Doctor Gamgee's Birthday

For our Doctor Gamgee, upon the event of his 40th trip around the sun.

The Rubaiyat of Doctor G - Various
Trip the Song Fantastic - Laiquendi
The Birthday of Gamgee - Daughter of Kings
The Streets of Gondolin - JimboBaggins
There once was a Doctor... - Ashlyn
Look at Me, I'm Dr. G - Frodosmiss
Gamgee Haiku - Primula
Over the Hill - MerryK
Happy Birthday, Dr. G - Silivren Ithildin
Verses for Dr. G - Lothithil
One Doc - Varda
76 Elf Horns - Erech the Undead
The Streets of Laredo - Vison
A Boromir Tale for Doctor G - Agape4Rivendell
Little Forty Notes from the Book - Linaewen
A Response - Dr. Gamgee
Doctor Gamgee's 40th Birthday Cake Recipe (Orange Raspberry)

The Rubaiyat of Doctor G
Verses assembled by Primula, Frodosmiss and Orangeblossom Took

A baby boy beheld the world,
And as he grew the notes unfurled
The music growing with this boy
Bedecking ev'ry treble curled.

A music note was his best toy
To toss through days, this humming boy,
And opera notes could make him swoon,
Delightful sound to ne'er annoy.

The boy grew up, it was his boon
That voice was broken, settled soon
To deeper notes for singing strong
That gave to him a heartfelt tune.

And then one year, ago not long,
A wondrous story fraught with song
Drew him unto another place
And to this home he did belong.

Though they not often see his face,
This family he did embrace
Who loved him much, 'twas surely seen,
And in their hearts he found a place.

Empower'd with a title and pen of green
He helps maintain a home safe and serene.
Tis his compassion that in me has won
Much admiration for this friend unseen.

His fortieth trip round sun so clear
He faced with nary a sigh or tear,
For he knew the best was yet to come:
No peddling! Now he coasts from here.

Downhill he coasts with song and hum,
With labors behind and the fun begun;
Compared to adolescence, what a gas
To maturely ponder what youth has done!

Good Doctor, I don't say, "Alas,"
For though the silliness of youth must pass,
Maturity makes both life and voice rich
And you must admit the ride's been a blast.

In youth, pores clog and muscles twitch.
Your midlife harvest is at fever pitch.
Life with G's Mrs. and Minor is sweet
And there is nothing to change or to switch.

These lines are no great birthday treat
But as a Mod and a friend you are neat.
So Happy Birthday my dear Dr. G;
I hope your birthday and year are most sweet.

Our wishes to our good friend you see,
Before you written, to one and three,
(Mrs. and Minor are there as well),
There's no finer folks than our Gamgees!

To his fortieth, and to his health!
We would bequeath virtual wealth,
Virtual riches and hugs so stout,
Blessings aloud, blessings in stealth.

We lift our glass and give a shout
That we the finest Doc do tout,
He's the best around, we say it clear,
May the hair on his toes never fall out!

Response from Dr. Gamgee:

Enjoys he these poems for fun,
And brightened have you, like the Sun,
this Day, which rings his fortieth year
And knows the party's just begun!

And a post-script by Frodosmiss:

"Sure! I'm 40!", he said with a sneer
It's a number, it's nothing austere
What matters most is the life I LIVE
And the people I touch while I'm here!


In honour of his Most Grand Doctorness, I present to thee a short composition entitled:

