Utrecht, Holland - June 1998

Four o'clock in the morning? Four o'clock in the morning! You don't get up at bleedin' four o'clock in the morning! You go to bed at four o'clock in the morning! Not this time. Travel kit on, cup of tea and out to the car which already had the sticks in it.
    
No it's not May Day morning, its Thursday 26th June and we're off to Utrecht who kindly agreed to partly uncancel their weekend of dance as we'd booked flights to go see them. Well John (F) would be ready on time and so would John (C), but Richard? Who knows.
    
No need to worry, we're all aboard on schedule at 04:50 and heading for the motorway. John has his poser-phone to synchronise with Dave who calls to say he's on his way a few miles behind us. We near Manchester and the rain starts on cue - just as we unload the luggage from the car in the long stay car park.
    
They've changed the BA departure terminal in the last week so I get everybody off the bus at the wrong entrance and John tries to work out how to get the sticks in their golf trolley up the escalators whilst two of us use the delay as an excuse to buy some guilders from Thomas Cooke.
    
A short hike later and we realise that many English World Cup fans are going to France via Schipol. We blend in well, gang of overweight, noisy blokes, smelling of beer armed with sticks. Check-in was remarkably smooth but for the announcement that the flight was delayed by an hour and a half. Not only could we still be in bed, Paul would catch up with us now even though we gave him the wrong flight time.
    
Paul had guessed and arrived in time to get a seat with us but it was worth it to watch and hear the explanations when his baggage was separately X-rayed and he had to explain the contents. He then gave out posters and instructions for next Thursday's pub session with Clerical Error and Mockbeggar. This is getting dangerous - forward planning!
    
The flight was uneventful and even Richard is now quite blase about it. He was seen to open one eye for several seconds at one stage during the flight and only screamed for about 5 min during/after take-off and landing. The worst thing was that this seemed to upset H who made a nasty mess on his seat.
    
Next miracle, all the baggage arrived intact. We're meeting Len in Amsterdam. He's come up by train from Worms. We should have been there well before him. As none of us have seen him for 10 years we hope he's still patient and trusting - we've still got to clear customs, buy train tickets, wait for the train and travel the 20 min
to Amsterdam. Paul helps take the pressure off by standing in the longest queue to change the money he could have changed during the wait in Manchester.
    
Amsterdam, city of canals ..... heavy traffic ..... pickpockets. We find Len and with a casual "Hi, where's the nearest bar" follow him across the road where we spend the next hour or so working our way through several pints (half litres to the purists) of beer. John is approached by an emaciated, grubby, hippy lady who asks for a cigarette. "You're in there" chorus 9 voices. He gives her three (cigarettes!) but then chickens out.
    
We agree to spend 45 min looking round the interesting bit of Amsterdam and then to go back to the station left luggage lockers to change into full kit for a spot of busking. We pay the bill and an irate waiter complains that Dave has paid him with 10 year old notes that are no longer legal tender. He hadn't quite got round to changing them since the last trip. Always believes in keeping things that might be handy in the future does Dave.
    
Sheepdogs have it easy. We lose two into a sex shop but find them again quite quickly. We lose three into a coffee house which doesn't smell of coffee. By the time we find them again, there's no point trying to get them out and the fumes are overpowering. We head towards a group of local ladies. This must be a poor area. They don't seem to have any other clothes to wear when they're doing their washing. They're all very friendly though and seem to want us to go inside. We've lost two more men! We head back towards the station but take a wrong turn. 15min later we get to the station and the others are all there - and much less tense than before, with smiles on their faces.

It must be true about the Continental lifestyle being more relaxing.
    
We change into kit and go back outside. The Dutch aren't like the Brits. When they see something odd that they don't understand, they ignore it. We walked into several people who seemed to realise that perhaps we were really there after all. Several of them stopped to talk to H though who made a real impression with some street magic routines stolen from Paul.
    
