The Hyper Mega Galley with Returning Double Hook — by Roger Foster

One day when just a little lad of maybe three or four
My mother hugged me close and said ‘Your Dad can’t walk no more’
He ‘d gone out Morris dancing but the call he had mistook
For a hyper mega galley with returning double hook.

They gagged the press and blocked the news and not a word was said
“Bout this horrifying figure which disfigured my poor Dad
I thought no more about it so recovered from the shock
Of this hyper mega galley with returning double hook

In Iraq they’re seeking weapons , the UN searching every day
Since these weapons of destruction would explain their war away
There were rumours of this weapon, the most lethal in the book
Called a hyper mega galley with returning double hook

And you know the Mars Explorer which went, logically, to Mars
It had logged some dancing static when it reported last
And a recent probe showed evidence in photographs it took
Of a hyper mega galley with returning double hook

I thought no more about it and `gained daughter, wife and son
And then I joined a Morris side to show them how it’s done
Then tragic news from Thaxted, which we thought at first a joke,
Of a hyper mega galley with returning double hook.

So I traveled down to Thaxted with the squire, bag and fool
We drove all the day and half the night to our billet at the school
We’d done all the other figures so we thought we’d take a look
At this hyper mega galley with returning double hook

Well the scene was devastation, shoes were hanging up in trees
There were bodies scattered everywhere with bruised and bloodied knees
The half the side who hadn’t died were looking pretty crook
From a hyper mega galley with returning double hook

One old-timer lying there then stirred and raised his head
With weary sighs and teary eyes he hesitantly said
“Worst thing I’ve seen and done since fighting Rommel in Tobruk
Was this hyper mega galley with returning double hook”

There’s a twisting rocking action, like an epileptic fit
And a backward sideways movement somewhere near the end of it
But the bit before the middle when you’re strutting like a chook
Marks the hyper mega galley with returning double hook

“We’d only started in the High street with a simple little dance
Then some larrikin called this figure, almost purely by chance
Mayhem then ensued despite precautions that we took
To curb our hyper mega galley with returning double hook

We ‘d picked our slowest music and we’d weighed our boots with lead
We’d put more starch in our hankies and a helmet on our head
We strapped our knees together, but even so we ran amok
In the hyper mega galley with returning double hook

The first step of the galley brought us downhill from The Swan
Dashing hard against the Guild House, we brought half the arches down
The landlord barred The Star because one thing he wouldn’t brook
Was our hyper mega galley with returning double hook

So we galleyed through the Mill End, hands were clasped to prevent harm
But the savage return hooking left me holding half an arm
I decided then to bail although I don’t think I’m a sook,
From this hyper mega galley with returning double hook

I quizzed him on this figure to which he had referred
To allow us to warn others just in case it should recur
But his head had fallen backwards, eyes in death had now that look
Of a stroke victim…………………………
Or a hyper mega galley with returning double hook

Wending our way through Adelaide, plucking the varied parts of our dancing machine from suburbia, a squire here, a musician there,  we received a call from Andrew, a past master of the opportunistic planning so integral to the Morris. In requesting that we rescue him from his particular marital strife of that day, he reiterated “I always rely on the kindness of strangers” and since there is little stranger than Morris we picked him up on the way through. As it turned out we fielded a force of ten dancers, of which some played,  plus a dedicated muso.

Kapunda, has always been the home of  the Celtic Festival. This now-modest offering was, in its glory days, seen by many as one of the foremost folk functions in Oz. Whilst its popularity has dwindled the talent has not, evinced by both our observations and (blush) our presence. The town is renowned as the home of cattle baron Sir Sidney Kidman and , while evidence of his past influence abounds, his opinions on Morris dancing are sadly lacking.

After a heart-starter in the front bar we repaired to the footpath outside the North Kapunda Hotel  (see photo),  cutting  loose in fine form and with derring-do to announce ourselves and the festival to the steady stream of passers-by. Here we exercised  the fine art of cloister capering, where strategically placed posts encourage participants to pursue ever-more-daring variants on traditional dancing lines, lending  interest, and contusions, to the usual confusion. Gale force winds also provided valuable experience  in horizontal hanky play for our tyros Shane and Matt (of York), as they contributed new faces, music  and dynamics to the venture.

Apparently this is us "cutting loose in fine form and with derring-do".

We retired for a restorative and returned for another set before milling recklessly across Kapunda’s main drag and into the delights of the festival proper. Due to some inspired milling by one or two of our more experienced exponents the Morris were invited to perform in the Big Tent while the next act was setting up, the previous act having departed with muttering and murderous glances at our bells. Despite (or perhaps due to) a confusing initial counterpoint of our tunes with the continued offerings of the PA,  our  set of three rather confined dances was well received  by an attentive audience, and  it wasn’t even raining outside.