Trip the Song Fantastic!
by Laiquendi

The sudden banging noises on the front door were sufficient to rouse an extremely tired Frodo from his wistful slumberings, although not quite enough to actually make him get out of bed. After several minutes more thumping, and quite a few choice curses, Frodo decided that the only way he was going to get any sleep tonight was to either i) open the door and pretend he was a vampire or ii) put on some earmuffs. Following a frantic attempt to unearth his favourite earmuffs (unfortunately to no avail), he gave in to the now slightly less emphatic pounding on his door and slowly walked to the hallway and opened the large round door to Bag-End.
Standing in a huddle by the door were Sam, Merry and Pippin, all looking extremely distraught and slightly annoyed.
“You rang?” Frodo asked with a fake smile and a handful of shaving cream in one hand for the fateful Hobbit that tried to push past him.
“Frodo! Quick! A huge malady has befallen the Shire! It’s a catastrophe!” They all shouted together, or attempted to at least.
“Ahah…” Frodo replied. “Go find Gandalf.” Before promptly slamming the door in their faces.
A short while later, and coincidently just as Frodo had climbed back into his bed, the loud thumping started again. Reaching for his trusty bottle of shaving foam, Frodo made his way to the front door again and slowly opened it.
There stood Sam, Merry and Pippin again, although Merry was now dressed as Magneto and Pippin was in a Captain Jack Sparrow costume.
“We found Gandalf!” Sam shouted in glee.
“And Captain Jack!” Pippin added quickly, raising his plastic sword with an “argghhhh” sound.
“We walked down the road and couldn’t see Gandalf, but Mrs. Offerhoffen’s fancy dress shop was still open, and well, we thought you wouldn’t notice the difference.” Sam tried to explain.
“And it was two for one, so Pip here had to have one too…” Merry added with a grumble. “Want to see me levitate the door-knocker?!”
Frodo had to admit he was kind of curious, so he quickly deposited the remaining shaving foam into one of Bilbo’s old coat pockets and open the door to let his companions in.
“Now, where’s the tea!” said Captain Pippin Sparrow, running straight to Frodo’s sofa with a flying leap.
“Some cake wouldn’t go amiss!” Sam called out, starting his search in the kitchen larder.
“Now just hang on a minute!” Frodo interrupted, having decided that it was probably best not feed the obviously hyperactive Hobbits, although he was reconsidering the shaving foam after he saw Pippin’s muddy footprints on his new three-seater. “What’s happened, and why do you always have to come to me?!”
“You’re the big thinker.” Pippin said with a grin, as he bounced up and down on the cushions.
“With all those ideas and such.” added Merry concentrating on the door-knocker with his hands held out trying desperately to get it to move.
“And it was too far to walk to find someone else.” Sam chimed in, trying to see if Frodo had secreted any cake in the coal bin by the fire.
“Ok, ok… so start from the beginning.” Frodo finally said, coming to the quick conclusion that he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, his door-knocker wasn’t going to move one it’s own accord, and that his secret stash of crumpets was worryingly close to being found.
“Well… “ Merry started, giving up on the door-knocker and moving on to the silver cutlery set.
“Sam had invited me, Fatty and Merry to the Green Dragon for a few drinks…” jumped in Pippin, still bouncing on the sofa.
“…and suddenly…” Merry tried to continue.
“…out of no-where…” Sam finally managed to say, his mouth full of yesterday afternoon’s crumpets that he discovered in the tuperware cupboard.
“…a huge, gigantic malady fell on the pub!” Pippin finished with a yell, and then a “matey!”
“A malady?” Frodo said, still completely lost in the conversation and bemoaning his lack of ingenious food storage locations.
“Yep, and a big one too!” Merry said, making a dive for some of Frodo’s crumpets.
“It got Mrs Engelbert.” Sam said.
“And the two Rufferduffer twins!” Pippin added.
Frodo, growing increasingly worried about his fine butter croissants, quickly came to the only sane conclusion avalaible. “I think that what we need here is…. a Doctor.”
“The Doctor!” Pippin said with amazement.
“The Doctor?” Mumbled Sam through the last crumpet.
“For Mocha!” Merry said, before realising it sounded a bit odd, although it did bring on a strange need for coffee…
“Doctor who?” asked Pippin.
“Ooo… do you mean that weird fellow down the road with the big blue police box?” Merry said, and then quickly quieted down after everyone turned to stare at him. “Well it could be…”
“No, no…. we need a specialist doctor, someone trained to deal with such odd occurrences, and also charges low, low prices for quality craftsmanship. I have heard of such a gentleman, in whispered tales on the website. He lives far away to the west, through dangerous obstacles and death-defying hurdles!” Frodo boomed ominously into the room, mostly just to scare Sam who suddenly jumped after Pippin poked him with his plastic sword. “Only with his help will we be able to end this cruel malady!”
A large groan sounded from the invading Hobbits as they realised they were going to have to go on yet another adventure, and just after they had broken into the pastry containers.
“We need to find the village of Lower Uppingdown. There the enigmatic Doctor hides away, where none shall find him unless they follow the clearly-marked signs!” Frodo concluded with a crescendo, mostly thanks to Merry finally making the drum kit move after accidentally hitting it with the butter knife. And so, it was with a lot of grumbling, a lot of pushing, and a few well-placed kicks from Frodo, that the motley crew of Hobbits emerged from Bag-End ready for their adventure to save the Shire.

