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May 15, 2009
Clothe me round the while my path illuming.
Our May Day celebrations are seen as the spark that renders the village aimiable and sunblest for the coming months. The first bee on the honeysuckle and the cows lowing into the pasture after a winter confined to the dark pens. Everything passed as ordered. Franny Sourdough from Grimley Hall was undisputed Queen of the May and wore her crown with pensive dignity. No one appeared much disappointed that the bearded ladies had been diverted by offers of lashings of ginger beer at the Little Pebbledash event. They are better value in front of a roaring fire in Advent. Wimborne St. Giles, who has taken up residence at the Hall, was persuaded, I use the term loosely, to give a series of monologues which included his well tempered 'Horatio's Lament'. I'd heard it on several occasions, and am surprised it drew such an audience. Mr Kipling and Totty Dribbett, some of her 't's are silent, were rapt in their applause. The jousting was sporadic. It was billed as 'fun jousting'. Can you imagine?
So everyone had a good day but the joy was confined. Has festive rectitude marred this lighthouse in our calendar?
How curmudgeonly I have become. No gloom in this village as the annual swine fever preparations are underway. Mrs Minchin usually leads the dousing, swatting and overvexing. Sadly an avian virus has rendered her confined behind muslin curtains. I've applied poultice of comfrey and a ready beverage of feverfew infusions. Bless her, all she asks about is the well being of all the other folk at the hall. The Knights have shewn great consideration and have been polishing their own Round Table. There has been an outbreak of poetry and I have been picking up hexametres and sonnets and I found this unidentified note under the Parlour door.
'Today the Hall sounds like Babel
So, I'm orf to my horse in the stable.
Kindly cut me a slice
Beery beef would be nice
I'll be out, not at the Round Table'.'
Fancy, spring must be here after all. The Grim Reaper has lead a ramble through the bluebell woods. She always said that Johnny would have a new master and this, as yet unidentified man and has plans for a hotel in the village. Fancy, again. I must wash my curtains and bleach my nets as it seem this high street is to attract fine travellers. After dusk I will meet the rat catcher's mother at the Heron's Bill and we'll toy with something vermouth as we discuss the week's events.
Posted by Martha at May 15, 2009 06:08 PM