We busked for half an hour or so near some bus stops and collected quite a range of guilders, marks, kroner, even some sterling. "if we're going to eat in Utrecht, we'd better get off" somebody says. For the first time today, no arguments, and we jingle our way on to the express to Utrecht.
    
Utrecht station is like the Mall of America with trains. Millions of people, heads down, rushing somewhere. We find the left luggage and we're now experts; Dfl 4 for a small, Dfl 6 for a large and we know exactly which combination of cases works. Back through the masses and into the street. First dance spot is just past the King Arthur where we'll be meeting Utrecht at 20:30. Its not 17:00 yet though so time to dance. A first for Mersey, possibly a first for Morris. The manager of  the local McDonalds comes out to us and offers us a round of drinks! Enthusiasm is rapidly tempered when we realise he doesn't sell beer. We take a round of Mac Cola. If this happens again we'll be drummed out of the Ring and have to join the Fed! :-)
    
Dave's getting hungry and remembers Indonesian rijsttafel. He leads us on a 12 mile walk round Utrecht looking for a suitable restaurant. We cut our losses and have a Thai meal by the canal - its just next to the MacDonalds we danced at.
    
Back to the King Arthur and Ron has arrived from Utrecht. We play darts until the heat gets us and we go back outside to help keep the beer cool. England are playing and the team splits into enthusiasts who sit inside to watch the match and the rest of us who sit outside with our hosts. The streets are very busy so we decide to do something. Martin mentions that Utrecht are about to add some Border to their repertoire. It's all the encouragement we need. 5 Mersey and 3 Utrecht form up for Craven Stomp. We build up figure by figure. The crowd yell encouragement. Floris translates - they're saying "get on with it" he says.  4 - 5 times through and we've got it. We then run through some Cotswold for small sets. The match finishes, the rest of Mersey emerge. "How about some dancing then?". "We've just finished".
    
The local ladies side phone to say they've just finished their practice and would we like to join them at their local. We all move on (via the station to collect our cases). The beer flows until the early hours, the last buses have gone so someone phones a taxi. Len, Dave and I get in with Frans, the others leave with their hosts.
    
By 02:30 we've made it up the 4 flights of stairs into Frans' flat and decided who sleeps where. Len gets the short straw and sleeps on the floor - Mersey really know how to look after their guest musicians! After more beer and whisky, its time for bed - at four o'clock in the morning

Five hours, five bleedin' hours, five hours of chain saws cutting up logs. Lumberjack Len's snores beat any two stroke chain saw.

Well breakfasted Morris men gather in the sun outside a bar opposite the post office in Utrecht. Mainly coffees I see. Dave, now very thirsty, goes to the post office to try to change his old guilders into something spendable. No luck. Richard's drop of human kindness shows through and he lets Dave lick the dregs from his cup. Clive lets him smell his cigar.

We start with a "massed" Bobbing Around and then alternate dances from Utrecht and Mersey. Repertoires have changed over the years and are quite complementary.

A beer break and we cross the square to a stage that has been set up for a request spot - "make it noisy was the instruction, they might be filming for TV". Three stick dances later and the stage looks a lot the worse for wear and time for another beer. Dave's looking very dry and forlorn.

We move to an open area near the town hall and give a quick display - bags of room for Mersey's Chingford as the finale, but before that Paul dances a jig after a bit of street magic. The well endowed Canadian visitor didn't feel a thing as Paul removed her bra.

We shoot off with renewed enthusiasm as a brewery visit has been arranged. It starts with a free drink and Dave's cracked lips break into a smile. H lights the wrong end of one of Pauls amusing tapered cigarettes and gets a massive dose of phthalates instead.

Lunch is on the top floor and Clive, now 65 struggles valiantly with the stick trolley as we stand back and yell encouragement. Food continues to appear as we eat it and there's milk plus orange juice on the table. Dave fills his tankard for later. Getting stroppy now his tongue is no longer stuck to the roof of his mouth, he reminds us he has carried the rappers and we d**n well better use them. Taking the subtle hint we have a dance through. Two men haven't done the new dance so we try to remember the old. A bit sloppy but Len's playing gets us through. Having suffered enough, Utrecht decide its time to go for a walk to the Dom tower. The sky is darkening and the wind's blowing.

