Parliament
should never
be allowed
to make Law
Having a few people
represent the
sovereignty
of millions
is an absurdity
that has to end
Hands on hips, hands on knees
turning, hands clapping, they dance out
as each skips high, so high, so high
Chapter Twenty Eight
Pan
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Michael!

Yes, my love?

When the baby is born, will I be able to guide the child?

Ah!  Guide the child!  Do you think you will be able to guide!

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His father will be with the boy?

We believe that is his intention.

And the Lady who came to me in my dream?

From afar she will assist.

Yourself, will you assist?

We are relying upon you, Emily.  The human family has much to learn.

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It is likely great sorrow has yet to come to this world.

Much suffering.  I cannot see this being deflected.

Will the child have to do with that?

The child we believe has a destiny to be involved?

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Will the child be evil, Michael?

The child not yet born has a provenance of mystery.

With your care and the care of the boys human father, from such a provenance of mystery there might come forth great reward.

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Great reward, Michael?

We cannot explain the working!

Of a plan?

Of how things will move, my dear?

I do not understand.

We are not sure.

No!

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Your son has free will.

To do as he pleases?

Your son in the womb holds a formation of character; that which he does we all have to wait and see.

He has choice, Emily.  We all have choice.

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I will love him.

Good daughter of Divine Essence, know always that you are loved.

Thank you, Michael.

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Late in the morning of Wednesday June 20th of the year 1900, Arthur visits the solarium on the chance Conny like himself might be seeking companionship.
Her ladyship, primly seated, overhanging plants shading her, leans across to pat the padded cushion of the chair opposite.  She’s been waiting for him.
Arthur smiles, stretches his legs.  “So it seems they are going to be married.”
Constance puts her hand against her mouth.
“Not even mention it?”
“I have brought something, from Knobs,” Constance holds up some papers.  “His Mayday speech!”   Arthur stares at the bundle she holds in her hand.  “From this last Mayday!”
“He never read it!  It’s everything you’ve been telling me, Arthur.”
Arthur looks puzzled.
Constance laughs, “But it’s more.  Isn’t everything so dambed ridiculous?  It’s all a belief system, isn’t it.  A religion of beliefs.”
Arthur smiles.
A hand reaching for spectacles, Constance picks up the papers she’s just placed on the side table.  “He never uttered one word of this on Mayday.”  Adjusting the spectacles, she begins to read:
Well, it’s Mayday again!    What a history, Mayday.   In the woods, by the streams the young, and not so young, goes ‘a-Maying, hanging their blossoms, garlands weaving ‘pon trees long before days of writing.

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Mayday was here when dragon slayer, old George came visiting.   Ah!  a time for the adventurous, us lads helping George doing the slaying for our ladies.   Some of you old ’uns recall that time, I know.   laughter pause

