be resolved when his potato bigger than a house was unveiled.
Carefully, working with his hands at the first bed, he began to uncover his mountainous crop, potatoes the size of turnips, far larger than anything that he ever produced, came tumbling out of the ground and at the crop’s heart a potato the size of a cooking pot sat sunning itself in the fresh air. Unsatisfied with this prodigy, he set about uncovering the other plants in their beds, the same ration of huge and gigantic potatoes was repeated again and again, but to his dismay, not a single potato that approached the size of a house or even a wheelbarrow, was forth coming.
Devastated, he made his way back to his home and shut the door.
As the day of the fayre arrived, his daughter and her family encouraged him to take the cream of his crop to be judged at the fayre where they would undoubtedly win great acclaim, but nothing could persuade him to get out of his chair and show an interest. His cronies from the Inn and fellow exhibitors of vegetables came to visit and persuade him to take part in the contest, but nothing seemed to penetrate the gloom which seemed to have pervaded his temperament. Eventually, after a hasty discussion with his daughter, the other exhibitors took his greatest potato, a specimen that took two men to lift onto a cart, to the fayre where it was declared the largest potato ever recorded and the cup, normally handed back to the organisers at the end of each year, was declared his to retain in perpetuity.
Still he sat at home, unresponsive and depressed, showing no interest in the world and neglecting his vegetable beds which soon began to cover over with weeds and looked unkempt and unloved. His daughter was greatly worried by the changes in her father and, when the local physician had declared that his illness was a corruption of the mind and not the body, she went to visit a woman who she believed was a Guardian of the Cave.
Now, at this point we, those of us responsible for the verifiable History of the Guardians, should make it plain that this story has never been claimed to be known by any Guardian, their followers, supporters or adherents. This does not make it untrue, but that is the reason we have placed it in the section for apocrypha with such stories as The Tale of the Baby that Never Cried and The Sermon of the Blue Baboon.
The ‘Guardian of the Cave’ visited the home of the Vegetable King and was stung to sorrow by the depth of his despair concerning the size of his potatoes. She promised to investigate further and return if she discovered anything that may be of consolation.
Travelling to the neighbouring town which was said by the denizens of the Inn to be the source of the original tall story, she eventually found a woman who, locals claimed held the prize in their town for the largest potatoes in that region.
Entering through a small gate she came into the garden where the woman was tending her vegetables.
They talked quietly for some moments before the woman burst out laughing.
‘No, no, no,’ she said as her laughs died away, ‘a house, no, I may have stated that as my ambition when I have had one too many glasses of wine, but if someone took this as truth, well, more fool them.’
Thanking the woman for her help, the Guardian returned to revisit the ailing gentleman who had still not left his home. She told him that she could not come close to the adjacent town to investigate the story concerning the Potato Larger than a House because the giant vegetables which surrounded the town had barred her progress. Carrots the size of trees, swedes that were like small mountains had dotted the landscape whist massive leaks and onions grew like a forest.
The depressed gardener looked at the Guardian with a growing anger. ‘Do you expect me to believe this pack of lies,’ he said rising out of his chair, ‘Do you think I am a fool?’
‘Well,’ replied the Guardian, ‘I have been led to understand that you believe that someone has grown a potato as large as a house, so I thought that I might test the limits of your credulity.’ The Guardian tipped her head to one side, indicating that a question had been asked.
‘I see,’ said the gardener after a pause ‘I think it best that you go now as I am feeling suitably humiliated, I now understand that my pride ruled my common sense. I thank you for your help, but I would be happier If I were left to deal with my foolishness on my own.’
In the coming days the Vegetable King apologised to his daughter for his behaviour and spent some time planting flowers in the garden with his grandchildren.
There were some Guardians Tokens found in the church and on a windowsill at the local inn.
The Guardians of the Cave 