Several hours later, and several meals lighter, the three sturdy Hobbits arrived at the clearly-sign posted village of Lower Uppingdown. They had traversed the mighty bridge of doom, scaled the perilous heights of sudden death, crossed through the obligatory foul-smelled pond of festering unholiness, escaped from the giant troll of increasing fatality (by tying up Merry as bait and running rapidly in the opposite direction… although they later realised that perhaps they should have gone back for Merry before Sam pointed out he had eaten three portions of the apple pie last evening) and then got a ride on the local bus service after discovering that Pippin had accidentally dropped their map in the foul-smelling pond. They now stood to face their final challenge…. working out which house was the doctors.
Arriving at the last house in the village (which, fortunately they decided to check first since Frodo knew something about irony), they walked gingerly up the immaculately kept garden and forced Pippin to knock politely on the green-painted front door. After a rustle inside, the door opened to reveal a sharply dressed gentle-Hobbit.
“Ahah! And who may you be?” The keen-eyed Hobbit said with a smile.
“Mmmm… well….” Mumbled Pippin before squealing and running behind Frodo.
“Yes, well.. I’m Frodo Baggins,” Frodo finally said not for the last time wondering why on earth he had agreed to come on this silly expedition. “The squealing Hobbit in the pirate costume is Peregrin Took and the portly fellow behind my back is Samwise Gamgee.”
“Gamgee you say!” The doctor exclaimed loudly, which was quite loud when you were stand mere feet from him as Frodo realised. “Well, that’s my name too! Doctor Gamgee to be precise.”
“Oooo… do you know Gertrude Gamgee?” Sam suddenly said, coming t from behind Frodo’s back.
“Nope, don’t think I do.” The doctor replied.
“How about Eustace Gamgee?” Sam said.
“Ermintrude Gamgee?”
“Philomena Glackensmith-Gamgee?”
“Was she the one that married the Hobbit that looked like a horse?” The doctor asked.
“No, she was the one that married the man that looked like a cabbage.” Sam said quickly, “Are you sure you’re really a Gamgee?”
“Quite sure!” He said with a grin and a chuckle. “Now, I’m sure you’re not here just to carry out a genealogical search… or are you?
“No, we are here on the most important business!” Frodo finally said, trying desperately to bring the conversation to any sort of sanity.
“A great malady had befallen the Shire!!” Pippin said, waving his arms emphatically around and narrowly missing Frodo’s head.
“Well you had better come on in then!” The doctor said, ushering the three Hobbits into his very presentable house.
Standing in the kitchen was a lady baking cakes, while running around the floor was a young Hobbitling pretending to be some sort of flying apparatus. Seating the three companions at the table, the doctor poured everyone some of the finest ale they had ever tasted along with some of the fine lady’s decidedly scrumptious fruitcake.
“That there is G-minor, our proud son. Just this morning he rewrote the theory of relativity to account for variations in the cosmological constant due to temporal dillationary effects as you reach the speed of light, while yesterday he played the entire back-catalogue of Elvis hits, on the fiddle, using his feet. My they do grow up fast don’t they…”
“What’s he doing right now…?” Frodo asked warily.
“Trying to eat flies.” The doctor said. “Now describe for me the nature of this malady that has so befallen the Shire.”
“Well,” Sam began before stuffing his mouth full of another slice of fruitcake.
“This great malady just fell from the sky and crashed straight into the Green Dragon pub” Pippin continued, cursing himself for not trying to grab the piece before Sam. “Huge lady, big hat on her head with two horn coming out of it. Long flowing locks and a chestplate the size of the Alps.”
“She squashed at least three drunken Hobbits before anyone realised the roof was caving in around them. It was such a tragedy...” Sam lamented softly between mouthfuls of cake.
“It is indeed,” Pippin added, “All that fine ale wasted. And it was Happy hour too!”
“Ahah…” The doctor said joining in their remorse, then began to slowly rub his chin as if in deep thought while Frodo looked at Pippin in amazement.
“You mean, it’s not a virus or anything, Pip?” Frodo asked incredulously.
“Nope, big fat lady that sings.” Pippin said in reply. “Apparently Fatty thought it was the end of the world of something.”
“How can a doctor save us from that?!” Frodo shouted out, his last clutch on sanity having fled the same time as the last piece of fruitcake.
“Only if you have the right doctor!” The doctor said with a laugh. “And luckily enough, you found him!”
In a seemingly unrelated fit of despair, Frodo began to bang his head against the dinning room table. Unsurprisingly, it actually started to make him feel that little bit better, desperate the lack of protestations from his friends.
“We don’t have much time if we’re to save the Shire! We must be off immediately to vanquish this menace!” The doctor exclaimed loud, raising from his comfortable chair to strike a dashing pose against the setting sun.
Their plan set, sort of, it didn’t take long for Sam and Merry to drag the grumbling Frodo out the door, thank Mrs. Doctor Gamgee for the two additional fruitcakes and set off with their new companion back towards the Shire.

They trekked through the harsh jungles of providence, skirted round the foul-smelling pond of festering unholiness using a shortcut into the sweet-smelling forest of ever-lasting ylang-ylang, encountered a very unhappy Merry standing over the dead body of the giant troll of increasingly less fatal fatality, leisurely abseiled down the perilous height of sudden death and skipped across the bridge of doom until arriving safely back in the Shire.
Racing to (what was left of) the Green Dragon pub, the five Hobbits suddenly encountered the almighty malady of the Shire, just as she finished the last aria of the second act of Don Giovanni. Scattered around here were the battered remains of several Hobbits that had tried to fight her off, but none could get close enough before they were blown fifty feet into the air by her voice.
The doctor rolled up his sleeves, and turned to face his fellow companions.
“It will be difficult, but I may just be able to save the day!” He said with a stern grimace. “In a fiendishly devised plot point, I shall volunteer my services to vanquish this heartless woman by singing louder, faster and with a great deal more emphatic gesturing! Anyone have any requests?”
“Ooo, ooo,” Pippin said, jumping up and down. “Joseph and His Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat!”
“The Pirates of Penzance!” Sam shouted out.
“Anything by Justin Timberlake!” Merry squealed out with joy.
“The Barber of Seville?” Frodo asked, finally deciding that if was going to save the day, he might as well do it in style.
“Ahah!” The doctor said with a large grin. “Excellent choice, my grouchy Hobbit friend!”
And so the doctor marched proudly to just outside the range of the mad woman’s voice and began to sing…

Pronto prontissimo son come il fulmine:
sono il factotum della citta.
Ah, bravo Figaro! Bravo, bravissimo;
fortunatissimo, fortunatissimo,
fortunatissimo per verità!
A te fortuna non mancherà….