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Spring is here and ye merry Morris, still ye dance with nimble spirit for lady around a tree.  (cheers pause)
My friends, I am the Jester, their purpose to tell the truth that no-one dare.   So in this garb, please accept my babble from a Jester who should know better but doesn’t.
When George came, he spoke to the people: stop the trophy taking that the dragons always take, the riches stolen from you from the land that is yours, the children the dragons steal that never come back.  
People, it is your world.   Climb out of that pit the dragon has placed you inside.
George was not alone.   Many young in heart wanted to bring back freedom to the land.   But how to do it when no one will listen, when so many are afraid?
If I tell you that a man in government following some dictate, tells you what to do, that man has no right, will you listen?
If I tell you that your right to be individual in your thinking is the most precious thing you have in your life, will you listen.
If I tell you that law that we have, none of it benefits you, benefits only a few, those who worship the dragons, that is what George the dragon slayer would tell you.   He would say they have stolen your birthright, those who worship the dragons.
Our autonomy, mighty word for those who understand, our freedom to live bound to no man, many think we still have it.   Isn’t that the Magna Carta?  they will say.
The Great Charter was never signed for you, my friends.   It was the Lords who gathered around John, the few who already had their rights, not to establish yours.
I am going to tell you something that will surprise you coming from someone who has all his life been a magistrate.
But I’m a Jester today, my friends, and will I be from this day forth.   What you see is a jester, their purpose you know, to tell that which no one dares.
Now upon Earth some people cope best by mind, and some do best by following their heart.   The whole of us seems to be divided betwixt these two.
Those who have a propensity to rule by mind tend to rely upon law to bolster their case, and regulations of course.
Those who follow from heart, they get soft at times.   You twist them around your finger and then go and do same things you shouldn’t all over again.
This thing about ‘shouldn’t’ that’s the problem.   ‘Who makes up ‘shouldn’t?’
This problem gets even more complicated when religion gets quoted.   Some read a book called the Bible.   For them everything that’s written in that book is truth.  ‘God said it,’ they will tell you, swearing up and down if it is in the book it is truth.
Well, who wrote the book?
They say ‘God’ gave Moses ten Commandments.   But did he also write books?   Most times they will look at you.   They hadn’t thought of that.
So who did write the book?   This great book?   Was it one?   Was it many?   Were these great writers all Gods?
Well, someone has brought out the story that everything found in this book is from God.   Just as other books are said to be.
Did someone forgot to say that books get written by human people, and when we say human people, we have to be human.
And what is Human?   Why you and me?   So I can write a great book and it will be from God?  
Believe it or not, there were other books before this great book, and before that there were writings upon stone, and before that tales that people would tell.
All about God, or Gods, and the wonders and mysteries that are still with us today?  
Now that might be a question?   Are there mysteries and wonders still with us today?
The Jester wants to talk about something else, or the something-else’s you think might be real.  
There is a fellow in Germany named Johann Friedrich Herbart.   Well he was in those regions some decades past before the Lord took him.
He says an idea, don’t matter about what idea, don’t matter when we get the idea.  
Even those notions we get when we are very small, and when we’re middle small, and when we’re bigger small, these all get to be stored in part of our brain.  Johann Friedrich Herbart places where it goes somewhere here.  (point to top of head)
Johann Friedrich is a clever fellow.   He figured all these ideas we get, we’d be in a real mess if our brain didn’t do some restricting.
So he says ideas that we get when we are very young, these are strongest until something comes along different.  Then we have to decide.   Which makes more sense.   That old notion I had, or now this new idea.
Little ones out there know there’s a Father Christmas, and you older, if someone comes along and says nasty words about Father Christmas, you tell him to go away.  Father Christmas brings presents when we are good, and sometimes when we aren’t.   Horrible person, to say words, like...  well you know, don’t have to say more.
Now let’s talk about something that happened to me.   I was two.   No, I was.   I was once really two.   My grandfather said the moon is made of cheese.   I asked my father, he sort of nodded.
I still had this notion when I reached school.   Trouble is, I blurted this out to the young fellows I was with, had to fight to secure my position.   Having a good hook punch, it was six, ten years after I became Magistrate, that someone dared say different.   (wait for laughs)
Now I am quite confident the moon is not made of cheese.   But I have never been there.   Have you?   We’re all very confident the moon is not made of cheese.  The mind is a funny thing.
You see ideas have power.   Those ideas we are told, they have power.   The preacher knows this.   Preacher knows once a thing in our head, takes a lot to get it out.
All this is fine until we come to having power over another.   These ideas we have of what is right and wrong, if you believe my ideas I have power over you.   I can do all kinds of things to make your life uncomfortable.
Should I even bother to listen to anything you have to say?
This fellow Johann Friedrich Herbart, a thinking fellow, says the brain disregards anything it doesn’t want to listen to.
The brain doesn’t like being uncomfortable.
The jury is the same.   They’re all brains that have a way of thinking.
They’re brains don’t want to become uncomfortable.   So the fellow gets sentenced to ten years and we never hear from him again.  But we pay for him.   And we pay for his jailers.  And that money could be better spent on something worthwhile.
If I was one of those heart people I was talking about, and I might be, I would often dispense with the reasoning part of my brain — some would say the believing part of my brain, because reasoning mostly is believing.
But we’re not talking about reasoning persons.  we’re talking about heart people.  They are called that because they follow their heart mostly.  Sometimes they follow their backside.  
See all kinds of feeling get mixed up with a heart person.   Now sometimes it happens both heart and reasoning persons think God talks to them at times.
Well that’s all right if he’s telling them about them.   It’s when God is telling this person about someone this person has power over, that’s when this person should step back.
How do I know God is talking to me?  If it was me on t’other side, me facing someone who has power of me, would I wan’t them to be talking to God to decide my future?  Truth is, I shouldn’t be allowing them to decide my future.   They have no right.
No sovereign, no politician, no court, no law can give them that right.  My future is my future.  No one can take that away from me.   No one should take that away from me.  
As a Jester I have to tell you, for the Jester always has to say what no one else dares to say, that all this about punishing another, is to do with the dragon.
St. George wouldn’t punish another.  He would look into that person’s soul, and he would say, what do you think? And if that person had done something really bad, well George would make sure, and ten people came and said he did it and these looked honest, and he’d killed a child, or a wife, of anyone, well George would hold out his sword, give it a swing and that fellow would no longer have a head.
But he wouldn’t be punished because George knew that none of us have a right to punish.   He would be dead.   Dead to us.   Let him figure out what he did somewhere else.  
There are no prisons in St, George’s day.   No one gets punished.   They get banished.   They get told we don’t want you around us.   Come back and you will be back long — five minutes.