Several dances and a bit of cadging later we need a drink. Despite initial warnings not to go to the bar in the corner, that's where we go - the only bar with no customers in the area. We find out why. They don't have any clean glasses - we hand in tankards. Eventually beers arrive for those with tankards. Those without tankards get nothing. Washing glasses seems to be a novel concept. The boss isn't totally stupid though and Dave gets his expired guilders back again just as the heavens open. A quick change of plan - "lets dance under the trees over there rather than take the 15 min walk to the other side of the main canal where we're eating later". Unfortunately neither of the stick men hear the change. We've lost them.

An hour later, after running through dances we haven't done for ages and swapping men into some dances they haven't done for years, we start to worry about our stick men. They must be cloned from a common stupid stock we decide, but sod that, we need the sticks.

We walk through the rain to the restaurant and decide to miss the bar we had intended to go to and so avoid getting even wetter. The owner isn't happy - we're an hour early. He seems to calm down when we talk about drinking whilst we wait. His smile increases as the evening progresses. What's that noise on the stairs? Sounds like bells! Yes, Clive and Ron have found us, we've got the sticks back and an excellent excuse to sing "why was he born so beautiful" to Clive. The meal's the rijsttafel Dave missed out on yesterday and now the beer's flowing he's getting back into the swing of things and getting all the girls he can to ask John C for a cigarette.

The food's excellent and in mellow mood Floris and Koos agree to accept Clive as a Utrecht man for a transfer fee. We agree to leave the sticks with him so we don't have to carry them home but insist they look after him and don't let him wander off again. He's given Utrecht kit and we agree he'll dance in as soon as we start again.

Its magic time and one of Utrecht's ladies loses her knickers as easily as the Canadian lost her bra. How does he do it? What's he got that we haven't - two extra cocks for a start. Baffled by the string and card tricks we move on to a bar. Dave starts to sulk again as the free beer is left behind. "This is where Ron brought me" says Clive. It's full of queers (never been PC our Clive). We all take one step back from them (never been PC in Mersey).

Utrecht pick an Ilmington stick dance for Clive's debut. It makes no difference to Clive, he dances them all the same. If C# had met him his books would have been a lot shorter. Half way through Floris shouts "he's absolutely useless". Perceptive lot the Dutch. We have to accept Clive back but negotiate for the sticks as well - plus free beer for Dave.

One of the audience asks where we're from. "Liverpool" we say (nobody's ever heard of the Wirral abroad). "So am I" he says. "We accept sterling" is the prompt reply.

It's dark, we're getting weary, the last busses are due. We pack up and head for home.

Dave, Len and I head for Frans' kitchen and the beers and whisky appear.

Eventually its time for bed and ....

Five hours, five bleedin' hours, five hours of chain saws cutting up logs. Lumberjack Len's snores beat any two stroke chain saw....

It's been a good weekend, all's well with the world, even H was well behaved.

Another Dutch breakfast buffet but the sky's cloudy and the raindrops are hitting the window outside. Frans suggests driving us to the station with most of our luggage so we can play with the luggage lockers again. We find most of the rest of Mersey there too with the same idea.

"Look! the bank's open" we shout to Dave.

"Sod off"

"You might as well try"

Dave walks off mumbling whilst I go to buy the return tickets from the only station in the Western hemisphere that does not take credit cards. Buying tickets for nine of us almost cleans me out.

"They changed it!" says Dave, little face lit up like a kid with sweets.

"Lend us 50" I say "the train fare's cleaned me out"

"Sod off"

We check times and catch the bus to the railway museum where we'll spend the morning. Things are looking up as I get kisses from three ladies I haven't seen for about 10 years. No underwear though.

The dancing's fun with a few mixed sets but it comes too quickly to an end. We have a quick lunch and manage another dance plus Bonny Green.