Suddenly joined by the Tookborough Amateur Dramatics & Operatic Society (which consisted of two sopranos, a baritone with a sore throat and a Hobbit playing the triangle), the doctor bellowed with joy in counterpoint to the threatening malady.
Realising that now they were soon to be out of danger, and agreeing to enjoy the free show, the remaining Hobbits rapidly set up some chairs and turned the remains of the Green Dragon into a low-cost duplicate for the Royal Albert Hall.
“What are they saying?” Pippin said to Frodo as he examining the proceedings through his pirate costume telescope.
“I’m not entirely sure, but it may be some form of Elvish…. Or possibly Italian.” Frodo said, munching his way through a huge bowl of popcorn that someone had handily set up near the rear stalls.
“It’s got to be Italian.” Merry quickly interrupted from his position in the Royal box (which turned out to be the upside barrel cart that had been propelled into the air during the malady’s previous performance of The Ride of the Valkyries).
“How can you tell?” asked Sam, still eating his way through the second of Mrs Dr. G’s fruitcakes.
“Well, when did you last see an Elf that looked like that…” Merry replied pointedly. “Although I have no idea what he is saying.”
“I shall attempt to translate.” Frodo said, quickly scanning the glossy programme that was being sold for an extortionate price in the foyer.

Pour toes and kiss your nose son come in for my tray
Son all facts onto the settee
Ah, brave fig-roll! Brave, bra is mine!
For I am in a tiz at mo, for tunes are really slow
Four moons are long ago for very far
At the poor tuna no man can chew her…

“Doesn’t really make sense, does it?” Merry said to a bemused Pippin.
“No, but then, has any of this story made sense up till now?” Pippin replied, to which Merry shrugged and returned to the show. “The show’s not over until the fat lady stops singing!”
Eventually, after a long and arduous operatic sing-off, and an interval that was far too short for the Hobbit’s liking, the mad malady began to sing higher and higher, and louder and louder in order to compete with the doctor’s rapid pace and dulcet tones. Just as she was about to break the sound barrier, the malady suddenly exploded in a mass rain of body-shaped confetti. Instantly a cheer erupted from the gathered crowds of Hobbits and other assorted opera fans, shouting out for an encore, only with more breaks and fewer exploding women.
Following the rapturous applause that greeted the seventeenth encore, Frodo walked up to the exhausted doctor and presented him with a large bunch of flowers.
“To show our gratitude and support for all you have done for the Shire, we give you this lovely collection of flowers that we happened to find nearby!” Frodo said, handing over the wilting bouquet. “And now, we have one final favour to ask of you…”
“As long as it’s not another encore…” The doctor panted, wondering if he’d ever be able to sing again.
“No, no…nothing like that.” Frodo said reassuringly. “We’ve just got a little problem with a rampaging horde of giant mutated spiders…. Look there’s some over there!”
Frodo pointed off to the horizon, where over the hills swarmed a mass of large spiders devouring everything in their path. Looking back to the doctor, Frodo was surprised to see that he had suddenly vanished.
“Oh great, there goes another one…” He said with a scowl. “Does anyone know a good supplier of industrial strength bug-spray?”

Here's to you, Doc!


Partly found and partly made,
Writ in fun, with love displayed,
This tale, a gift to you from me.
Happy Birthday, Dr.G!

The Birthday of Gamgee

Frodo took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. Late May in South Texas meant wildflowers and new growth on the blackjack oaks, but it also meant warm and humid. Putting the handkerchief away, he reached into a second pocket and pulled out a small parchment, glanced between it and the house numbers painted on the curb. Nodding to Sam, he continued along the sidewalk and knocked on a particular door.

Frodo and Sam were not the first arrivals. Elrond was there, and Frodo saw Glorfindel and Glóin; and in a corner alone Strider was sitting, clad in his old travel-worn clothes again. At the far end of the room Théoden sat in a heavy overstuffed chair, and beside him stood a woman clad in white; his niece, Éowyn.

In the back yard, in two lawn chairs there sat, side by side, Celeborn and Galadriel; Treebeard and Quickbeam were providing shade and conversation to the Elf lord and lady. Gimli had (quite surreptitiously) excavated a horseshoe pit, and was in the process of losing a game to Éomer. Legolas was entertaining G-minor.

Sam made straight for the dining room, where the buffet would be served. There was a round table, already spread with a white cloth, and there was hot soup, cold meats, a blackberry tart, new loaves, slabs of butter, half a ripe cheese; good plain food, as good as the Shire could show, and homelike enough to dispel the last of Sam’s misgivings (he had his doubts when the invitation said the gathering would be potluck).

