Of the many peasants in the Snook, one man was fervid about living there. His name was Grotter and he saw the village as an up-and-coming place with lots of nice shops opening up. Beyond the High Street, in his view, some splendid houses were being built. Grotter aspired to live there one day. But, for now, his life of toiling in a mine was a difficult one. He grafted long hours underground for just enough food to feed his wife and son. Grotter thought his status was beneath that which a man of his calibre was capable of achieving. And all the rich folk thought they were better than people like him. If only he had a chance to show everyone what an amazing person he was. Disgruntled with his lot, Grotter hatched a plan for an uplift in status. He was desperate to be accepted by the great and the good, who dismissed him as a mere peasant.

After each day’s work, Grotter returned to his wooden hut for some food. At a bench in the corner, he gathered material and some essential tools: Scissors, needles and coloured threads. At first, his creations were unsuccessful, but he watched the rich folk and time spent in his mini-factory soon paid dividends. To the light of a flickering fire, he was making flamboyant clothes. A long, white shirt with embroidered edging. The black velvet gown swished nicely and encloaked the shirt. Some bright red tights slipped into pointed shoes. And it was all finished off with a big hat.

Early one morning, way before sunrise, three shadows sneaked out of the village and waited down a dirt road. When the High Street was busting, Grotter paraded back into the Snook wearing fine clothes which appeared to be cut from expensive cloth. His wife carried the bags and his son, Gobba, held his cloak from behind. They too were disguised with large hats.

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