POETS Day! Why Is Tom Bombadil?

Illustration by Rene Sears

A friend of mine has a deep booming voice. Years ago, he was the MC for The Tragic City Rollers roller derby team, a play on Birmingham’s Magic City nickname. I’m not sure what to call roller derby participants. Players doesn’t sound right, but whatever they are, they pick campy or funny nicknames for themselves, kind of like drag queens.

I worked with a quiet, clever, but shy waitress around the turn of the century who moved off to Austin. Next thing I know I’m channel surfing and come across a roller derby reality show on A&E. It’s her. The waitress is on the screen smashing people and not being shy. It was amazing. She was named rookie of the year, which I know because of course I became a regular viewer. She had the best roller derby name I’ve heard. She went by Venus Envy.

Back to Birmingham, I don’t think my friend cared much for roller derby. I asked him if there was strategy and he said there was, but he didn’t know what was going on most of the time. He said he did it because his friend picked the name Sister Mary Merciless, and he really liked introducing her as “Full of grace and in your face! It’s Sister Mary Merciless!”

He said he had to be there mid-afternoon before the weekend matches. I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s what he said and it got him out of work early Friday. That was brilliant.

Whatever silly thing you want to do is a valid excuse. Piss Off Early, Tomorrow’s Saturday.

But first, some verse.

—

Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!

That’s how we meet him. In Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring, at least, that’s how most meet him. He was first featured in a 1934 poem Tolkien wrote called The Adventures of Tom Bombadil, but it wasn’t widely read and certainly not recognized as a bit of the kernel of the workings that would eventually become The Lord of the Rings.

In Fellowship, the hobbits were shepherded by some no good woods and ravines to the River Withywindle and while walking along the banks, were set upon. Old Man Willow, an evil and predatory tree, swallowed poor Pippin and grabbed Merry in a barky pincer, threatening to snap him in half. Frodo does the wise thing and starts screaming for help.

Along comes Bombadil and “Hey dol! merry dol!”

I’m reading Fellowship as part of a book club made up by fathers of students at my youngest’s school. We meet every Thursday morning and chat about a few chapters before the bell. It’s nice. We started with Chesterton’s Orthodoxy over the summer and decided to give fiction a go next. After a vote, we started on Tolkien.

One of the reasons it’s nice is that we take it slowly. My club book is like a bonus book. We only do two chapters, so thirty or so pages, a week. Regular reading isn’t interrupted so I never feel like I’m missing out on something else because of the obligation and having a story I’m immersed in over a period is surprisingly fun. I thought it might stretch out over too long. The only downside so far, is that I read for a month dreading our first meet up with Bombadil.

I haven’t picked up The Lord of the Rings since high school. Time exaggerates and distorts. When I ws a kid, the songs and poems drove me nuts. Half of them I skipped right by. Bombadil’s song after his intro is a mere fourteen lines.

Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!
Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.
Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,
Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,
There my pretty lady is, River-woman’s daughter,
Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water.
Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing
Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing?
Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! and merry-o,
Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o!
Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away!
Tom’s in a hurry now. Evening will follow day.
Tom’s going home again water-lilies bringing.
Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?

I seem to recall skipping endless pages of nonsense, but that wasn’t the case.

All told he has less than eight hundred words of verse. It was a monolithic section in my mind. I’m not alone. I’ve talked about the books with others before this recent reading and Bombadil always comes up. No one is kind to him. “Oh, man. I skipped that section,” says nearly everybody. Peter Jackson skipped him. That confirmed every annoyance real or imagined, erroneously piled on a very minor character as the tale goes.

Hop along, my little friends, up the Withywindle!
Tom’s going on ahead candles for to kindle.
Down west sinks the Sun: soon you will be groping.
When the night-shadows fall, then the door will open,
Out of the window-panes light will twinkle yellow.
Fear no alder black! Heed no hoary willow!
Fear neither root nor bough! Tom goes on before you.
Hey now! merry dol! We’ll be waiting for you!

The question to me, is why is he in it at all?

Those who’ve done a deep dive into the mythology – and here I wanted to write “and had a glass of semillon” for a little word play, but I needed to look up the spelling of semillon as it’d been a while since I’d even thought of the grape much less read or seen it written. If you correctly type “semillon” into duck-duck-go, the first result is the Wikipedia page for Tolkien’s Silmarillion. Good for Tolkein, but bad for Sauternes and trimmed sauvignon blanc.

Anyway, from those who dive deep into the mythology, I’m told Bombadil is a force of nature. He was there when the world was sung into being. Interestingly, Tolkien’s friend C.S. Lewis wrote a creation myth that involved singing. Aslan the lion is said to have sung Narnia into existence. I bet interesting conversations were had between the two about that.

