It's Orsett village flower day, the sun is blazing hot, We stroll around the gardens in this place that time forgot. And building up a little thirst, the urge to drink compels. We head towards the public house, but then I hear the bells...

I groan aloud, it can't be so, please tell me it's not true. What colour are those baldricks? Not yellow striped with blue! Yes there they are with pints in hand, of all the rotten chances, We've travelled miles and just our luck, it's Rumford Morris dancers!!

We'll have a beer, but where to sit, those sticks look mighty heavy. I think we'll get behind a tree if they've all had a bevy. Off they go, the splinters fly, no mercy shown or quarter, The big ones lay about the small, I cannot watch the slaughter.

There's one old boy, they call him Roy, he's dancing slow and stately. I'm not surprised 'cause to my eyes he must be pushing eighty. In fact they're mostly 'getting on', with arthritis pending, I think the arms will get it first with all that elbow bending!

Just look at those musicians, one's got a funny hat, Maybe they should play in time (they haven't thought of that!). 'Are we playing 'Bonnie Green' or is it 'Queen's Delight'?' The whistle bloke says 'What the hell, I never get it right'.

The dancers shout out 'Keep it slow' - the music gets much faster. Those rapper swords look pretty sharp, thank gawd for sticking plaster. Pete 'the fiddle' drives them on, the dancers tear their hair, The only way to slow him down is tie him to a chair!

Here comes some fool with money bag, my interest starts to quicken, Maybe we're paid to watch all this - alas I am mistaken. As I reach out, to take my share, my hand receives a clout The bag's for putting money in, not taking money out!!'

My eyes get drawn back to the dance, there seems to be confusion, A blur of arms and legs called Len is dancing with effusion. He's gone the wrong way round the set and split the side asunder, That will cost a dozen pints for making such a blunder.

There's Paul the squire, who leads the pack, or so he likes to think, Though no one hears a word he says when they're all full of drink. He shouts instructions to the side, you'd think this was a panto. The mess they're in, he might as well be speaking Esperanto!

But now I'm spotted hiding here, it stirs a recollection, 'Weren't you once a member, when our dancing was perfection?' Modestly I take a bow, and blush at this description, 'We're very glad to see you, you still owe one year's subscription!!'

The last dance now gets underway,I join the motley crew, It's been so long I'm quite surprised I still know what to do. And now I think about it, everything I've said was jest, When it comes to Morris dancing we know Rumford boys are best.

 

Best Wishes from John Clackan