Chapter 17

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. People no longer hurt each other over petty feuds as they respected differences and understood that violence only begot violence. Although the dancers were adept at combat and wielded their tools as weapons, the need to do so had diminished to the point where they barely had to bother these days. And that lack of reason reflected in their approach. Cecil knew that what Brian had said was true. The dancers were no longer what they once were. But he also realised that they didn't need to be. The country had found its balance, and it was a happy one. Petty crime was now dealt with swiftly with little more than a grimace to get people back on the straight and narrow.

With Brian at large, the dancers knew that it was only a matter of time before he struck again. They would need to act quickly, but the tussle had shown them that they wouldn't be able to simply knock on his door and ask him to come in quietly. They would need a new approach, and Cecil knew what he needed to do. He finished making his sandwiches for the journey (cheese and pickle - his favourite) and set off for Cecil Sharp House once more. The last time he went before the Morris Ring he had fear. This time it was hope. Hope that they would be able to help, hope for guidance. He even retained an outside hope of redemption, to be reinstated, but he didn't allow himself to dwell on that one.

Brian once again found himself in the chambers of the Morris Ring, facing the man with the strong northern accent behind the large wooden table, flanked by a further two officials. He waited to be addressed before speaking.

"Mr Cecil Bloomsworthy," said the man, looking him in the eye, "you are here once again. We understand that there have been developments."

"Yes sir," replied Cecil. Before he could elaborate the man continued.

"One of your number has committed the most heinous of crimes. Not once, not twice, but thrice."

"Yes sir," said Cecil realising that the news preceded him.

"And this took place under your noses, without the hint of suspicion."

"Sir," said Cecil, his voice sounding slightly shameful, "it is with regret that I am here before you today. The man in question is a life long member of the team. He was a great Morris Dancer, a decent man who upheld our values, and he was my friend. We had no reason to suspect him, but all that has changed. He must be stopped, and he must be brought to justice. And am here before you asking for your help."

"Help," said the man, "is not something which is often sought in this chamber. Morris sides across the country work as one, but within their boundaries. Are you seeking reinforcements?"

"I am not," said Cecil. "I am here to ask for training."

"Training?" queried the man, slightly stunned. "Nobody has ever asked for training before. Your team is regarded as one of the best - what training can be given?"

"My team is very good at what they do, which is border morris. The men's skills lie in stick wielding. The women use hankies and garlands to great effect but we realise that other teams have something which they can offer. Cotswold, rapper, even molly dancers have something which we can learn. We want to combine our skills as only this way can we look to better someone as skilled as Brian."

"Hmm... interesting." The man behind the desk went quiet for a 
moment. He turned and whispered to the people on either side of him who until now had, as was customary, kept quiet. He turned again to Cecil. "We will grant your request. You will be visited by three trainers who will instruct you in their style. If Brian is not apprehended it could be the beginning of the end. We must maintain our standards, we must protect our people. Justice must prevail." He did not exchange any pleasantries but simply stood and walked out. Cecil breathed a sigh of relief and left the chambers. He had never eaten a cheese and pickle sandwich which had tasted as good as this one did. He managed to raise a slight smile for the first time in days as he walked down the steps.