The scene; New Brighton, a decaying town of faded Edwardian and Victorian splendour with pockets of ineffectual investment by a local council battling against urban decay. An overcast evening with a light drizzle but with Liverpool docks still visible across the Mersey.
The men gradually assemble for the high spot dance out of the season - outside the Granada Bowling Alley on the promenade on the paving stones, speckled with grease from the local chippy and other less pleasant materials.
There was an air of expectation, Neville had put up a poster in the chippy so a few locals, desperate for any sort of entertainment had come along and were waiting for us. There were groans of encouragement from one of the pensioners propped up against the iron railings.
The men were on good spirits after most had had a fun weekend dancing in the Lake District, they now remembered what grass looked like. One even claimed to have seen a sheep - but I digress. Also, it was Bob's birthday - the big one, the half century. We had a crumpled card for him that we had all signed a month before when the Squire (yes I admit it) got the date wrong. We even had Brendan with us. He'd travelled over from Manchester Morris men to help celebrate Bob's birthday and had brought a bottle of brandy as present. Little Michael was there too, on holiday with his Grandad, still with the tan fresh from living in Bahrain. Dave G turned up too - we hadn't seen him for years but he did have the distinction of being the only Mersey Man to have left his wife at the door of the church at his wedding so he could come round the corner to dance with us before going back to finish getting married - a man with his priorities clear.
It was 8:30pm, the first dance (here comes the Morris content) went well - Constant Billy Headington for Michael (whose age is still in single figures).
Enter, stage left, large youth in green T shirt, glazed expression and alcohol on breath, peering around for a rusty needle to fit to his syringe. After entering the set without causing major disruption in Bobbing Around, he becomes abusive. Our crowd, now grown to several, are on our side. This is a first for Mersey so we bask in the unaccustomed glow. He moves off.
We begin Vandals, as sticks often deter drunks - but clearly not druggies. Neville is playing Richard's melodeon. The youth reappears on a bicycle and runs Neville over. As Nev falls Richard's melodeon slides through the grease and seagull droppings. The youth returns and just fails to kick Nev in the face as Clive manages to grab his arm. The next few minutes blur, but end with the local druggie on his back in a raised flower bed. Dave has his left leg. A spectator - another big lad - has his right. Richard has his right arm and Brendan his left. From a safe distance it is quite clear to me that he is very strong as he struggles and determinedly tries to bite his captors.
The audience phone the police and we get the local rapid response team. After only 30 min for the drive of 200 yards from the local station (there were several attractive opportunities for giving out parking tickets on the way), the forces of law an order appear with siren and flashing blue lights. Our captive becomes strangely still as soon as the Police approach him and he recognises the small aerosol can of Mace they are carrying. He departs to the back of a police van and the statement taking begins. Somebody had been taking a video so the police sit down to watch.
We are all very impressed by the petite blond Policewoman who appeared in the first car, but apparently participating in The Rose is not allowed whilst on duty.
We decide to press charges for assault on Neville, Richard and Brendan. The police ask them to go straight to the Police station. Richard tries to sit on the WPC's knee in the panda car but she doesn't do that on duty either. He gets out and we dance Bonny Green to the long suffering audience and then let all the musicians depart for the cop shop.
Much aginst our normal inclinations the rest of us, left with no music, have no option but to head off to the pub at 9:30 for a pint or three of Bass. There the customers were waiting for us (Nev's posters again) but we explained and with a promise of a rapper set if the musicians got back before closing time settled down to wait.
Just before closing time the phone rang. It was Richard, still waiting to be interviewed. I told him how good the Bass was but he seemed more interested in questioning the marital status of my parents at the time of my birth. As he seemed confused, we gave him the phone number of the local taxi firm and told him we'd see him next week.