The Woolen Mill Tale
by Bruce Malcolm (my husband)
by Bruce Malcolm (my husband)
Once upon a time, there was a firm tucked away on the moors of England that made woolen goods by warrant from her Majesty, the Queen. This had been going on for several hundred years and the factory always turned out a fine, fine product in the good old-fashioned way - at a tidy profit. The old mill was glorious to behold, as it was an appealing multi-leveled structure full of whirling flywheels and tall shafts.
One day, the bookkeeper went to the owner of the mill and said, "We're losing money."
"What are you talking about?" questioned the owner.
"Well, I've checked the records again and again, and I promise you, we're losing money."
"That's impossible! Orders are up. We haven't changed our way of doing things in over 400 years, so why should we suddenly be losing money?"
As reasonable people do, they looked further into the problem. They discovered the loss was due to theft by employees! They did everything they could think of to stop this, including hiring guards, but still the thievery continued. By this time, the owner was at his wit's end.
While sitting at his desk one afternoon, he picked up a copy of the München Zeitung, a German newspaper that happened to be lying on a pile of bills to be paid. He saw an advertisement on the back for Guard Hounds of Munich. The factory owner was intrigued. He read further and discovered that if these guard dogs were employed in the factory, they were guaranteed to solve his security problem. Hoping for the best, the owner wrote to the hound company and in two weeks time, the dogs were delivered to the woolen mills by their trainer, a small man with long arms, a down-turned moustache, and green shoes. The trainer turned the dogs lose in the factory and within days, the dogs put an end to the pilfering. Anyone carrying woolen goods off the premises was cornered and bitten. Satisfied, the owner signed a release and the green-shod trainer returned to Munich, leaving his dogs behind.
While sitting at his desk one afternoon, he picked up a copy of the München Zeitung, a German newspaper that happened to be lying on a pile of bills to be paid. He saw an advertisement on the back for Guard Hounds of Munich. The factory owner was intrigued. He read further and discovered that if these guard dogs were employed in the factory, they were guaranteed to solve his security problem. Hoping for the best, the owner wrote to the hound company and in two weeks time, the dogs were delivered to the woolen mills by their trainer, a small man with long arms, a down-turned moustache, and green shoes. The trainer turned the dogs lose in the factory and within days, the dogs put an end to the pilfering. Anyone carrying woolen goods off the premises was cornered and bitten. Satisfied, the owner signed a release and the green-shod trainer returned to Munich, leaving his dogs behind.
But it seemed the dogs were not as tame as the mill owner supposed. In fact, they were a bit wild and hard to handle once the trainer left. Over time, the dogs took over the jumblie, pumblie English mill to breed in the nooks and crannies. Soon, little puppies, growing bigger teeth every day, were everywhere. They were awful. They would rush out from beneath the benches and work tables to bite honest and unsuspecting workers on the ankles.
Things soon became intolerable. Efficiency declined. Profits fell. It got to the point where the dogs had infested the mill so severely, the owner went bankrupt and had to close the business.
One foggy sad day, not long after, the owner was putting a huge brass lock on the black wrought iron gate of his beloved mill. Lowering his head, he walked through the mist on the moors and turned back to take one last look at the place. As tears of regret poured down his face, he was inspired to write a song. You may have heard of it. Or something similar, for the name of that song was The Mills Are Alive with the Hounds of Munich.