In the music room, Frodo found Bilbo sitting at the piano, tapping out a few notes and humming to himself. “Hullo, Frodo my lad!” said Bilbo. “So you are here at last. I hoped you would manage it; I want your help in something urgent. Elrond says this song of mine is to be finished before the end of the evening, and I am stuck.”

“Yes, I’ve made it, and Sam is with me,” Frodo said, and as if on cue, Sam came into the room with Merry and Pippin, whom he had found inspecting the buffet table. “Sam, Bilbo needs help with his song for tonight.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Frodo…” Sam started to say.

“Come on, Sam!” said Merry. “There’s more stored in your head than you let on about.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Sam. “It ain’t what I call proper poetry, if you understand me: just a bit of nonsense.”

But the others would hear nothing of Sam’s humility. Frodo left them gathered around the piano, tossing rhymes back and forth, and went in search of Gandalf.

He found his old friend in the kitchen, chatting with Mrs.Dr.G. After greeting his hostess, he turned to the wizard. “How long have you been hiding out here?”

“A habit of the old, “Gandalf explained with a smile and a wink for Mrs.G. “They choose the wisest person present to speak to.”

Mrs.G. blushed a rosy pink, gave Gandalf a “my-but-you-do-go-on” look, handed Frodo a glass of ginger-peach iced tea, and bustled off to see that the buffet table was still well-stocked and her guests cared for.

Guests and gifts continued to arrive. FedEx delivered a small package wrapped in white silk and tied up with a very elaborate bow. Mrs.G. took the present to put with the others that were piling up on a side table, when suddenly, she felt movement and heard a scritch-ing noise inside the box. With a little Eek!, she dropped it. The lid came off and a tarantula scuttled out. Fortunately, Frodo and Sam both had experience handling large arachnids, and they were able to remove Shelob’s gift from the house in short order.

Boromir was last to arrive, looking somewhat harried and rumpled. Mrs.G greeted him warmly and fussed over his appearance. He was quick to reassure her, but had to confess, “It was a long and wearisome journey from Wisconsin. I lost my party hat and my map while dashing through the DFW airport. Long have I wandered by roads forgotten, seeking the home of Dr.G. I am glad to finally arrive.”

As tea time passed, the suspense began to build. Everyone knew that Dr.G would be coming home soon. Aragorn had been keeping watch for him, but was distracted by G-minor wandering through the living room. The lad kept up a steady stream of conversation with the Elf, and at the moment was asking how old his father was today. “Old, very old,” said the Elf, with a wink, “so old that I almost feel young again.” G-minor giggled. Aragorn smiled at the joke and the laughing child, and in doing so, almost missed the arrival of the Guest of Honor.

Gimli spied Dr.G., though, and gave a shout. “Look, Aragorn! There is the old man.”

“Everyone hide!” Aragorn called out, and there was a brief scramble as the guests dove for their favorite hiding places. Merry and Pippin wound up under the buffet table, of course.

Then the front door opened, and Dr.G entered.


And then the fun began. :D


The Streets of Gondolin

Noticed your from Laredo with a profession in music so with apologies to Arlo Guthrie here is my birthday present to you...(To the tune of Streets of Laredo) - JimboBaggins

The Streets of Gondolin

As I walked out in the streets of Gondolin
As I walked out in Gondolin one day
I spied a poor elf lad wrapped up in white linen
All wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.

“I see by your outfit that you are of the Noldor”
These words he did say as I proudly stepped by
“Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story
I’m shot by an orc and I know I must die.”

’Twas once in Valinor I used to go walking
Once in Valinor I used to go walkin’ all day
First lead to creating and then to jewel makin’
I’m shot by an orc and I’m dying today.

Let six jolly elf lads come carry my coffin
Let six pretty elf lasses come carry my pall
Throw bunches of elanor all over my coffin
Throw elanor to deaden the clods as they fall

“Oh, beat the drum slowly, and play the harp lowly
And play the elf harp as you carry me along
Take me to the green valley and lay the earth o’er me
For I’m a poor elf lad and I know I’ve done wrong”

We beat the drum slowly and played the harp lowly
And bitterly wept as we carried him along
For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young and handsome
We all loved our elf lad although he done no wrong


There once was a Doctor named Gamgee,
T'was a mod so nice and quite savy.
When his birthday came round,
All his friends could be found,
Gathered near to give him a party!
- Ashlyn

sparkle Happiest Birthday Wishes, Dear Friend Gamgee! sparkle

Here's my homage to you on your 40th, with a nod to my Samsmissy, whose love for this musical is the reason why this song plays in my head constantly... - Frodosmiss

Look At Me, I'm Doctor G.
Sung to the tune of “Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee”
from 'Grease'

Look at me I'm Doctor G...
I can’t believe that I’m forty!
That middle age spread just fills me with dread...
Not me! I’m Doctor G!

Watch it! Hey, evil Birthday
I won’t let you have your way!
Won't come across, though my youth may be lost...
On this, the blackest day!