Trying to say goodbye to everybody at once we head for the bus stop where Kevin (who was thinking he'd got away without a mention) stripped off to his underwear, put on his civvies and sighed. He also checked his bag and found the Marijuana leaf that Paul had planted on him.

The station luggage lockers see more semi-naked Morris Men then we head for the platform. Floris, Martin and Ab decide they probably can trust us to really leave and we thank them again. We tell Clive to hold Floris' hand and not let go but Floris shakes him firmly off and insists we keep him.

The train comes and we wave a fond farewell to Len, still in full kit, waiting on a Dutch station for his train back to Worms. He offered us a visit next year and is clearly now having second thoughts about having been so rash - but we know where he lives!!

The trip back is relatively uneventful once we've coped with the trainee on the check-in who gets into extra difficulties when the luggage system runs out of labels in mid print run and won't clear. Richard is disappointed as he enjoyed the body search on the way out and was looking forward to another on the way back. Clive has a good moan about the inferior service in economy compared with Club which is fuelled when we're told there's been an accident and there's no food for economy passengers.

We get back to the long stay car park where Dave and I have parked side by side. He looks worried as the remote doesn't open the doors. The lights have been left on and the battery is as flat as a pancake.

"I've got my jump leads" he says "let me connect them up"

"Sod off"

It's been a good weekend, all's well with the world, even H was well behaved.....

Alan Barber - Mesey Morris Squire

It’s two o’clock in the night.

The season is called "summer" but even on this 27th of June wind howls through the trees. And since Christ never discovered how to change water into beer, the liquid falling out of the clouds undoubtedly must be rain.

I’m standing in front of my comfortable home. Desperate...

I had such a wonderful day. Mersey Morris Men were spending the weekend with the Utrecht Morris Team. And I, a member of the Maids of the Mill (sisterteam of UMT and the only Dutch ladies team) took the opportunity to spend the entire Saturday with these nice people. I saw excellent dancing, had very interesting conversations and even got a chance to play my melodeon together with the musicians of MMM and UMT. After a guided tour about a huge brewery the men had lunch. That gave me the possibility to show H. (who of course was joining MMM) some parts of the city of Utrecht morrismen usualy don’t visit.

We climbed the tower of the Domchurch, with 365 steps to reach the top. Do you know any morrismen that can climb such a tower without halfways turning back to the nearest pub to get their tankard refilled?

We saw the Gay Parade, made a boat trip on the canals and went to the Train Museum.

Shortly after the men had finished their lunch we joined them on the Domplein. There was, once again and in every possible order dance, beer, music and enjoyment.

It started to rain. And since there were thunderstorms forecasted the teams decided they didn’t dare to dance with sticks anymore. So the teams made themselves invisible to the two teams’ stickbearers. These people then searched for hours and hours to find us, and finaly ended up in an obscure bar where ordinary people never enter. Unfortunately for us they must have heard some morrisbells at a certain moment. So they were able to join us for dinner.

During dinner a Magnificent Morris Magician performed some unbelievable tricks and I was offered a cigarette by a nice morrisman. The day ended with a dancechaos. Or was it a chaosdance? Well, I don’t know. Joyful I started my way home, my head full of pictures of nice men, good dancing and flashbacks of interesting talks. After a long journey by car I arrived at my home. Drove my car in the garage, got the bare necessities out of the car (like my melodeon, cigarettes and ouzo) and closed my automatic garagedoors in order to enter my house by the front door.

It was two o’clock in the morning. It was summer, but with liquid moon and polar breeze. Standing in front of my house I discovered that I had managed to lock myself out. Out of my house, out of my garage. And the battery of my mobile phone had just one minute before decided to call itself empty. At two o’clock, the whole neighbourhood (all non-morrisdancers) were fast asleep. There was nothing I could do but cry...

But on that very moment I saw the familiar silhouette of a well know individual named H. There are no words to describe how happy I was then...

Magda Wensing - MDDL