Jack Spriggins

(This story makes reference to abuse)

Once upon a time there lived a poor widow and her son Jack.

Well, that’s the way this timeless story has always begun. I’m here to set the record straight. You see, I’m Jack. My story has been told and re-told, incorrectly, since the early 1700’s. And yes, in fairytale land, you can live to be hundreds, even thousands of years old. So forget what you think you know about me and the beanstalk. Start with a blank slate. And let the truth be told. It’s time. Finally.

First off, she was not a poor widow, and I was not her son. So there are two lies, just in the opening sentence. She was a rich old hag, and extremely lazy. I was her vassal, destined to do her bidding. I waited on her hand and foot, tending to an endless list of chores. I worked my fingers to the bone for a straw bed in the damp basement, and three daily meals of porridge. I scrounged for any other morsels I could get. Rats were a good source of protein, and were readily available in my basement abode. I was surviving.

And poor? Ha! She didn’t know the meaning of the word. The old shrew lived in the lap of luxury! Her home was gilded in gold. She ate pheasant, steak, fresh vegetables, and other delicacies that only the very rich could afford. “Let them eat cake,” (and not the dessert kind) was the motto she lived by. The old crone was Marie-Antoinette, before there was a Marie-Antoinette!

I mentioned that she was lazy, right? The most work this “poor” woman ever did, was sit and count her money. She obsessed about her wealth. If a single coin went missing - and believe me, she would know - my back found the end of her whip, until the errant piece of silver or gold was replaced. Usually by my working nights for some other deep pocket.

Why did I stay? I lived under a constant threat. She often told me that she could extinguish me as easily as she could extinguish a candle. Just snuff me out. Poof! I believed her. She wielded a lot of power, being the wealthiest person in all the land. There wasn’t a soul around that didn’t fear her. Plus, I think she killed my real mother. My mother was a kind, gentle woman. Not evil, like the witch. Suffocation was the dowager’s modus operandi, as best as I could tell. The law, you ask? Ha! She owned the law! After my mother’s demise, the old bat took me in. Not pity - she needed a servant.

Oh, and did I mention that she really was a widow? Her husband displeased her early in their marriage, and met with the same misfortune as my mother. I have no idea if there were any others, but I didn’t want to tempt fate. So, I stayed.

One day, Jack’s mother told him to sell their only cow.

The fake story, the one that has been told over the ages, continues with my “mother” giving me our only cow to sell at market. The story has us starving; we needed to sell the cow to get money so we could eat. Truthfully, it was a believable fib, in part because I looked so gaunt when I went to the market. What do you expect on a diet of porridge and an occasional rat? I was thin as a rail, but she was as ample as the subject of a Rubens painting. 

One small tidbit, conveniently left off the fake narrative, is that the cow did not belong to the widow. She had me steal the cow from a nearby farm. Farmer Joe, as I knew him, had six children and a wife to feed. He was scraping by. That cow, named Bessie, gave him enough milk to keep his family from starving. 

I knew it was cruel, but I did as I had been ordered. The consequences for me would have been severe if I disobeyed the hag. So, yes, I stole Bessie from Farmer Joe, and brought her to the market. But I wasn’t stupid like the story portrays. I would never sell Bessie for five beans – magic or otherwise. DUH! At the market, some dandy gave me six gold coins for the cow. (Five coins would have been fair, but, hey, what’d I tell you - I ain’t stupid!)

On the way home, I had an attack of conscience. The widow had plenty of gold coins. She didn’t need these six. Meanwhile, Farmer Joe needed money for his family, especially without Bessie. So I made a detour, and gave him four of the coins I had received at the market. The other two I hid in my pocket. You never know when a couple of gold coins will come in handy!

I told myself it was almost a fair deal for Farmer Joe. At least it was better than nothing. He was relieved to get something for his missing cow, and actually thanked me. He said he would use the money to purchase a couple of goats, which would give him milk for his little ones.