I won't drink or swear
When I lose my hair...
I’ll get ill and break out in a sweat!
Hold your hearty guffaws at my burgeoning flaws...
I KNOW behind my ears, it’s no longer wet!

You say, “Ha! Methuselah!
You’ve sure got some real chutzpa!”
Well look, if you must, but I'm no object of lust...
I'm just plain Doctor G!

Reaper, Reaper, let me be!
Keep that sickle far from me!
I’m just forty, blockhead- It don’t mean I’m dead!

Hey, Nazgul, I'm Doctor G!


Gamgee Haiku

Hey Doctor Gamgee!
Maturity is such fun,
Adorning your head.

A true Texan son,
Never shown up, Nuh-uh!
Biggest in our hearts.
- Primula

Over the Hill  - by MerryK

What luck, thought Eowyn, that the royalty of Gondor and Rohan should come together for council at this time on this year. Knowing that her brother would support her if he but heard, she began by explaining the basics of her plan to Faramir, who, of course, objected. Eowyn was used to that.

“Come now, my love,” she wheedled, putting all her charm into it and looking about for Eomer. “It would be a wonderful experience, and moreover, a Rohirric tradition.”

“Absolutely not,” declared Faramir. “I am but forty years of age, and there is nothing about that age that is, as you put it, ‘over the hill’.”

“But Faramir,” she continued, eyes wide and sincere, “you are quite old.”

His spluttering was quite enjoyable, but she hid her smile.

“I am not old,” he said. “Not a smidgen of it.”

“Yes, you are,” said Eomer, emerging from another group to join them. “Quite old. Why I am but one and thirty!”

“As I am but seven and twenty,” answered Eowyn. “My love, you are old indeed.”

Faramir said nothing, eying the two with scarcely hidden disapproval. He looked around the room, and called to his aid one whom he was sure would ally with him: “My lord! Elessar!”

The king, aged three and ninety, raised his eyebrows and said: “Yes?”

“Is it a reasonable situation to throw a celebration for a person turning forty, with the purpose of welcoming them to old age?”

Aragorn paused for a moment, seeing Faramir’s almost pleading face, and Eomer and Eowyn’s wickedly delighted ones. “Of course,” he snorted. “It is tradition, Faramir.”

“Your favorite thing,” said Eomer with an evil look.

”Can no one understand that I only honor traditions worth honoring?” Faramir responded with a frustration born of long endurance with this subject.

”Such as the one that calls for the King to wear disgustingly embroidered robes to every Council meeting?” muttered Aragorn as he turned away.

“That was quite an honorable tradition,” retorted Faramir. “And the word you are searching for is delicately, not disgustingly.”

But Aragorn was gone, and Faramir turned to face his Rohirric relations again, cringing at the glee that shone from their faces. “For the last time, please, I beg you,” he said, “I am not old.”

But before another word could be said, Legolas slid up behind Faramir, putting an arm round his shoulder and smiling down upon brother and sister with a youthlike demeanor. “Of course you are not, Faramir. Why, you are but a child, scarcely older than these babes I see before me.”

And with a flashing grin, he turned and whisked himself away, leaving the Steward of Gondor fairly smug, and the King of Rohan magnificently smoldering.

“As you can see,” said Faramir smoothly, “holding this party now would be quite out of place. If you should choose to do so in, say, forty years, I should not make ruckus. But if nothing else is convincing, let you both know that if you declare me elderly at forty years of age, what would you call the Lady Galadriel?”

“Nothing that is not flattering, of course,” growled Gimli, the latest eavesdropper.

As Faramir departed, triumphant, it was in Eomer’s mind to call out the word ‘ancient’ in answer, defying the rhetoric nature of the question and Gimli at the same time, but Eowyn spotted his look, and spoke quickly: “Eomer, we must admit that have been outdone, by Gondorians and Elves no less. But think you for a moment of the benefits—if Faramir has it not done to him, neither shall it be done to us.”

“So say you, oh happy resident of Gondor,” murmured Eomer, sighing. “Elfhelm, despite his name, knows nothing of Elvish ways, and will not care what has been decided today. It will not matter how youthful I may be in nine years: it shall happen.”

“Great mearas, Eomer, are you envying Gondor?” queried Eowyn, eyes open wide.

“Of course not!” snorted Eomer. He wrapped one arm around Eowyn and leaned in, whispering: “Yes, in this matter, of course, but let it never be known.”

Eowyn chuckled. “Of course. Worry not, my brother, I shall not even tell my quite elderly husband.” And with a twinkle in her eye, she departed in search of Faramir again.


Happy Birthday, Dr. G!

The Party Tree was all aglow
Our love for Dr. G to show,
Some cake and ice cream
plus lots of kid's screams,
Pass round the finest ale
and someone start to tell a tale,
We couldn't let this day pass
without fun, hilarity and sass,
Our Dr. G is a wonderful mod
we give him lots of nods,
So, have a excellent time today
and Dr. G, Happy Birthday!!!
- Silivren Ithildin

Dr. G—Dr. G
Father of Family
Maker of simile,
Limerick, and poem

Dispensing acumen
Ever a Gentleman
Makes our club a ‘Home’

There once was a Hobbit in Texas
I wish I could buy him a Lexus
Dr. G is—it’s been said—
The best thing since sliced bread!
He’s at the heart of M.E.—part of the nexus!

