The Laird of the Manor was presiding over the annual fish eating competition. His son, Fyfe, was last year's champion, but the villagers had high hopes that the blacksmith's son, Steven, would gain the day.

As was traditional, a draw was made the week before to see what sort of fish would be eaten. Fyfe had hoped that it would be trout, as that was the chosen fish the previous year when he had won. However, it was not to be, as the Laird drew a piece of paper from his tweed hat and read it out: Tench.

And so the day of the contest arrived. The two men sat down at opposite ends of a long trestle table, tubs of tench in front of them, the crowd held back by the Laird's gamekeeper and his men.

They began to eat; Fyfe raced away, leading by half a fish after only a few minutes. By the time he had reached his eighth, Steven was one behind.

Suddenly, disaster struck! Fyfe was in agony as he bit down on his next fish. His molar came out, and he could eat no more.

Steven, in the few minutes left, overhauled him and won the competition, to the great acclaim of the villagers.

And the headline in the local paper was:

"ONE TOOTH FREE FOR FYFE, STEVEN ATE NINE TENCH"

LFF