No, he didn’t know I was the one who had stolen Bessie and sold her at the market. I kept that part to myself. He thought I was giving him the coins out of the kindness of my heart. Like I had money to give him!

He insisted on giving me something in return, and handed me five beans from his garden. “It’s all I can spare,” he said, apologetically. “but they are of a good stock. We have many large stalks from these beans. They grow like crazy.”

That’s how I got the five beans. From good ol’ Farmer Joe.

Jack’s mother was very angry. She said, “You fool! He took away your cow and gave you some beans!” She threw the beans out of the window. Jack was very sad and went to sleep without dinner.

When I gave the seeds to the widow (again, NOT my mother), she was furious. That part of the story reads true. I told her they were magic beans I received from a man at the market – which was quick thinking on my part – but she wasn’t buying it. She did throw the seeds out the window and sent me to bed without porridge. I almost went to bed hungry – almost (poor rat!). And I was gleeful! Not about the rat, mind you, but I loved feeling like I had outsmarted the stupid witch.

The next day, as usual, I woke before the sun came up. I knew the widow would not forget the beans-for-cow story I hatched, so I thought of a new plan. I was sure she wouldn’t remember the huge oak tree that sat outside my basement window. It was at the other end of her expansive house. Besides, the widow never really ventured outside, spending her days napping or counting her money. So I went outside and gathered the five beans and planted them at the base of the oak tree. 

When she awoke later that morning, the widow had a fierce look in her eye. She was definitely out for blood – mine. Cradling the whip in one hand, she was itching to find her mark. “Jack, boy,” she bellowed. “Come here and get what’s coming to you, you good fer nothing kid.” She eventually poked her head out the door, to yell for me outside.

I quickly scampered to the top of the oak tree, and shouted, “I’m way up here. On the other side of the house. In the beanstalk. It grew from the magic beans I planted last night. You remember, the magic beans I got at the market when I sold the cow. Wait until you see what I found!”

I never saw the old biddy move so fast, around the building, whip at the ready. Until she parked herself under the oak tree. “Wow, maybe the beans were magic,” she exclaimed, eyes wide as she envisioned the beanstalk growing so tall overnight.

I know. She was mean, but the elevator didn’t go all the way to the top floor…if you get my drift!

The story continues.

At home, he gave the coins to his mother. His mother was very happy and they lived well for some time.

So, this is sort of true. Minus the mother part.

When the widow was standing under the tree – er, beanstalk - I climbed down and gave the her the two gold coins in my pocket. I told her about climbing the magic beanstalk, finding a magic kingdom in the sky with a mean giant and his kind wife. I weaved a story about stealing the gold coins from the giant when he fell asleep. “He had lots of coins like these. They were just sitting on his table.”

“Well, then, why didn’t you get more, if they had so many?” the widow asked. But she put away the whip. And actually smiled.

“Um, he woke up and wasn’t too happy about me taking them. I told you he was mean. I had to grab what I could and climb down the beanstalk before he caught me or I wouldn’t have been able to get away.”

“I see. Well, come inside and have some eggs for breakfast. No more porridge. Not today. Maybe if you have a solid breakfast, you will run faster. For the next time you climb the beanstalk. When you get me more gold coins.”

I lived pretty well for a while. The widow let me sleep in one of the spare bedrooms, and I ate three good meals a day at the table. I still had my chores to do, but at least I was spared the whippings and the rats.

Then one night, the old biddy said, “Jack, you need to climb the beanstalk again. You’re getting lazy. I’ve given you good meals and a warm bed to sleep in. In return, you haven’t brought me a single new gold coin from the giant’s castle. I want more gold. Go tomorrow. Climb that magic beanstalk and don’t come back here empty handed. Or else.”

The good times were over. I had to prepare a new plan. Once again, I snuck onto Farmer Joe’s land in the middle of the night.  His farm was thriving now, and so I felt he owed me, at least partially, for his success. With the coins I gave him, he bought two goats. The goats had a few kids. They gave him milk and cheese - enough for his family and more to sell. Plus, he rented out the goats to people in town who wanted to keep their grass trimmed. Soon, he bought some hens and built a hen house. He had eggs to spare, and sold those as well. And, I heard that he was in the market for another cow. 