Hey! Come derry dol! Hop along, my hearties!
Hobbits! Ponies all! We are fond of parties.
Now let the fun begin! Let us sing together!

One of the enduring images from the trilogy is the eye of Sauron, the great evil that casts a malignant gaze over the world from Mordor. At least that’s how Peter Jackson depicted it. I don’t remember and we haven’t gotten that far but a red and fiery eye sounds right. While at Bombadil’s house, Frodo hands over the ring and Bombadil holds it up to see, “his bright blue eyes gleaming through the circle of gold.” It’s a great contrast.

Now let the song begin! Let us sing together
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather,
Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather,
Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather,
Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water:
Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!

The ring seems to have no power over him. Bombadil slips it on and remains visible and when Frodo wears it, he has no trouble seeing him. Gandalf considered giving him the ring to keep it from evil hands, but abandoned the idea because the ring held so little power over Bombadil that Gandalf feared he’d forget it somewhere, unwary and so unconcerned with it.

O slender as a willow-wand! O clearer than clear water!
O reed by the living pool! Fair River-daughter!
O spring-time and summer-time, and spring again after!
O wind on the waterfall, and the leaves’ laughter!

We talked about why at book club. The ring corrupts. For whatever reason it holds no sway over Bombadil. Is he so good a creature that he’s beyond its power? One of the members is among those who get into the mythology, and he talked to Bombadil’s power. He cited a few things in The Silmarillion I can’t remember right now, but it all hinted at massive powers of the man, though he’s not a man. Is it possible that he’s so powerful that there’s nothing the ring can tempt him with?

Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow;
Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow.

—

I had an errand there: gathering water lilies,
green leaves and lilies white to please my pretty lady,
the last ere the year’s end to keep them from the winter,
to flower by her pretty feet till the snows are melted.
Each year at summer’s end I go to find them for her,
in a wide pool, deep and clear, far down Withywindle;
there they open first in spring and there they linger latest.
By that pool long ago I found the River-daughter,
fair young Goldberry sitting in the rushes.
Sweet was her singing then, and her heart was beating!

—

And that proved well for you – for now I shall no longer
go down deep again along the forest-water,
not while the year is old. Nor shall I be passing
Old Man Willow’s house this side of spring-time,
not till the merry spring, when the River-daughter
dances down the withy-path to bathe in the water.

We talked about why Tom could see Frodo too. The Black Riders are completely corrupted. In a sense they are uncorruptible as the job’s been done. They can’t see at all but they can sense the wearer of the ring. They smell him or perceive him otherwise. Does the ring make the wearer invisible or unseen to some? Maybe it hides motives. The ring can do no further harm to the Black Riders nor can it do anything to Tom, so there is no advantage in sneaking about, metaphorically.

Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow,
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!

—

Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow,
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!

—

Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow,
Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow.
None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the master:
His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster.

—

Get out, you old Wight! Vanish in the sunlight!
Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,
Out into the barren lands far beyond the mountains!
Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty!
Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.

Apparently, Tom Bombadil is the name given to one of Tolkien’s children’s dolls. Whether the name was first a character’s given by Tolkien to the toy or named by his children and borrowed by Tolkien for his story, I don’t know. His inclusion in the story is not necessary. He’s a big part of the greater mythology, but the story could do well enough without the chapter I and others remember skipping right by.

Wake now my merry lads! Wake and hear me calling!
Warm now be heart and limb! The cold stone is fallen;
Dark door is standing wide; dead hand is broken.
Night under Night is flown, and the Gate is open!

There’s a great many asides and stories half told that populate Tolkien’s world without directly impacting the story. It’s right to say that he was intent on world building. That’s certain.

Hey! now! Come hoy now! Whither do you wander?
Up, down, near or far, here, there or yonder?
Sharp-ears, Wise-nose, Swish-tail and Bumpkin,
White-socks my little lad, and old Fatty Lumpkin!

There are legends we get part of and battles that are alluded too. There’s a constant reminder that the hero’s journey isn’t the only conflict. The world is in peril and Frodo will or won’t save it. But there are other battles going on. This story is a grand Christian allegory. I like the idea that Tolkien wanted to remind us all that no matter how important you think you are and no matter how high the stakes, you have to remember that others have paths and they think theirs is just as important. It makes me giggle to think he’s saying, “Get off your high pony, Frodo.”

Tom’s country ends here: he will not pass the borders.
Tom has his house to mind, and Goldberry is waiting!

Out of curiosity, how many of the above Bombadil parts, and that’s the oeuvre, did you read before you started skipping them?