Now most heart people shy away from positions of power because they instinctively sense their weakness in making decisions that effect other people.   They know through their heart, and see in others, the awful ruthlessness that having power can bring.
Those with the analytical minds, for them power is a way to change the world to how they wish.   Remember this!   Not how you wish to live your life, how they believe the world should be.
More even than that!   How they believe you should live your life.
These people gleefully accept the power you give them to rule over you and others.   The people with analytical minds operate at all levels, issuing commands within the extent of their domain of power, and often beyond if you allow.   They have no compunction in seeing you cower to them.
Compunction — feeling unease, anxiety of the conscience caused by doing wrong to you, caused by causing you pain, punishing you.
These mind people they have no compunction what they do.   They can always make words to tell them they are right.  That’s what mind people do.  Their words make a religion.  It’s how they see it and you must follow their religion of belief.   If you don’t you will be punished.
So how do we free ourselves?   One way, and the best, is that we must accept we are free.   It is one of the rules of existence that when we do not believe something, existence make sure our belief is manifested.
The opposite is true, it matters not for evil or good.   That which we pursue as our goal in some form, at some moment is achieved.   But for who will it be achieved?
As the Jester I tell you that which we ourself create and others create is in the larger senses, chimera.   Painful and powerful, when we leave this stage, whatever we create will be shown for what it is.
Mind is creation.   Now these people with analytical minds, these people we vote for, these people who make law, the politicians who rule us with these edicts, I tell you they are nothing more than you or I.
Two reasons such people do what they do.   They have such apotheosis of illusion about themselves that they think they know how is best for everyone.  
That means in their mind they have elevated themself to a person of the rank of a god.  All lawmakers you must include in this.
A second reason people place themselves into positions of power is their insecurity in themselves.   If they make you act upon their command they remain strong.
Matters not which reason, ever more tightly will you be drawn into their system of control.   Once you listen to their lies, for they will not hesitate to lie if it furthers their grip upon your life, you are their servant.
Someone has to do the job you, say.   I say no.   Never should a few be given that power.
There is a war coming and many of your sons, your grandsons will be called for duty.   The newspapers will say anything that the politicians believe you will accept.
Those who write the stories that lead to war, even in circumstance where it is very difficult to lie, all will be phrased to bring you to how the politicians and most of the elite of the country wish you to believe.
As war progresses newspapers will be full of slaughter.   Your sons, accepting the yoke of servitude, will give their lives to a system that cares not one jot or tittle for how you love your son, or the life he could have lived.
If your son resists, because he has some merit to his spine and has read and studied, he will be excoriated by all around.   If it becomes law that he has to serve he will be thrown into prison and declared a criminal.
There will not always be war.   Once enough are killed then we return to a period of normalcy and growth before another war.   That is how their system is played.
Always there is change because that is how we as humans live.   Our brains are built to create!   We invent so many wonderful implements to make our lives better.
As we step into this new century, electrical direct current, alternative current, will provide us with the marvels we are already seeing: moving trains, pumps that pressurize water to flow upwards to the second and third floors of our homes, horseless carriages, farming equipment all of which is very wondrous to us.
Change in our new century is about energy.   The infrastructure that we are building has to do with wire that connects to another wire, that connects all the way back to an electrical power generating centre?
But does electric power need a wire?   Is this a good idea to force such magic through a single vehicle?   Motor carriages and lorries fuelled by petroleum.   Do our lorries need to be fuelled by petroleum?   As the jester I tell you that all of this could even be better.
The Universe in which we live is full of power.   We already know there is such a thing as frequency, unlimited variations of systems of that which we can neither see nor hear.
Perhaps if would search for not one connectivity as a vehicle for such as electricity to make our lives more comfortable.   Perhaps there are many vehicles that the Universe has waiting for us, if only we will allow its discovery.
Perhaps we have already made this discovery?   Perhaps it has been kept from us?   Why?   For profit?   So that those who already have so much can hold on to their power.   For money is power.   Money is a weapon.   A weapon to be used against any who dare to oppose them.
We also build many weapons.   Much of our tax money goes to building weapons.   Much of our industry is involved in building weapons.   Why?   For profit?   So that those who already have so much can hold on to their power.   For money is power.   Money is a weapon.   A weapon against us.  
From our birth until our death they dictate how our very bodies are enslaved to them.
Forcing upon us vaccines when we do not wish.   Forcing us as fodder for their wars.   Forcing us as slaves in their factories.
We do have a system where a few, through their cunning, steal from the many.   We have a system where education for the many is indoctrination.   Taught nothing of consequence but only to obey.
We have a system where only the Master’s children are sent to real schools that teach a real education.   Even this can be disputed.   For the master too are given a false education.  The masters must be indoctrinated in their way of behaving, as with the serfs, and as they must do to the serfs.
We have a system where poverty and misery and crime and imprisonment is meant to be the all for those who are not the land and property owners.
Where ignorance is very much planned.   A system where the amount of money you earn is planned in great detail by those who have control: that some will have more, many will have less.
We can change this if we open our eyes and see.
Stop them making it that so many have to take out a loan for a house that a lifetime will take to pay off.   That is their plan for the coming century, for those who have not been killed off.
They do have many plans for wars and they know that those who fight and return become rebellious, so a little is given, then that gradually taken away.  
‘Oh!’ you say, ‘things are getting better.   Seven decades previous only rich men had the vote.’ ‘Yes,’ I will tell you, ‘and how is it better now?  
The Chartists were good fellows they planned for reform.   They understood we are creative people and we will bring forth new invention.
Reformers from the north of England, the Midlands, from Leicestershire, Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire, the Staffordshire Potteries, the Black Country,
Birmingham, Wolverhampton, Wales all got into the act. Six parliamentarians through some act of God managing to break through their system, published a People Charter.   1838 was the year.
Yes, people were arrested, but unlike that which is standard where people are hung, the military, the police, siding not with those who pay them, for you pay them, but siding with those who steal your money and use that money to keep you enslaved.   Unlike this however, this time the Chartists began to have their way.
Sometimes collectively people can enforce their rights.   They smile.   They know us.  
They recognise that you will never go far enough.   That you do not know them.   Cottages built by the Chartists stand today as monuments.
Real wealth in the world to them is land and resources that lie under the land.   More wealth is being able to capitalise upon people.