Our squire then forayed out for the right venue for our next set. Some thought he had spat the dummy,  taken his ball and gone home but no, with his singular waddle he returned, bearing tidings of a veritable dancing paradise. This centre of (he said) international attention, had an ( almost) level surface and was located in Kapunda. As it turned out, one out of three wasn’t bad. So, perhaps as much to prove  that we do not spend the entire day around a pub, we proceeded up the main street  to the squire’s much lauded location. Thus ensued a set of predominantly stick dances, now that the wind had abated.  Recollections of our previous visit then took us on to the “Sir John Franklin” for a further set in their beer garden. This cultivated space of paving and furniture , once  a grassy paddock of timber stumps surrounded by bouquets of fencing wire, was now the perfect  venue  for our purposes.

We ended the day with a few barflies in the Clare Castle, a public house of questionable planning (see photo) and kero-tin décor.

A case of the conveniences being a little to convenient for comfort at the Clare Castle Hotel.

We performed our farewell flourish on the avenue’s edge outside the Castle to a chorus of well-meaning carhorns, the ubiquitous witticism of the touring car aficionado, before the long drive home. A drive so long in fact that oblivion claimed some long before suburbia. It was a good day.

A soporific squire.

This September weekend it was the turn of the Adelaide Hills to have the pleasure … a couple of wineries and the main street of Hahndorf that is. Barristers Block got the show on the road, lubricated with a couple of nice pinots and an unwooded chardonnay (remember this variety?). Nepenthe Wines with a breathtaking (yes, some were very breathless after the first set) view over the Hills was next.

Dancing on the hill at Nepenthe Wines

Once again, a drop of award winning temperanillo hit the spot. Then to Hahndorf where all the tourists thought we were Germans, but never mind.

The day was rounded off with a BBQ and a few more local drops and the odd German lager, then home, brush the teeth and into bed, ready for work on Monday.

See No Morris, Speak No Morris, Hear No Morris?

A great afternoon out, in good company…is there more to life?’ [Well, how about the company of some fine women? -- Ed]

The Witches joined us, which was nice.

We were picked up from the airport by Steve for a quick Cook’s tour to Kings Park. I had friends to catch up with so started the brewery tour early with a session in the Moon and Sixpence, the home of Nail Ale. Also I couldn’t resist calling in to the Sail and Anchor for a superb hand-pumped IPA all the way from the back room.

Kings Park: Bill, Geoff, Mike, Ian, Steve

The “meet and greet” was in Little Creatures at Fremantle, which is a very Morris friendly haunt, they actually want the Morris on a regular basis. We managed a number of dances in the main room and the new extension including the realisation that the Lichfield Heys done by Perth and Adelaide are incompatible. We were also joined by a couple of Fair Maids who turned out for the second time in about the last 10 years. We would have been joined by Dave Smith if he had caught the plane. Copious quantities of Pale Ale including quantities on the house were enjoyed along with donated pizzas.

Little Creatures

Saturday morning found us in better condition than we deserved. A number caught the train to Guildford where our luxury charabanc was to pick us up. We had to make do with coffee as the historic pub remains a burnt out historic ruin, now with the fencing festooned with dirty socks to protest the slow progress.

There were around 40 on the tour with Fair Maids of Perth along with Perth MM and Adelaide MM both out in strength.

A short hop brought us to the Ironbark Brewery. It was initially considered not going here but the howls of protest brought it back and we could see why. A fine range of ales including one of several excellent IPA style (don’t ask me about other styles!), more food than we could eat and a good dancing spot. The crowds were beginning to arrive as we left.

Ironbark Brewery

Next stop was Oakover, a winery with a beer bar sourced from local micros. A picturesque dancing spot on the boardwalk over the lake was inhabited by ducks ignoring the no-swimming signs. The boardwalk particularly suited the cloggies. We finished up with a massed Abram. A jug of each of the ales on tap was well received and enjoyed.

Fair Maids of Perth at Oakover

In the bar at Oakover, one of the jugs emptied in record time

Then off to Elmars brewery, fondly remembered by Perth where the last visit coincided with the barmaid’s hen party. The resident muso took a welcome break as we entertained out at the back.

The back bar at Elmars with a volunteer

Last day session, off to the Feral, a morris favourite, country pub style with some wonderful ales. The place was packed as usual and they had added a marquee full of happy samplers. They also had a stretch limo full of pub crawlers in fancy dress so we didn’t look too odd. The range of ales, especially the Pales impressed those new to Feral. If we had been allowed to stay, we would have but we were taken back to Guildford for trains and cars and a cuppa before hitting the delights of Broadway.