(have you ANY IDEA how hard it is to find rhymes to ‘Texas’? Dr. G—why on earth can’t you live in Maine? I gotta thousand rhymes for that state! LOL!)
Happy Birthday Doc! We love you!! - - Lothithil


One Doc to rule them all
One Doc to find them
One Doc to bring them all
And in bind them

Somehow that did not quite go the way I intended oops I better stick to fiction.
- Varda

As we celebrate our dear Doctor's timely passage into Middle Age (er, Middle Earth), let us pause to reflect on his earlier accomplishments, prior to taking up residence in the middle of the desert...

It seems the Professor had a somewhat dubious reputation back then. Tales are told of a wanderer who beguiled students and parents alike, for the purpose of organising musical groups of any variety: choral groups, marching bands, quartets, quintets, hip-hop groups...

All quite notorious, and underfunded... wink

He met his match, however, in the form of a Southern maiden, a Miss Paroo, with whom he had to paroove himself. It was then that he headed Southwest, settling in a small town not far from Riven City...

In those early days, those murky, shadowy days, the Doc employed an alias, an alter ego if you will. He travelled far and wide, engaging in all manner of musical mischief. It is even reported that he may have practiced unsafe sax...

He was simply known, back then, as Professor Harry Underhill...

And this was his calling card; his trademark; his signature; his Opus; his forte'...


  to 76 TROMBONES, 1957 Meredith Willson

76 ELF HORNS , 2007 Erech the undead

Seventy six Elf horns led the Elf brigade
With a hundred and ten times ten glowing blades
They were followed by rows and rows of warriors proud all spears aglow
They're the cream of every Elven glade.

Seventy six Elf horns sounding forth ablow
With a hundred and ten Elf squads in colorful rows
There were more than a thousand reeds springing up like Mallorn seeds
There were Ents of every shape and kind you know

There were horse platoons with copper bottom tympani
Thundering, thundering, right down to the Sea
Double bell euphoniums for times of war
Edoras is on the march to fight for you and me

There were fifty thousand horsemen riding to the fore
Thundering, thundering, louder than before
Trumpeters who's backs would arch as foes all fled into the dark
Their wretched corpses piled up by the score

Seventy six Elf horns scattered every Orc
While a thousand times ten Elf voices pierced the Mark
To the rhythm of 'Harch Harch Harch!'
All these Men and Elves did march
Cries of "Victory" still shouted loud today!


As I walked out in the streets of Laredo,
As I walked out in Laredo one day,
I spied a young Doctor a-walkin’ and singin’
A-walkin’ and singin’ as bold as a jay.

He sang like a birdie and smiled while he did it,
He sang like a birdie whilst amblin’ on.
This musical Doctor is one of our best guys,
He’s clever and funny, deserving of song.

Here’s hoping your Birthday, my dear Doctor Gamgee,
Is Happy and Fun-Filled from morning till night.
May all of your birthdays forever and ever
Be happy and joyful and full of delight.
- Vison

We do not know exactly what date Boromir of Gondor was born on – but he was forty years old when he set off on the quest to find the answers for the riddle of the dream that Faramir and he shared.

So it seems only logical (what woman of Gondor needs logic) – to have a little tale of Boromir’s birthday to give to Dr. G on his fortieth birthday! Many, many happy returns, dear friend!

July 3rd - -

He heard stifled laughter coming from his father’s study; his brow furrowed. There was naught to laugh about, in his mind’s eye. All seemed to be doom and gloom. Was not he leaving on a dangerous quest on the morrow? He hesitated a moment before knocking on the door.

“Who calls?”

Now Boromir was highly disturbed. His father’s voice questioned him! Did not his father summon him? The guard at his side never flinched. “You told him I was here?”

The guard nodded, but said nary a word.

“‘Tis Boromir. You sent for me, my Lord Steward,” he called through the closed oaken door.

Uproarious laughter greeted his words. Boromir began to fume. Mayhap he should turn around and go to The Green Parrot, as he had planned before the summons.

“Just a moment, Captain. I need to tidy the room.”

Behind the door, snorts and giggles greeted this response. Boromir stood at the closed door, his mouth agape. ‘What in all the tea in Harad is going on?’ He clutched his sword hilt and paced back and forth.

“You may enter,” his father’s voice said a few moments later.

He put his hand on the cold, black, iron handle and pushed the lever down. The door was locked!

Raucous laughter came through the door.

“Forgive me, my son,” the Steward called aloud. “I forgot I locked it.”

Boromir stood back, waiting impatiently for someone to unlock it and let him in. It was nearing dusk. He had hoped to spend the night packing, sharpening his sword, and spending at least a little time with Faramir. He had reserved a table at the Green Parrot and had hoped to enjoy what was left of this hideous day with Faramir and some close friends.