You are the source of ‘more’ wealth to them.
As the jester I tell you that real wealth is within your mind.   As the mind creates, as the body engages these creations, so we bring forth and fulfil our bounty.   That is until they introduce war to take it all away.  
Make them give you a house!   Make them give your children real knowledge that will make your children ever more powerful, not only against them but against any that should come to take away your children’s future.
Stop them from using war and their many varied means of enslavement to take from you!
The Bible speaks of a Garden of Eden.   Our awareness of history no longer has it written this was a creation of the people who existed at that time.  
Those writings have long been taken away.   Find that way.   These people back then had their way!  They lived in Eden.   We found it once, we can find it again.
There is one more thing I wish to speak about.   This is the legal system, the criminal courts, the prosecutors, the judges who uphold the system.  
This is where I refer again to your acquiescence that they desire.   I am speaking here of your continuing docility in the face of law.
You have a family.   Your sons and daughters hope to marry.   To have families of their own.   Should you not obey?   Should your children not obey?
What do we wish of life?   How should our stay upon Earth be fulfilled?
Many are forced into a prison situation by not accepting their game.   If this should happen to a loved one, what do you do?   Visit them when allowed?  
Give them gifts.   Kiss them?   You think there is justice, but there isn’t.   Justice is determined by wealth and power.
The idea is not to ascertain, to learn with certainty or assurance if a person is innocent or guilty.   That is impossible to do.   They know this.
The determining factor is where the person being charged fits in society.   Finding if a person is innocent or guilty I have to tell you is so much nonsense, the very notion coming from the people who control.  
Persuading you as a juror through a cooking of evidence is part of the system.   So much kept from you, so much withheld to make it impossible to even remotely assess anything done.   It’s all cooked.
And why would a juror believe they have the right to make judgement?   Where did this idea come from?   Because you have been told.
None has the intelligence to sort through the court system.   Only if you were present and could get into a person’s mind would you know, could you even begin to believe you could make judgement.
Any found in a jury chair should always plead unable to come to a decision.   If pressed upon penalty vote innocent.   It is not your understanding of justice you engage when you vote guilty.   It is the understanding of justice that some people have decided is the way to keep a system functioning.  
There are many better ways to manage our affairs between us.   Some humans have discovered this.   They practice better ways.   I put it to you that it is each of our responsibility not to succumb to a system that is false.
You say some people deserve to be punished.   I tell you it is not up to you to punish.   You have no God-given right to punish.   The best you can do is banish.   From your town, your village, from your frequency if necessary.
There is always another life for that person.   That is God’s way.   If you believe in God.
Unless you yourself have seen the deed, you cannot be certain that person has been the committer.   Would you wish yourself to be placed in a situation where people who know nothing are placed in a position to make judgement upon you?
Yes, we do have a right to live with who we choose.   And we can banish.   And we should be weary of any stranger who turns up in our town.   They remain at the communities behest.  After watching and evaluating they stay.   If not satisfactory, removed.
None have a right to enter and live within our domain without our permission.
You say mob violence will ensue if there are no police.   Innocence will be killed, because we collectively are fuelled by this part of us that is animal.
I tell you this system which you obey is more deadly than anything a bully in a mob can bring.   This we live under is a system of bullies, a system of a few holding power over the many.
It is your choice.   It is your life you live.   To serve them!   To be free!
Now for you who in the future are forced into a prison situation by not accepting their game.   If this should happen it will mean you must stop playing completely with them.
You must accept that imprisonment is a state where you no longer wish to exist in their world.   That it is now time to force your mind into something better.   To return to where you came!   Stop eating!   Stop drinking!
They say the physicians have the ability to force food into you.   That they might believe they have this right is more evil than I can conceive.  
Having the power to force soul to live has within it such a revulsion, is such a revulsive act that anyone practising this dystopia should themselves be taken before the community, the community itself deciding, and if decided, these people removed from the planet.
This includes judges, lawmakers who make such dystopian law, physicians, anyone else involved.   Forcing someone to live is more horrifying than burning witches.   Then the burning is finished within minutes.   This torture endures beyond horror.
You say that should you find yourself in such a situation you could not go through with what I tell you!   I tell you the physicians are not Gods.  
Accept this is the time for you to leave.   Force of mind is everything.   And that which they do is evil in its purest form.   Comply with nothing.  
Move in your mind outside their frequency.   Playing their game, by complying with anything, you remain in their world, you remain inside their enslavement.
Let those within the Dream go after those who have killed you.   When there is no more goodness, evil turns upon its own evil.
They, the judges who have sentenced you, the guards who have kept you forcibly imprisoned, the politicians who have made the laws, the physicians who have kept you alive one minute past your wish to leave this existence, all who have hurt you, let them be dealt with by the Dream.
But after all of this, if you do decide to remain here, to live in this world, then do it for goodness, to bring even into this darkness the light of spirit, of your spirit.
So how do we get rid of them?   How do we live? We do as villagers did in a tale I once heard of a saga of Wild Priests.
We have self-defence militia, not paid by our taxes given to them.   People we know, people of our village, of our town, our city, of the enclave we have established.
These militia know what they are for, to protect.   Not to advance upon some other people’s territory and to kill for their masters.
If you are a man who has the strength within you to fight, if you are a woman who has the strength within you to fight, you will know what needs to be done to protect.   You have no leader, some with better tactical skills, yes, to be listened to, yes, but all to be agreed.  
Never forget, the moment you have leaders, you have law.   The moment you have law, they control.   No longer are you your own sovereign soul.   Theirs is to command.   You to follow their order.
I have no doubt some of you listening to me have come to a recognition of how you wish to live your life.   Having your boy taken from you and placed in uniform to fight for something you have no reasoning, though you are told a reason, a reason they have concocted, is not that way.   Having someone falsely decreed guilty of a crime to be taken to a place, imprisoned and promptly forgotten, this is not your way.
Yes, some of you are quite satisfied.   They have not come for you, yet.
I tell you these people who force you know nothing.   They know nothing more than you except they have discovered a way of making you do what they wish.
Each generation must fight for their freedom.   You might think that because they have not taken you they will not.   Already you have succumbed
While they have power, endless more plays from endless more situations you will have to endure.
Know them for their fruit: is the fruit wasted and lean, or abundant and beautiful? Those are the words of Jesus spoken in Aramaic.

