Narnia is a land of creatures with creatures like dryads (the spirits of the trees) and naiads (the gods and goddesses of the river), creatures that may not be that familiar to most readers. Then there are the creatures that are more familiar to us, appearing in more popular fairy tales and fantasy stories, like dwarves and giants. But the Narnian giants are unlike the giants from our fairy tales (who sometimes say “fee-fie-fo-fum”), and they are unlike the giants from the surrounding areas of Narnia as well – such as the stupid giants of Ettinsmoor who play cockshies (a stone throwing contest) nearly everyday, and the “gentle” giants of Harfang, whose idea of being gentle turned out to be eating man-pies.

From the seven books of The Chronicles of Narnia, we have two examples of Narnian giants (those that live in the land of Narnia itself), namely Giant Rumblebuffin and Giant Wimbleweather.

We first meet Giant Rumblebuffin in the White Witch’s courtyard in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Of course, he was still a stone giant at that time, until Aslan breathed on his feet and revived him. Although it took some time before he could understand what happened, he courteously thanked the Lion and then joined in the Battle of Beruna, where Aslan defeated the White Witch and later crowned the four Pevensies kings and queens of Narnia.

Giant Wimbleweather was also involved in another battle (which happened hundreds of years after the Battle of Beruna) in Prince Caspian. We first meet him arriving at the Dancing Lawn with the centaurs, “carrying on his back a basketful of rather sea-sick dwarfs who had accepted his offer of a lift and were now wishing they had walked instead.” He was unfortunately not very smart and made a critical error during the battle, much to everyone’s dismay.

From these two examples, we see that giants are very polite and thoughtful creatures. When Giant Rumblebuffin finally realized how Aslan has saved him from his stony state, he “bowed down till his head was no further off than the top of a haystack and touched his cap repeatedly to Aslan.” When Aslan asked his name, he respectfully replied, “Giant Rumblebuffin, if it please your honour.” When Aslan requested him to destroy the gate, he immediately obeyed the Lion’s request and remembered to warn the creatures nearby to get out of the way. When Lucy noticed that her “handkerchee” wasn’t helping him much given how small it was for the giant’s huge face, he hastened to assure her that it wasn’t useless. “Not at all. Not at all,” he said politely. “Never met a nicer handkerchee. So fine, so handy. So – I don’t know how to describe it.”

Giant Wimbleweather, although he didn’t have any lines in Prince Caspian, was also a kind, well-mannered creature. As previously mentioned, he offered a lift to the dwarfs on the way to the council, no doubt intending to save them from the fatigue of a long journey. That didn’t turn out quite so well, as we know, since the dwarfs got “sea-sick” from riding on his back. When he made the crucial mistake during the battle, he didn’t vent out his shame and gloom in anger, as you would expect from someone so big, but in sorrow and tears. Again, this did not turn out quite so well, as he unintentionally gave some sleepy mice a shower from the giant tears falling down his face. After being told off by the mice, the giant chose to tiptoe away instead of lashing out. This is a behavior you wouldn’t normally expect from someone who we can assume is the biggest and probably the most powerful in an army.

In life, we have our “gentle giants” as well – those who, despite their size, or influence, or position, are still kind-hearted, and polite, and a pleasure to be with. I’m sure we’ll see them in Aslan’s country in the afterlife.

-oOo-

Excerpts on RUMBLEBUFFIN (from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)

“Oh!” said Susan in a different tone. “Look! I wonder – I mean, is it safe?”

Lucy looked and saw that Aslan had just breathed on the feet of the stone giant.

“It’s all right!” shouted Aslan joyously. “Once the feet are put right, all the rest of him will follow.”

“That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” whispered Susan to Lucy. But it was too late to do anything about it now even if Aslan would have listened to her. The change was already creeping up the Giant’s legs. Now he was moving his feet. A moment later he lifted his club off his shoulder, rubbed his eyes and said, “Bless me! I must have been asleep. Now! Where’s that dratted little Witch that was running about on the ground. Somewhere just by my feet it was.” But when everyone had shouted up to him to explain what had really happened, and when the Giant had put his hand to his ear and got them to repeat it all again so that at last he understood, then he bowed down till his head was no further off than the top of a haystack and touched his cap repeatedly to Aslan, beaming all over his honest ugly face. (Giants of any sort are now so rare in England and so few giants are good-tempered that ten to one you have never seen a giant when his face is beaming. It’s a sight well worth looking at.)

“Now for the inside of this house!” said Aslan. “Look alive, everyone. Up stairs and down stairs and in my lady’s chamber! Leave no corner unsearched. You never know where some poor prisoner may be concealed.”

And into the interior they all rushed and for several minutes the whole of that dark, horrible, fusty old castle echoed with the opening of windows and with everyone’s voices crying out at once, “Don’t forget the dungeons – Give us a hand with this door! Here’s another little winding stair – Oh! I say. Here’s a poor kangaroo. Call Aslan – Phew! How it smells in here – Look out for trap-doors – Up here! There are a whole lot more on the landing!” But the best of all was when Lucy came rushing upstairs shouting out, “Aslan! Aslan! I’ve found Mr. Tumnus. Oh, do come quick.”