The Council meeting earlier in the day had been a disaster. It had taken all of Boromir’s persuading to finally sway his father to let him go to Imladris. If such a place could be found. Faramir had wanted to go, probably should have been the one sent; instead he left in anger. They had not spoken since Denethor gave the mission to Boromir in his stead.

If his father was in one of his moods, he would spend the night here, listening to theories, looking at maps, and going over all the information that they had eschewed at the Council meeting earlier in the day. He tried to control his temper, his frustration, and his sorrow. He needed to spend time with his brother, to explain his reasons for making the journey instead. Faramir was disappointed in him, he knew that.

“Surprise!” The shouted greeting met him as he stepped through the late opened door. “Happy Birth Day!”

Boromir stared. Denethor, Faramir, Imrahil, the captains of the different Citadel guards, some of the lords from the Council meeting – all stood about with smiles upon their faces and shouts of congratulations on their lips.

“I… I had forgotten.”

Faramir stepped forward and hugged him. “We did not!”
- Agape4Rivendell

Little 'FORTY' notes from THE books -

Gelion was a great river; and he rose in two sources and had at first two branches; Little Gelion that came from the Hill of Himring, and Greater Gelion that came from Mount Rerir. From the meeting of his arms he flowed south for forty leagues before he found his tributaries… The Silmarillion

At last worn by haste and the long road (for forty leagues and more had he journeyed without rest) he (TURIN) came with the first ice of winter to the pools of Ivrin, where before he had been healed. But they were now but a frozen mire, and he could drink there no more.' The Silmarillion

"-and slipped inside the crack before it closed. I followed down into the main hall, which was crowded with goblins. The Great Goblin was there with thirty or forty armed guards. I thought to myself 'even if they were not all chained together, what can a dozen do against so many?' " The Hobbit

Most of their earlier settlements had long disappeared and been forgotten in Bilbo's time; but one of the first to become important still endured, though reduced in size; this was at Bree and in the Chetwood that lay round about, some forty miles east of the Shire. FOTR

Forty leagues it stretched from the Far Downs to the Brandywine Bridge, and fifty from the northern moors to the marshes in the south. The Hobbits named it the Shire… FOTR

No one had a more attentive audience than old Ham Gamgee, commonly known as the Gaffer. He held forth at The Ivy Bush, a small inn on the Bywater road; and he spoke with some authority, for he had tended the garden at Bag End for forty years… FOTR

"I cannot say," answered Gandalf. "It depends on many chances. But going straight, without mishap or losing our way, we shall take three or four marches, I expect. It cannot be less than forty miles from West-door to East-gate in a direct line, and the road may wind much."

Forty leagues and more it was, as a bird flies, from Edoras to the fords of the Isen, where they hoped to find the king's men that held back the hosts of Saruman. TTT

"How many are there?" he (SAM) thought. "Thirty or forty from the tower at least, and a lot more than that from down below, I guess. How many can I kill before they get me? TTT

Shagrat's company had seemed to be about forty, and Gorbag's more than twice as large… ROTK

Still far away, forty miles at least, they saw Mount Doom, its feet founded in ashen ruin, its huge cone rising to a great height, where its reeking head was swathed in cloud. ROTK

It was a good forty miles from the Bridge to Bag End, but someone made the journey in a hurry. So Frodo and his friends soon discovered. ROTK

Dr. G - I honestly don’t think Tolkien liked the number forty – if you wait two years - forty-two is a favorite of his – especially concerning the battle of numbers between Gimli and Legolas!!!

Of course, my main man was forty when he started out on the Quest – but Tollers doesn’t mention his age. THIS to me is quite significant and makes a wondrous thought for the day.

I hope you enjoyed this little trip down memory lane – you will need it – for your memory will disappear too – into the West, I think!

Many happy returns, dearest friend….
- Linaewen

And a Response:

I don't think the term "Laugh Lines" for "wrinkles" has ever applied to my face before, but after reading all of these lovely posts, and loosing 5 lbs. by LMBO I have to say, "Yeah, I have Laugh Lines!"

The posts were all wonderful. I was rather shocked to see so many, and with Inklings and Poems and Songs, Limericks added in to all the good wishes, I am rather humbled by the outpouring.

My friends, you have made my 40th birthday a delight. Had I known how great this side of the hill was, I would have gone over it YEARS ago!

Bless you all for enriching my life in so many ways,


And finally...

Doctor Gamgee's 40th Birthday Cake (Orange Raspberry)

Make a Yellow Cake Mix (Substitute Orange Juice for Water)
and add fresh raspberries (stirred gently by hand once the batter is liquid).
If you have it, add a dash of Watkins Orange Extract.
I covered mine with the Pillsbury Cream Cheese frosting, and had a bit of Raspberry filling (found near the pie fillings) which is used for pastries to make thin lines on top, then dragged the edge of a knife down through the lines to add an interesting pattern.

It was YUMMY!