Back in The Butcher's Arms

So, yes, we made our way back to the pub--only because I saved it in Garmin as The Butcher's Arms Really!  Wednesday we had a lovely day out in the village of Chipping Camden. We had a nice lunch, visited shops, a museum, the old church, and then headed back south towards home.  But because of a few wrong turns (thanks, Garmin), it took a little longer than we expected.  Because of Garmin's confusion (and mine) we've seen some beautiful pastoral scenery and had a few close encounters with cows, sheep, and vehicles on one-track lanes that don't look wide enough for even one vehicle.

At any rate, we found our way amazingly back to Sheepscombe and the pub where we had a good dinner of sausages, mashed potatoes, and red cabbage (variation on bangers and mash) in a little corner of the pub we'd reserved the other day.  Soon after we got there, the Morris dancers began to arrive--one troupe of men and one of women--already dressed in their costumes.  While we finished our dinner, we watched the dancers strap on their bells and sashes in the forecourt--after they'd gotten their respective pints, of course.

We were served our drinks by the publican's five-year-old daughter Emily, who climbed right up on the bench with us.  She brought our half-pints and pints from the bar: "Look, Daddy, I only spilled a little drop!" Later, she was in the thick of the dancing.

The dancing began as we were finishing dinner and we went outside to watch.  (This was the day after Midsummer's Eve so it was daylight until well after 10 pm.) The lane is so narrow, but people had parked along one side of it.  The dancers danced in the lane, so if a car needed to come through it had to wait until the end of the set. The group was definitely local and we were the exotic color but definitely welcome.

The dancing was ok, not all that exciting, but when the first sprinkles of rain fell, the dancers headed for inside the pub (very tiny!).  We didn't know if the dancing would continue or what would happen next, but they all pushed their way to the bar and one by one the musicians picked up melodeon, recorder, mandolin (who later switched to a banjo), and guitar, and they began to jam.  We watched in delight as they played song after song, then broke off to sing a cappella when one or another was moved to sing a traditional song where everybody knew the words except us.  (Sorry, the size of files limits you to small samples.)

Last verse of this sad sailor's tale:

So we're packed into this tiny little pub with as many as 30 or more people at first.  The guitarist (who had blown out his knees and couldn't dance any more) was our personal guide to what was going on. It was something tourists almost never have the opportunity to experience.  We were so lucky and thoroughly enjoyed every minute.  All we could think about throughout the evening was how much we wanted to share the whole experience with everybody we know--especially you guys. 

It was so hard to leave because as the evening progressed, the music and the singing and the laughter became even freer.  Just a spectacular evening, impossible to describe.