A moment later Lucy and the little Faun were holding each other by both hands and dancing round and round for joy. The little chap was none the worse for having been a statue and was of course very interested in all she had to tell him.

But at last the ransacking of the Witch’s fortress was ended. The whole castle stood empty with every door and window open and the light and the sweet spring air flooding into all the dark and evil places which needed them so badly. The whole crowd of liberated statues surged back into the courtyard. And it was then that someone (Tumnus, I think) first said, “But how are we going to get out?” for Aslan had got in by a jump and the gates were still locked.

“That’ll be all right,” said Aslan; and then, rising on his hind-legs, he bawled up at the Giant. “Hi! You up there,” he roared. “What’s your name?”

“Giant Rumblebuffin, if it please your honour,” said the Giant, once more touching his cap.

“Well then, Giant Rumblebuffin,” said Aslan, “just let us out of this, will you?”

“Certainly, your honour. It will be a pleasure,” said Giant Rumblebuffin. “Stand well away from the gates, all you little ‘uns.” Then he strode to the gate himself and bang – bang – bang – went his huge club. The gates creaked at the first blow, cracked at the second, and shivered at the third. Then he tackled the towers on each side of them and after a few minutes of crashing and thudding both the towers and a good bit of the wall on each side went thundering down in a mass of hopeless rubble; and when the dust cleared it was odd, standing in that dry, grim, stony yard, to see through the gap all the grass and waving trees and sparkling streams of the forest, and the blue hills beyond that and beyond them the sky.

“Blowed if I ain’t all in a muck sweat,” said the Giant, puffing like the largest railway engine. “Comes of being out of condition. I suppose neither of you young ladies has such a thing as a pocket-handkerchee about you?”

“Yes, I have,” said Lucy, standing on tip-toes and holding her handkerchief up as far as she could reach.

“Thank you, Missie,” said Giant Rumblebuffin, stooping down. Next moment Lucy got rather a fright for she found herself caught up in mid-air between the Giant’s finger and thumb. But just as she was getting near his face he suddenly started and then put her gently back on the ground muttering, “Bless me! I’ve picked up the little girl instead. I beg your pardon, Missie, I thought you was the handkerchee!”

“No, no,” said Lucy laughing, “here it is!” This time he managed to get it but it was only about the same size to him that a saccharine tablet would be to you, so that when she saw him solemnly rubbing it to and fro across his great red face, she said, “I’m afraid it’s not much use to you, Mr. Rumblebuffin.”

“Not at all. Not at all,” said the giant politely. “Never met a nicer handkerchee. So fine, so handy. So – I don’t know how to describe it.”

“What a nice giant he is!” said Lucy to Mr. Tumnus.

“Oh yes,” replied the Faun. “All the Buffins always were. One of the most respected of all the giant families in Narnia. Not very clever, perhaps (I never knew a giant that was), but an old family. With traditions, you know. If he’d been the other sort she’d never have turned him into stone.”

-oOo-

Excerpts on WIMBLEWEATHER (from Prince Caspian)

At last there came a night when everything had gone as badly as possible, and the rain which had been falling heavily all day had ceased at nightfall only to give place to raw cold. That morning Caspian had arranged what was his biggest battle yet, and all had hung their hopes on it. He, with most of the Dwarfs, was to have fallen on the King’s right wing at daybreak, and then, when they were heavily engaged, Giant Wimbleweather, with the Centaurs and some of the fiercest beasts, was to have broken out from another place and endeavoured to cut the King’s right off from the rest of the army. But it had all failed. No one had warned Caspian (because no one in these later days of Narnia remembered) that Giants are not at all clever. Poor Wimbleweather, though as brave as a lion, was a true Giant in that respect. He had broken out at the wrong time and from the wrong place, and both his party and Caspian’s had suffered badly and done the enemy little harm. The best of the Bears had been hurt, a Centaur terribly wounded, and there were few in Caspian’s party who had not lost blood. It was a gloomy company that huddled under the dripping trees to eat their scanty supper.

The gloomiest of all was Giant Wimbleweather. He knew it was all his fault. He sat in silence shedding big tears which collected on the end of his nose and then fell off with a huge splash on the whole bivouac of the Mice, who had just been beginning to get warm and drowsy. They all jumped up, shaking the water out of their ears and wringing their little blankets, and asked the Giant in shrill but forcible voices whether he thought they weren’t wet enough without this sort of thing. And then other people woke up and told the Mice they had been enrolled as scouts and not as a concert party, and asked why they couldn’t keep quiet. And Wimbleweather tiptoed away to find some place where he could be miserable in peace and stepped on somebody’s tail and somebody (they said afterwards it was a fox) bit him. And so everyone was out of temper.