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Let us free ourselves, and let us view each other, treat each other as we would wish to be treated and be viewed ourself.

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There is a better world. I tell you there is, but we each of us has to find it. It could be here. Thank You.

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Constance shudders: “It is as if he knew he was not going to live? As if he wanted to leave something for me. So I would understand...  who he was...  I should never...”
“Something for you,” Arthur stops her.  “And for George and me. What are you going to do with it?”
“By publishing it, those who took the time to read it would be the very people he is talking about, those who have control.”
“I agree,” replies Arthur.  “Changing their system has to be done by the people being ruled.  Like the Chartists attempted!  And the ownership they have, the lock on the minds...  I don’t know when that will be.”
“When Annabell is more mature she will have this.”   Constance collects the sheets of paper, straightens them on her lap, places the pile upon the side table.
. . .
Reverend Stanley is in a tizzy. Travelling to the estate in the carriage sent my Mr. Coulter, he has just discovered he has the incorrect wedding service in his hands.
At the vicarage preparing himself, certainly in this thinking had been the marriage of the two young people.  Unfortunately the letter from Eddery had come, about Reggie.
Reggie, such a name he would not wish upon anyone, Reggie, as the man signs his name, has obtained title of Rural Dean of Tittimouth parishes.
A sinecure position certainly, for the Bishop holds a firm hand in that diocese, including the managing of all Rectors.  The Rural Dean of Tittimouth overseer of the esteemed Rectors has absolutely nothing to do, and to top, handsomely paid for it.
Reverend Stanley has memory vague of Tittimouth: a few farmers, their workers attending services.  The churches all have Rectors mind. Handsome benefices, land bestowed from the hoary past providing full annuities.  Reverend Stanley has wished himself in such an easy district and now Reggie has outdone him twice. Becoming a Rector, now the sinecure of Rural Dean.
Certainly he does not mind being Vicar Stanley but Rector Stanley sounds so much more dignified, does it not.
St. Domna Ebba, Weatherby Atherton, all of the moor road out of Biddiford must he be seen to...
Glancing down at the wedding service, he is not at all sure if he should return to Weatherby.  Miss Samson had requested the modern service.   The carriage is almost at the estate.   He has to inform the groom and bride, ask for their guidance, express his deep apology, ask if they will consider the formal service, that which he presently is holding.
At the church on the estate, young Mr. Coulter states that if the traditional service is agreeable to his intended bride then it is agreeable to him.
A note is sent to the large house where Miss Annabell is getting ready.  ‘No further delays,’ issues forth, written on the back of the note with a hurried emphatic scrawl.
We now listen in upon the vows, that while having moments of severity, also have their brightness:
I REQUIRE and charge you both, as ye will answer
at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all
hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any
impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in
Matrimony, ye do now confess it.