In the marquee at the Feral, well may she look worried

Perth Morris used to go to KK’s in the Broadway shops after practice to sample Darling Range Ales. We danced there on the last night before a couple of years of renovations. It is now the Basement and unrecognisable from its previous layout. A dance floor and balcony area made it a perfect venue for an ale, though the food service was incredibly slow for a simple menu. The crowd here arrives late so we had the place almost to ourselves till late. No micros here though the Fat Yak was in good form. Despite a long hiatus, the sword dance went well.

Adelaide at the Basement

On Sunday morning a cooked breakfast on the Swan was prepared ably by a joint culinary team. We drove there through blasting rain but it stayed fine enough and cleared up to a really nice day.

We had a good set on the very bank of the Swan while we were still sober then, in a moment of madness, gatecrashed the UWA open day with a few dances, before heading for the Lucky Shag for pints of Sharps Doom from Cornwall. This was the dance till you drop or have to leave for the airport session.

Team photo at UWA (a few missing)

Sharps Doom Ale (and morris)

What an absolutely excellent weekend. Thanks to Squire Steve and the back-up crew for organising it and to the teams for turning up in force for good dancing and great drinking. We are already talking about next year…

Thanks to Andrew for introducing us to another pub that hasn’t been pokified [I think he means "filled with pokie machines" -- Ed] and they sell 2 types of cider on tap too. It is up past Kapunda at Allendale North, so we can’t exactly pop over for a quickie after practice. The publican is Bryan Cullen who is an old friend of Arther Bower, a concertina player and founding member of the yellow and purple morris dancing team in 1976 which grew into the AMM at Xmas 1989. Bryan produced a photo of the AMM from approx 1987 with Geoff, Mike Bowe and Neville. He also roused up lots of locals to be a very appreciative audience so we will try to build it into future northern tours. See http://www.wheatsheafpub.com.au

Dancing outside The Wheatsheaf Hotel, Allendale North

We had a great turnout with Mike, Roger, Ian G, Matt F, Geoff, Ian M, Greg, Bill, Andrew and Ashleigh, plus Bob came from Swan Hill via Melbourne.

The dancing surface was a little rough, which is only to be expected when you cover dirt with ball bearing sized stones but that problem was fixed after the downpour when the ground turned soft and threatened to engulf the top couple. Speaking of the downpour, there was a fantastic image of the session on the verandah with the rain pelting down behind them, it’s a pity the photographers were all playing at the time.

This was only Matthew Fenech’s second footup with us, so we conned him into trying SA’s contribution to gourmet cuisine, a pie floater. See his nervous expression in the photo.

We attempt to convince Matt Fenech that the pie floater is a South Australian delicacy

After lunch, we bid a reluctant farewell and drove 10 minutes to Greenock, where we were able to dance inside the pub. The wooden floorboards were a wonderful surface and echoed superbly, so we did lots of dances involving banging the sticks on the ground. As Bob put it after the musos stepped up the pace in Beaux of London City (Badby), “That’s the quickest Bonk I’ve ever had.” This audience appreciated us too and even sang along to the chorus of Postman’s Knock. There was a downside to dancing inside the pub, have you ever tried a leapfrog with a lintel just over your head?

Dancing outside the Greenock Creek Tavern, Greenock

Bob applied his measure for happiness, which is that he expects at least one dance per hour of driving to be happy. He managed 26 dances in the day, so he was ecstatic.

A very weary team made our way to Andrew’s house in Gawler. For future reference he is at number 32. Roger didn’t really need to climb on the fence and shout, nor did Hillary need to bowl inside like she owned the place – both at the wrong number. Andrew discouraged future attempts at taking over by proudly showing us his underground well where he will keep future home invaders, but then forgave us by providing scrumptious soups and home grown bread.

A great day was had by all, I was particularly happy as we did several dances from God’s Own Tradition, aka Bledington. We even managed Oranges in Bloom, Sherbourn, the style wasn’t exactly perfect due to the years since we had danced it and the ground attempting to suck us into the depths. There were some great comments during the day but you know the old saying “What happens on tour, stays on tour”, i.e. I’ve forgotten the best ones.

This was our destination one Saturday in a July of particularly arctic treatment by the elements and chosen by the knowing as a hospitable venue with fringe benefits. Of course on the day the sun shone as if there were no tomorrow………

By no means your picture card setting, Brew Boys is an inner suburban boutique brewery lurking in a humble factory which could be pumping out wall insulation or artificial limbs just as readily as the yeast-driven nectars which it does produce, all of these blokily named for Australian automotive icons. To more than the casual glance the giveaways include the brewing equipment not quite dominating the rear of the building, the occasional burst of hops flowers in the back yard and that centre of attention, the modest but competent bar.

In an afternoon of alternate leaping and libation, as is the AMM wont, with the company of mine host, Simon, and a few friends, we demonstrated again the ability of the Morris to commence with a relatively serious and competent effort and progress over the afternoon to a state of helpless hilarity. This hilarity ceased about five with our departure clutching our complimentary beers and purchases.