Good for him. I didn’t begrudge Farmer Joe his success. This time, I didn’t feel guilty as I looked around for anything I could use to get me out of this jam with the evil dowager.

As it happened, on the way to Farmer Joe’s place, I tripped over a can of gold paint that his daughter had left out in the field. Hmmm. An idea was starting to percolate. I saw his new hen house and voila! It was as if a lightening bold had hit me. I was shocked at my own brilliance. A golden egg! I could do that! The dumb widow would be beside herself if I came home with a golden egg!

He shouted, “Lay!” and the hen laid a golden egg. When the giant fell asleep, Jack took the hen and climbed down the beanstalk.

“The hen escaped about half way down the beanstalk, but not before I was able to save one of the golden eggs.”

That’s the story I told the bimbo the next morning, as I climbed down, golden egg in hand. I said the egg was delicate, and the magic spell would be broken if she dropped it. So the widow wrapped it in her finest silks and put it in a safe place in her house. And I had steak for dinner!

Of course, just like with the coins, this didn’t last. The old bag soon decided she wanted more, and told me I was to climb the beanstalk again to come home with more riches. “Or else!”

I tried putting her off with stories about being found out. I told her the giant missed his coins and his golden egg. He had a sentry now, a magical harp, that stood guard and would warn him of any intruders. There was no way to sneak past the magic harp. I told her the giant was very, very angry.

“We should wait a while, before I venture back to his magical kingdom.” 

But the battle-axe was too greedy. She wanted more gold, and she wanted it now! Unfortunately, I slipped and told her the harp was not only magical, but it was made of solid gold. That was too much for her to pass up.

“The magical harp,” she said. “Steal that and you can have your freedom. I want the magical harp in my house! Fail, and a horrible fate awaits you. That I can promise.”

The giant followed him down. Jack quickly ran inside his house and fetched an axe. He began to chop the beanstalk. The giant fell and died.

So this supposedly happened when I grabbed the magical harp, who of course, yelled and alerted the giant that I was stealing it. I didn’t have anything to do with this part of the fairytale. What really happened was that I knew I couldn’t keep up the pretense of a magical kingdom. There was never going to be enough gold to satisfy the witch. 

I spent all night chopping down the oak tree, or beanstalk, if we are still talking nonsense. It wasn’t easy. It was huge and all I had was an axe. I chopped and chopped, until my arms felt like they were going to fall off. Finally, the tree started to lean. I dropped the axe and pushed and pushed. I prayed it would fall. And just before dawn it did.

Crash! Boom! Bang!

My aim was perfect. The large oak tree fell right across the widow’s large house, caving in the roof. The house was destroyed. I jumped up and down, happy at long last. For the dowager’s demise meant my freedom!

But that’s not the end of the story. I thought it was, until I saw the evil old witch crawling out from under the debris that used to be her house. The slatternly old hag was alive! I dropped to my knees in disbelief. Head in my hands.

The widow brushed herself off and came to my side. Something was different, I could tell right away. 

She gently put her hand on my shoulder, and said, “Don’t be sad, son. We are alive, that’s the important thing. I don’t know what I would do if that beanstalk had fallen on top of you. You are more precious than any amount of riches. We can rebuild this crummy old house.”

Jack and his mother were now very rich and they lived happily ever after.

The widow never regained her “before the beanstalk” persona. She will tell the story of Jack and the Beanstalk, her version, to anyone that will listen. My “mother” remains very happy in her vacuous state.

As for me, I saved all the gold from the destroyed house and built a fine new manor right next to Farmer Joe’s spread. I married Farmer Joe’s youngest daughter, the one who left the gold paint in the field. We are extremely happy with six children of our own, now. My “mother” lives with us, doing most of the cooking and cleaning. These days, her goal in life is to cater to my every whim. Which suits me just fine.

So, we have a fairytale ending after all.