Traditional Village Tour Blog

As part of our fiftieth anniversary, we thought it would be pleasant for Woodside Morris Men to undertake a tour of some of Cotswold Morris's traditional villages, and when there, to perform some of the dances with which they are associated; a Morris version of sending coals to Newcastle. Woodside's Dave Dunham puts in our first web log, recording for posterity the events of the day:

Well. I must admit, it wasn't a very auspicious start to the day for me, but I got there in the end. At 9.30 on Saturday morning, I was just about to cheer on my nephew Andy (after whom the dance 'Andybean' was named), when I got a call from Wayne. Yes, the inevitable had happened and the coach we had hired for the tour wouldn't be at Watford Junction when I got there at 10.30. However, it was already there, having arrived at 9.30 as arranged. My lack of clarity regarding such arrangements being no surprise to anyone in the team, seeing as I was absolutely convinced, up until the previous Wednesday night, that we were doing the tour on Sunday!

Luckily, I had already got most of my stuff together before heading off for Andy's football tournament (a competition in which his team finished runners-up with me nephew putting in an heroic goalkeeping display), so all I had to do was rendezvous with the bus at my house asap. Five minutes later and I was on board and ready to roll. Already on the bus were Wayne, Geoff, Mary, Simon, Pete Flanagan and Norman (the dragon), and they were all very understanding regarding the state of my spongiform mind.

Next leg of the journey was to Hemel Hempsted, where we were to pick up another batch of Morris Men and their partners. We found them, as arranged, at a service station a mile or two down wind of the Buncefield fuel depot. Dave Lang, Tim, Jean, Dave Ritchie, Norman (the man) and Pam loaded themselves in to the executive coach and off we set for to collect the remainder of our touring party, apart from Pete Bradshaw, who was to join us in his car at Badby, and then follow along.

A quick stop at Milton Keynes, and the rest of the coach bound crew climbed aboard: Lank, Mary, John Holt, Molly, Peter Mayne and Beverley. Thus fully configured, we set out in earnest (funny name for a coach), Coltswold Morris bent.

The first of our traditional villages was Badby, home of the tradition that spawned Beaux of London City. We arrived pretty much on the dot of 11.30, or spot on time, by any other name. The pub, 'the Maltsters Country Inn' wasn't really due to open until 12.00, but had made special arrangements to cater for our little travelling Morris, for which we are eternally greatful. After a little time to load up with Ale, dust off the old bells and greet Pete when he arrived, we set to the dancing with Valentines. A couple of dances later, and it was time to get started on the real business of the day - dancing a traditional dance in the village which it was collected from. The Badby dance we did was Beaux, which was a good thing, as it was the only one we knew. All went quite well, though we danced it again at the end of the set because the lines weren't straight enough first time round. I never thought we would be mistaken for perfectionists!

Before leaving, we lined up for the first of our team groups outside of the local pub, which we intended to do at each location - such an ambitious challenge would, however, prove too heroic a goal. Then, all done, it was back onto the bus, and off to the town of Brackley for our next bit of business. Badby had been an excellent setting, and it was only a shame that we didn't have more time to stay a little bit longer.

Brackley, in the town centre, is a typical English country market town, with the broad high street lined by old fashioned buildings, with pleasant little shops. There were also the new traditions of edge of town superstores and a trendy high street deli (serving Pimm's in a jug!). We danced on the town square outside the Red Lion, where a number of people had turned up to see us dance, our arrival having been touted in the local newspaper.

Our dance set included Jocky to the Fair, which was our traditional dance from Brackley. Jocky is a popular dance with sides in the Morris Ring, and is quite distinct, with its star jump ending to each of the figures and chorus. After the dancing, we set off in every direction to forage for lunch, arranging to meet again in the town square at quarter to three. All seemed well, and most of us got back together with seconds to spare - to everyone's sruprise, I was one of the first back. But strangely, there was no sign of Simon. Perplexed, we headed back to the coach, and waited a little longer there. Eventually, Geoff set off on a a one man search party and found Simon buying some books from a shop up the high street. He had seen Pete Bradshaw, who had been joined by his wife Julie for one spot only, in the shop, and assumed he still had time. It was only Geoff's arrival at his back that he realised Pete, after bidding Julie a fond farewell, would be making his own way to the next port of call; which would be Hinton in the Hedges.

