Guildford Folk Dancers

August 2003 Holiday Week at Halsway Manor


Music:   For the dance "Meadow Sweet"  4 by 32 bars
 (L.E. Beethoven c. 1800/01  -  "contretanze" Wo014 Set 1 of 2)

A great week of dancing to 3D (The Three Dimensional Dewhurst Family band) and caller Ivan Aitken, interspersed with walks in the Quantocks in fine summer sunshine. The Manor’s lawns were frequented by ardent croquet and petanque fans and there was also a Sunday Cream Tea Dance (the latter organised by the Manor and advertised with a bill board on the main road/lane junction) which attracted a few intrepid tourists from as far afield as New Zealand!. I thought the tourists coped with the dancing and the grass underfoot very well and it was disappointing to suddenly realise that some had fled, after all the ‘excellent’ tuition from the Guildford folk and friends!

The more serious event during the week was the devouring of some excellent food, however the task of eating breakfast was ‘lightened?’ by everyone’s frequent acquaintance with an amazing piece of industrial automation - The TOASTER! Like the assembled gathering, it had a good appetite for consuming bread until it threw out blackened tiles or smoke or flames, or all three!! Such was the reverence with which The TOASTER was held that the final night Ceilidh brought forth ‘The Folk Ballet Group’ amazingly dressed in bin liner (what else) tutus, who performed the swan song of The TOASTER. We were also treated to an interlude by our Poet Laureate of the week, John Graham, reprinted below with his kind permission!

It was a week full of excellent music, a good selection of dances with calling to match, fun and games of many kinds and superb weather.

Saga of the Halsway Toaster                                                                           By: John Graham
 1In the foothills of the Quantocks,
‘neath the shadow of its hills,
Lurking there at Halsway Manor
Lies the mother of all ills.
 2Breakfast soothes our night starvation,
But, it brings our foremost dread
Standing sentinel, at its station
For to devour our daily bread.
 3Slices of all shapes and sizes
Are into the furnace fed,
Nothing can withstand the fury
Of this ghastly un-living dead.
 4But for all its sparks and smoking
It worries us both day and night
it's more to us a cause for joking
Because the bread still comes out white.
 5Turn the wick up, thump the back
No good, this time it’s cinder black
We've put it in, from left and right
And still it’s vanished clean out of sight.
 6This great steel box of glowing light
Consumes whole loaves of brown and white
Leaves a queue of frustrated folk
Watching bread go up in smoke.
 7But, have no fear, help is at hand
A search all up and down the lands
Revealed the remedy, we've all sought
A nice coal fire and a   .   .   .   .   .   .   .     THREE PRONGED FORK!!

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