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Tag Archive: summer


Summer’s Day

Sunday 22/07/12

Wonderful day today

Sun shining
Beauties shining
Music spicing

We had the regional Morris Dance championships at our local club today. The day was long, but the sun didn’t let us down. The dancers did not let us down either. They were all resplendent in their shiny tunics. Attires that would even make a nun blush.

From the age of four to ladies of all ages (plus 2 men), they all danced competing within their age groupings. There were at least 12 troupes from all across Lancashire and the North West of England. Some won, some did not win. A few cried. Some were struggling from the combination of the heat and the dancing exertions, but they persevered.The ultimate joy is definitely in the taking part though. Us spectators enjoyed it more,I think. A parade of some spectacular attires, worn by some undoubted beauties. A few drinks thrown in, beautiful sunshine. What more could one ask for.? It was like a carnival, though without the violence and bawdry. It was like a summer jamboree, though this time is wasn’t for scouts. Better than a Spamarama. Toddlers had fun.So did the infants, teenagers, adults and the Silver Brigade. It was a day to be savoured A day for all to have fun, joy and unfettered excitement. . There are a few pictures on Instagram, but I have yet to work out how to marry WP to Instagram.

For the uninitiated, Morris dancing is mainly confined to the north of England. There are historical inaccuracies as to its origins. However, its agreed it has been tradition for centuries. At least since 1500. Morris dance is a form of English folk dance accompanied by music and choreographed by a group of dancers. The nearest America has got is probably Line dancing. But I have heard there are Morris Dancing troupes in Canada, Australia, New Zealand and the USA. We have regular weekly championships and the troupes come to this part of Manchester only once every year. It is a day and event to be savoured. The whole community comes out in support. The dancers, especially the local dancers, work so hard to get accolades before their friends and families.

English: Modern North-West English "Morri...

English: Modern North-West English “Morris Dancing”, which bears little relationship to folk traditions. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Seasons of my youth

I have always liked poetry ever since the first day I could understand how to read. Am I a romanticist or just a dreamer? I can not stop reciting in my head Wordsworth ‘s To a Butterfly and My Heart Leaps up’. I also particularly love the verse

The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

I remember the first days I read that poem, I could not make heads or tails of what the great poet was saying. However, it soon gradually became like a part of me as I could never put the book down.

Sometimes, I often find myself, when in an utter state of solitude dreaming of those long gone days when I was a little boy playing in the forest.I often go wondering back to days of my youth. Chasing birds, (the flying type), butterflies, grasshoppers. And just being a little impish runt. Those days when at the break of dawn you would hear the birds chirping, the Sun trying to sneak through the curtains. Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days. Oh those tranquil morns – then suddenly you get roused from that reverie by the sound of mom screaming you better get up and get ready for school.

I remember watching birds flying back at sunset. The sun reluctantly disappearing to its own bed. Grumblingly sometimes, as it tried to hang on, those long summer days. The sight of the rainbow following a brief spurt of rain, was oh so glorious. The sight of the rainbow, even to this day brings so much joy, hope and expectation. I do not know why and I am sure may never know why. Maybe that’s the child in me. Those sweet childish days live long in us.

Gone are those days when little boys and girls could run amok all day without any fear of some ‘naughty man’ taking them away. Come and go we did, fear no wrong. Playful little things we were.

In school we played. Had fun too. unbounded joy from learning how to read making new friends. And the breaks-oh! more time to play. The only fear then was the grunts of disapproval from that teacher with the big goggles, waving his finger at you. Apoplectic, frothing at the mouth because pupil could not give an answer for some math question. Or whatever?  ‘Those days when life was plain-sailing. When all you worried about was not when you will have something to eat, but being called back home to eat, interrupting your playtime. Those days that formed me..We were loved. We loved our big people. We loved the animals around us. The flowers, the days we used to break into song. What joy when we used to go to the fair!Mess about, eating candy floss and chocolate-coated apples!

We were in a West End musical with our big people watching us. Encouraging us to grow and flourish. Always standing up in applause. We were loved. We were watched. And be rewarded. No complications, life was so simple.

When we were young, all we needed was knowing we have a home to go back to. Loving parents and loads of toffees.

My heart leaps up when I recall those days of my childhood. So does it now that I am a man and see the little children I hope one day will be model citizens. Children should be nurtured and be allowed to flourish. Like a butterfly, they should bright, happy and be safe. And be allowed to float. Explore. Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days.

Looking back, as I reminisce I wonder whether I am looking at the past through a kaleidoscope. Everything was not rosy. Those were the best days of my life. Reminiscing has just made me remember too, days when we used to listen to country music. Dolly Parton’s My coat of many colours comes to mind! It tells a beautiful story.

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