Morris notables spurring us on were new chum Matt from York, UK, and (relative) locals of the feminine persuasion, Cherie and Danica, with Matt and Danica boosting the efforts of our usual orchestra.

Musicians. Lovely, aren't they. Especially in winter.

Pyro Dell – by Roger Foster

I’d like to find a lovely spot where bees and birds commune
Where the undergrowth is thickest and the flowers still bloom in June
Where the daily modern bustle is placed well beyond my hearing
There I'd love to take my little trowel and gently make a clearing

In it I’d lay some piney brush midst sweetly scented dew
And sprinkle it with lauren twigs, but careful! Just a few
Then ring it ‘round with branches to provide this nest support
Like some mythic creature’s handiwork or fairy tale fort

I‘d like to light a candle of some rare exotic wax
With jars of scented oil some say can help you to relax
And place them in the middle of my creation moderne
Then toss on some accordions and watch the bastards burn.

Keep up the sterling work.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Here’s a description from AMM man Ian Goldfinch (he’s the tall one dancing in number 2 in the video).

The Adelaide Morris Men were invited to perform the “Offertory Dance” as part of the church service during the 323rd Meeting of the Morris Ring on 6 June 2010. As an offering, the performance is our most exhausting dance, Staines Morris from Longborough. The haunting tune is played on recorder by Ian Mundy and reverberates superbly in the church. The total silence of the congregation made this an ethereal performance and was a highlight for me in over 30 years of dancing.

The Morris Ring Newsletter No. 68 (PDF)

Another daring and slightly belated hanky-related report from our intrepid man-on-the-spot in the UK, Jason B. Standing:

Way back in late March I was generously invited to go to the sleepy town of Bracknell, just outside Reading, by the Kennet Morris Men to be a distinguished guest at their annual “Ale & Feast”.  For those who aren’t in-the-know, the term “Ale” is not singularly about beer in this context, but is instead the name given to a gathering of morris dancing sides.  The term, I’m told, originates from social & fundraising gatherings which would be held by parishes and known as Church Ales: however in a piece of cyclical etymology, they were so-named because of the beer which would be sold there to raise money for the church.  This evening in Bracknell there was no money, no church, but there was indeed morris dancing and beer.

The host side were the men of Kennet – who I’ve had good fortune to meet several times, notably at Saddleworth Rushcart – and we were also joined by varying numbers of dancers from the sides of Yateley, Victory, Long Man, Greensleeves, Hartley, Ickneild Way, and St Albans – as well as by Squire of the Ring (and member of Hartley), Brian Tasker.

An Ale in the UK is primarily dancing for its own sake, and in this case we were in a Scout Hall – so it was very much just for the enjoyment rather than as a public performance.  A truly steep amount of dancing took place, with each side taking turns performing a dance for the others to enjoy, or if a dance was suggested that more people knew there was the option of forming a scratch team, or a massed dance.

Some of the dances were a bit on the silly side, and not knowing how one went was no reason not to join in – in many ways it’s an ideal opportunity to learn a new dance that your side doesn’t normally tackle, for example Victory don’t routinely dance anything from the Bucknell tradition, but were ready to jump in & get involved in Queen’s Delight!

Click here to view the embedded video.

The middle of the evening was the Feast: as is now a Kennet tradition, we were served an excellent selection of chilli (which they’ve perfected to an artform to the extent that there’s a master spreadsheet which they use to work out quantities for their Mild, Medium and Hot varieties), all washed down with generous gulpings of excellent beer courtesy of the Loddon brewery.

Following the Feast, we had a bit of singing & poetry, and I contributed once again the tale of a certain man named MacArthur…

And then on with more dancing, until well after midnight we decided to call it a night – collapsing exhausted in a spare corner of the hall.

As a guest of honour I was invited to sit at the head table at the Feast, which was a bit of a buzz!

I’d like to offer a massive thanks to the lads from Kennet for their hospitality and good company, and I look very much forward to seeing them again soon.  And I believe I spoke on behalf of Adelaide Morris Men that evening in thanking them for an excellent evening, and promising to invite them to one of our events in reciprocity.

The only other words I’ll say about the event are:

1) Whilst Saturday night was a rare gem among evenings, Sunday was less so for this little black duck, and the afternoon involved an attempt at going to the IMAX in Wimbledon to see blockbuster epic Avatar.  I wonder if I’m the only person to ever fall asleep during that 3 times?

2) Not only are Kennet famous for their chilli, but also their “appetizers” – the renowned Pickles that they do.  Each man pickles *something* and brings it to share.  If you’re interested in seeing my adventures with a pickled Brussel Sprout, it’s available for you to sample on jasonbstanding.com