I s’pose,’ Dame Alice added, ‘that idiot Ernie will dance the Fool. What a bore.’
‘Poor Ernie, yes. A catastrophe for them,’ the Rector murmured.
‘Did I tell you, Sam, he killed one of my geese?’
‘We don’t know it was Ernie, Aunt Akky.’
‘Nobody else dotty enough. I’ll tackle ’em later. Come on,’ Dame Alice said. ‘Get me bundled. We’d better go out.’
Dulcie put her into coat after coat and shawl after shawl. Her feet were thrust into fur-lined boots, her hands into mitts and her head into an ancient woollen cap with a pom-pom on the top. Dulcie and the Rector hastily provided for themselves and finally the three of them went out through the front door to the steps.
Here chairs had been placed with a brazier glowing in front of each. They sat down and were covered with rugs by the parlourmaid, who then retired to an upstairs room from which she could view the proceedings cosily.
Their breath rose up in three columns. The onlookers below them were wreathed in mist. From the bonfire on the other side of the battlements, smoke was blown into the courtyard and its lovely smell was mixed with the pungent odour of tar.
The Mardian Dolmen stood darkly against the snow. Flanking it the torches flared boldly upon a scene which – almost of itself, one might have thought – had now acquired an air of disturbing authenticity.
Dame Alice, with a wooden gesture of her muffled arm shouted: ‘Evenin’, everybody.’ From round the sides of the courtyard they all answered raggedly: ‘Evening. Evening, ma’am,’ dragging out the soft vowels.
Behind the Mardian Stone was the archway in the battlements through which the performers would appear. Figures could be seen moving in the shadows beyond.
The party of three consulted their programmes, which had been neatly typed.
‘WINTER SOLSTICE’
The Mardian Morris of the Five Sons
| The Morris Side: Fool, | William Andersen |
| Betty, | Ralph Stayne |
| Crack, | Simon Begg |
| Sons, | Daniel, Andrew, Nathaniel, Christopher and Ernest (Whiffler) Andersen |
The Mardian Morris, or perhaps more strictly, Morris Sword Dance and Play, is performed annually on the first Wednesday after the Winter Solstice. It is probably the survival of an ancient fertility rite and combines, in one ceremony, the features of a number of other seasonal dances and mumming plays.
ORDER OF EVENTS
| 1 | General Entry | The Five Sons | |
| 2 | The Mardian Morris | ||
| 3 | Entry of The Betty and Crack | ||
| 4 | Improvisation | Crack | |
| 5 | Entry of the Fool | ||
| 6 | First Sword Dance | (a) The Glass is Broken | |
| (b) The Will is Read | |||
| (c) The Death | |||
| 7 | Improvisation | The Betty | |
| 8 | Solo | D. Andersen | |
| 9 | Second Sword Dance | ||
| 10 | The Resurrection of the Fool. |
Dulcie put down her programme and looked round. ‘Everybody must be here, I should think,’ she said. ‘Look, Aunt Akky, there’s Trixie from the Green Man and her father and that’s old William’s granddaughter with them.’
‘Camilla?’ the Rector said. ‘A splendid girl. We’re all delighted with her.’
‘Trousers,’ said Dame Alice.
‘Ski-ing trousers, I think, Aunt Akky. Quite suitable really.’
‘Is that woman here? The German woman?’
‘Mrs Bünz?’ the Rector said gently. ‘I don’t see her, Aunt Akky, but it’s rather difficult – She’s a terrific enthusiast and I’m sure –’
‘If I could have stopped her comin’, Sam, I would. She’s a pest.’
‘Oh, surely –’
‘Who’s this, I wonder?’ Dulcie intervened.
A car was labouring up the hill in bottom gear under a hard drive and hooting vigorously. They heard it pull up outside the gateway into the courtyard.
‘Funny!’ Dulcie said after a pause. ‘Nobody’s come in. Fancy!’
She was prevented from any further speculation by a general stir in the little crowd. Through the rear entrance came Dr Otterly with his fiddle. There was a round of applause. The hand-clapping sounded desultory and was lost in the night air.
Beyond the wall, men’s voices were raised suddenly and apparently in excitement. Dr Otterly stopped short, looked back, and returned through the archway.
‘Doctor’s too eager,’ said a voice in the crowd. There was a ripple of laughter, through which a single voice beyond the wall could be heard shouting something indistinguishable. A clock above the old stables very sweetly tolled nine. Then Dr Otterly returned and this time, after a few preliminary scrapes, struck up on his fiddle.
The air for the Five Sons had never been lost. It had jigged down through time from one Mardian fiddler to another, acquiring an ornament here, an improvisation there, but remaining essentially itself. Nobody had rediscovered it, nobody had put it in a collection. Like the dance itself, it had been protected by the commonplace character of the village and the determined reticence of generation after generation of performers. It was a good tune and well suited to its purpose. After a preliminary phrase or two it ushered in the Whiffler.
Through the archway came a blackamoor with a sword. He had bells on his legs and wore white trousers with a
