".. and
then you put the Rum Punch in the microwave" said H. At 3:30 on May Day morning I'm
not at my best, but was sufficiently awake to be concerned at yet another lethal brew.
"Don't worry" he smiled reasuringly, "it's the same recipe as last
Xmas." There suddenly was a deafening explosion, and the microwave door sailed over
our heads, being urgently persued by a large tongue of flaming alcohol vapour.
"That's funny" he said, "that's what happened at Xmas!"
The picnic hamper was going to be short this year, although the Hot Rum Punch would hardly be missed amongst the hard liquor and hard drugs.
It was practise night last night, and Simon, the Bagman stressed over and over that everyone should be there at 4:45. Fate had been so kind to us; the second clear May Day morning in a row. Moel Arthur, an ancient hill fortress on Offa's Dyke, once boundary of the lands of Mercia, was our intended dance location. We waited until 5:00 am, but there was no sign of Simon. So, in the old Morris tradition of this area, we ascended the hill, led by the Branch Bearer.
In Clerical
Error, the Branch is borne by the newest member of the team; this year, out of our nine
new recruits, it was Ken. The Branch is of Birch, from the tree that made the Maypole,
adorned with Gorse, symbolising the arrival of Summer Dancing, ribbons and trinkets. The
Branch Bearer never blacks up.
"Now remind me again" he says, "why am I carrying this fucking tree?".
Most members were in kit and blacked up, as it was announced last night that the "Shropshire Accord" would be enforced; ie If no kit or no makeup - then no trousers.
There was a hard frost on the ground, and the team shivered waiting for the ascent. Hip flasks circulated. "Do you know?" said Ken, "this is the first time that I've been sober at night, but drunk the following morning."
It was going to be a fine morning, with a little cloud cover over England slightly masking the rising sun. Damned English Infidels.
It was time to communicate with our English colleagues, Mersey Morris, on top of Thor's Rock, on the Wirral. Up went the signalling Maroon.
The mead started to circulate. Ali, the Foreman, decided an alternative way of keeping warm would be to dance. Everyone looked at each other. This was a radical idea, but worth trying,
The first dance was Craven Stomp; a good warm-up for our frozen limbs.
Ali, sings a song to a goat, in the company of the Branch Bearer
Ali, now sings the "Red Flag"
Here comes the sun, little darlin'
White Ladies Aston
Wrekin Havoc
Brimfield Stick Dance
(Demolition Version)
Not for Joe
Ragged Crow
Bernie seems to be unable to stop. "What bastard put superglue on the ends of this bleedin' stick?"
Team descend Moel Arthur, leaving behind the Birch and Gorse. For us, Summer Dancing has begun.
Oh, except for Shelley, who was having a "P on the Floor"
"
No, you've still got it in your ears"
"I SAID, YOU'VE STILL GOT IT IN YOUR EARS!"
Simon shows that he was cheating the Shropshire Accord, by wearing shorts
Denise, the Squire, prepares to leave. "...then I fell head first into the bog. It's not fuckin' funny!"
Clerical Error causes unexpected traffic jam on Offa's Dyke
Ken demonstrates the art of one-handed urination
Dances performed today included :
Songs included :