Hinton means a lot to all of us, being one of the traditional villages of the Cotswold Morris style. But it means so much more for Tim, who is high priest in the cult of Hinton in the Hedges, and he greeted our arrival in a ceremonial kissing of the Hinton tarmac (see picture). So when we lined up for the traditional dance, Lads a' Bunchum, it was only correct that it was called by a star struck Tim. He was mildly pleased with the performance, but better pleased with 'the Crewe Arms', which threw its doors open specially for the few of us that made our way over to it. Most missed out though, as we had expected it to be closed and had gone straight back to the coach.

The Crewe Arms was actually the inspiration for the tour in the first place. A few years earlier, me and Geoff had gone there for a pint whilst attending the Whittlebury Song and Ale weekend. When we turned up on the Saturday afternoon, we pulled up on a pristine pea-shale drive that looked like no-one had ever parked on it before, and walked over to a man who was standing at the door to the pub. 'Have you come for the pub', he said. 'Yes,' we replied. 'I'm afraid it's closed' said the man." So we asked, 'When does it open?' To which the response was 'Wednesday!'

The pub had been closed for a couple of years and was about to be re-opened, but not in time for Geoff and me to refresh ourselves for the Song and Ale. It was, however, on the way back that we hatched a plot to celebrate our fiftieth anniversary with a tour of the traditional villages. A ridiculous idea that we thought would never catch on, but it did, and it turns out that there was another tour going along a similar route to our own, having visited Hinton a couple of hours before we got there (an hour and a half if Simon had got his books a bit earlier).

Next stop was Adderbury, where we danced outside the Coach and Horses. We could have danced Postman's Knock, but instead we went for the less obvious Lads a Bunchum, second of the day (same name but different dance to the Hinton variety). We were trying to make up a bit of time here, so we moved on with only the smallest pause to appreciate the local Ale, but it was another location we felt we would like to pitch-up at for a longer stay next time.

However, the next spot, voted best of a very good bunch, was at the Trigger Pond, Bucknell, where we learned the mysteries of the local Aunt Sally league, in which the Trigger Pond were currently topping the league (er, division six). We were ready to challenge them in a game but sadly time ultimately denied us that opportunity.

The pub was great, and we had a little more time to enjoy it, as we had managed to pick up a few minutes on the journey. The traditional dance was 'Queen's Delight', and it was only after I had danced it that I realised we didn't get any pictures (me being the self appointed official photographer). So we went for 'Saturday Night' at the end of the set and I was able to capture us doing Bucknell in Bucknell for posterity.

Reluctantly we moved on, vowing to return to catch a spot of Aunt Sally action at some future date, and headed for Steeple Claydon, coming within spitting distance of one of my all time favourite villages, even if it is just for the name, as I have never actually been to 'Marsh Gibbon'. On the way we found we had quite a following, though for all the wrong reasons. Good thing we had a 'Grand Union Morris Men On Tour' sign hanging out the back, so as to inform the rather long cue that had formed behind our Charabang as to just who was holding them up!

At Steeple Claydon, we came to the excellent 'Phoenix' and found a whopping great roll of bubble wrap, which nearly put the dancing in jeopardy when we started popping at it. The Landlady pointed out that it was needed for their move up to North Yorkshire, where they had just found a pub to run, eight miles outside of Whitby. So, we reluctantly left the bubble wrap along and did a bit of dancing.

Now, there is only partial notation for the Steeple Claydon dance, so each team that does it has to add a little bit of itself to the dance, and ours is no different. After we performed it, one of the locals asked why it was so different to the versions he had seen performed by sides in Oxford. Skillfully, we pointed out that the coach was waiting and it was time to go, but thanks very much, and amid promises of dropping in next time we're at Whitby Folk Week, we departed for home.

A great day was had, and we all came to the conclusion that we shouldn't wait fifty years until the next time we did such a pleasant tour. Indeed, plans are now formulating for a coach tour to be included as part of one of next year's weekends away.

Anyway, the day slowly faded away as we headed back on the coach, bidding a fond farewell to everyone as they departed, though the offer of an impromptu 'Bonnie Green' was gainlessly refused at our first drop-off point, back at Milton Keynes. The journey back was comfy and pleasant, with the odd football song being translated into Morris terms, some of them too vulgar to repeat as part of this respectable family website. A new dance was also mooted, named after one of our local picuturesgue locales. A dance that would include a certain amount of pyrotechnics, and go by the name of 'The Buncefield Boom Boom'.

But that's for another day.

Tour Itinerary
Visit our Traditional Tour Picture Page