The Morris Dancers' Union

The ceremony was short and concentrated on the good things which Brian had done over his life. The last few weeks were a scar on what had been an unblemished career. The body had not been found so there was nothing to bury. The cliff behind Brian's house was over a hundred feet high, straight down to the crashing waves with smashed against the rocks. Cecil had spent many an hour sat listening to the water with his old friend. The image of Brian falling was one which Cecil would relive in his dreams, over and over again. The dancers' bells jingled and chinked as they walked back from the Dingle where the ceremony had taken place. The floral garden was one of Brian's favourite spots so it seemed fitting. The Morris Ring had reinstated the dancers following the revelations. The ladies looked like a living rainbow as they walked back through the park, each wearing a different colour dress with matching show laces. The men had all ironed their shirts and pressed their wai...

It didn't take long before the dancers all returned and shared their findings. Brian's clothes were missing, he had packed in a hurry but it was obvious that he had thrown something in a bag. He was a very ordered person but his bedroom drawers had been left open with some clothes not folded up. His granddad shirt, breeches and waistcoat were nowhere to be seen. Nor were his bells, sticks or handkerchiefs. Brian had lived alone for almost twenty years, ever since he lost his wife in a tragic paper-clip incident. The photograph of her which usually sat on the centre of the mantelpiece had gone, telling them that Brian wasn't looking at returning any time soon. Derek and Dennis returned with nothing of use from the neighbours. Agnes had nothing to add either. She had spoken with Brian's sister but she had no news.    "He has definitely left," concluded Flo. "I found this in the bathroom, the cold-hearted bastard." He placed an empty fish b...

Being ready to take on Brian was one thing, finding him in the first place was something else entirely. The dancers tried knocking on his front door but there was no answer. They tried tried banging louder but it made no difference. Agnes even tried rattling the letter box flap. "What now?" asked Dennis feeling slightly deflated. He had psyched himself up for a battle and was now a bit put out. "I'm thinking," replied Cecil. Brian was rarely away from home. If he wasn't carrying out the three P's - patrolling, practising or performing - he was at home doing some kind of DIY. "Try the garage," Cecil suggested. "Already have," replied Flo, "no sign of him." "Cunning," said Cecil. "He obviously knew that we'd be coming," said Sylvia with an air of I-told-you-so. "He's legged it. What we need to do is work out where, is there anywhere he would go? Friends? Family? If not, we ne...

"Cotswold?" Really? Why?" The dancers did not take the news as well as Cecil had hoped. He knew that the dancers were proud of their style but did not expect them to be so defensive. "What can they do which we can't?" Cecil had a job of explaining but he persevered. Eventually the complaints died down and the dancers accepted that there may be some things which they can learn. They were willing to give it a try. "For his sins, Brian did have one thing right," said Cecil. "We have become lax. We have taken our skills for granted. But no more. We will train harder than ever before..." There was a cheer from some of the dancers in agreement, "We will regain the trust of the people who we protect..." another cheer, this time louder, "we will regain our bells!" With this, the team cheered and applauded, although only briefly, in a restrained manner and without any whoops. The trainer's name was Gerald. He had...

Morris dancing wasn't supposed to be like this. Cecil Sharp had finished in the early twentieth century what Robert Peel had tried in the nineteenth. Ever since, the reputation of the Sharpies had grown to become what it was today. Sides across the country revelled in the heritage that had built up but they all favoured different styles. The border teams preferred the stick and were known for their strength whereas the Cotswold teams preferred the handkerchief and were famed for their ability to jump. Some other sides had branched out into more niche areas such as rapper and molly. No-one really understood the people with the coconuts but they didn't like to say. All however defended the peace and protected the people in their own special way. Over the years, they had brought crime under control such that the common man now respected his neighbours. People no longer stole from each other as they respected the fact that everyone should be able to live without fear of loss...

"It was one of us," said Flo. The room quietened down. Some of the dancers had gathered back in Cecil's kitchen, helping themselves to tea as was customary. They had awaited his return before discussing their findings, the Aga keeping the spring chill at bay whilst they sat chatting. Once Cecil entered, a few people started up at the same time, but Flo's announcement cut through the voices. "Explain," said Cecil. "If you have evidence against a morris dancer then you need to be sure of it, once blame has been laid there's no going back." Flo took a deep breathe. "I reviewed the injuries as requested," she started, her voice sounding hesitant. "They were caused by a wooden stick." "Are you sure?" asked Cecil. "Positive. The marks are consistent with having been bludgeoned with hard wood. The mottling suggests that the stick was not perfectly smooth, as in a baseball ball, but slightly imperfect,...

Brian felt ashamed about the way that he'd lost to the Lord of the Dance. He prided himself on being the strongest dancer, the most accomplished with a stick, yet he'd been bested by someone half his size. Dance practice had become to Brian exactly that, dance practice. It was meant to be a way to showcase their skills with a stick, their agility and ability. Instead, the focus had been lost and they were more interested in entertaining than educating. People needed to know how formidable they were. That reputation had been destroyed by the Lord of the Dance but it had been slowly eroded over the years by their own hand. Their signature 'bricklayers' dance using trowels and short sticks used to be breathtaking and awe-inspiring. Now it was almost farcical slap-stick. Brian reviewed the training program and with a smile, tore it in two. It would need to be redesigned, they had become lost and it was up to him to find them again, back to basics. He set to work. * ...

Flo was good at science stuff. She knew all about thermodynamics and isotopes and Bunsen burners. Whenever there was a need to look at something critically, Flo was called upon. She wasn't the eldest dancer on the side but she'd certainly done her time and then some. There was little that she hadn't seen over the years. The medical reports, which Flo had already read, included detailed accounts of the wounds inflicted on the three victims, but there was no substitute for actually examining the corpses first hand. It wasn't something which Flo had had to do for a long time, seeing as there hadn't been a murder for a long time, but do it she must. She wasn't very squeamish but the sight of the first body was enough to make her feel ill. The report matched precisely the wounds which she saw, she agreed that the weapon used was definitely a large blunt implement. The softer edge to the bruising suggested something wooden rather than metal. The bruising to the ba...

"Now what?" It was the question on everybody's mind and the one which Cecil asked. The morris dancers, all of them, along with the Mayor, had retreated to the Three Fishes, a pub in Shrewsbury town centre. "We apologise," said Sylvia. "And do it properly," added Flo. Cecil drank some of his mild, looking pensive. "You're probably right. I've made a right hash of this haven't I? If the material wasn't his then it is either a strange coincidence or somebody planted it on the victim. Do we even know if it matches his outfit or did we just jump to a conclusion, because it was what we wanted to see?" "That guy's a menace," shouted Brian. "If it wasn't him then he probably will do something similar so we'll have to bring him in sooner or later." "Will we? It's not our job anymore. We're just interested bystanders now. What happens is for the Mayor to decide." All e...

Cecil hoisted the flag in his garden showing the symbol of the morris team. He knew that doing so went against his instructions but he had no time to waste. It wouldn't take too long for the Mayor to work out where the purple cloth came from so he had to act first to make sure that the culprit was apprehended. By late afternoon, all of the dancers had gathered in Cecil's kitchen and they were discussing what was the best thing to do. There was unrest amongst them about taking direct action. Flo had said that she didn't mind dancing out to give a show of strength, but apprehending a killer was a step too far without the proper authority. Others agreed but some felt that to do so would be the best way to have themselves reinstated. About half of the dancers were willing to carry on and confront the Lord of the Dance. The others wished them well but felt that they would be overstepping the line. Supporting the Mayor would be the best option and that is what they would d...

The third attack came as a shock to everyone. Not the ferocity or the mess which matched and possibly surpassed the other two, but the victim. John the Thatcher. He was found outside his house in a lane in the early hours of the morning. The milkman had spotted some feet near the bins. The sight hadn't curdled his milk but he felt as though it should have. The morning milk delivery would be late for the next few weeks as a result. The morris dancers found out through word of mouth that same afternoon as they were no longer in the loop. The rumour mill was working overtime. Three attacks, all of them known law breakers. All of them killed in the most brutal of manners. This time however, the story went that there was something different, a clue maybe. Something to go on, a lead, but what was it? Cecil made it his job to find out. With the morris dancers stood down, and nobody in their place, the role fell to the Morris Ring's official spokesperson for the county. In this ...

"I want to know everything about him. Who is he, where did he come from, what does he know, what was his first pet?" Cecil was sat in his kitchen talking to Dennis and Agnes. "He must train somewhere, why don't we know about it? We were truly shown up yesterday, out danced, out classed, out played. I want to know why. He isn't doing this just for fun." "Do you think that his arrival and the killings are just coincidence or do you think that they're connected in some way?" asked Agnes taking a sip of her tea. "That is something we must find out. I can't say he fits the profile as we don't have a profile. If he wants to derail us and fill our shoes then the deaths certainly work in his favour," said Cecil. "If he wants to do what we do then I expect he would want to solve the killings as well. If he did them then he won't be able to, unless he frames someone," Dennis pointed out. "Then we shoul...