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For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God’s Word doth allow are not
joined together by God; neither is their Matrimony lawful.

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Annabell stares at the book Vicar Stanley is reading from.
Edward Samuel Richard Coulter wilt thou have this
Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s
ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?

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Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee
only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?

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“I will,” Edward says firmly.
Annabell Louise Jane Samson wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?

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Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other,
keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?

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“I will.”  Annabell dreamily responds,
Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?

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“I do.”  George takes his niece’s hand and gives it to the Reverend who then takes Edward’s right hand laying it upon the right hand of Annabell.
Vicar Stanley states, “Repeat after me.
I Edward Samuel Richard Coulter take thee Annabell
Louise Jane Samson to my wedded Wife, to have and to
hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer
for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish,
till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance;
and thereto I plight thee my troth.

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The Reverend indicates to Edward to take his hand from Annabell, and that she with her right hand should take and hold Edward by his right hand.
I Annabell Louise Jane Samson take thee Edward Samuel Richard Coulter to my wedded Husband, to have and to
hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer
for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and
to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.

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The Reverend now looks to the best man, who in this ceremony is a best young woman.  Vicar Stanley takes the ring from Emily, gives it to Edward and points to Annabell’s fourth finger of her left hand.
Edward places the ring upon Annabell’s finger, then the Reverend taking Edward’s hand holding it over Annabell’s, states for Edward to repeat his words:
WITH this Ring I thee wed, with my Body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow: In the
Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.

Amen.

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Let us pray
The Reverend motions to the couple to kneel:
O ETERNAL God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind, Giver of all spiritual grace, the Author of everlasting
life; Send thy blessing upon these thy servants, this Man
and this Woman, whom we bless in thy Name.

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That as Isaac and Rebecca lived faithfully together, so these persons may surely perform and keep the vow and
covenant betwixt them made.

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Whereof this ring given and received  is a token and pledge and may ever remain in perfect love and peace together, and live according to thy laws; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

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Reverend Stanley taking the right hands of the kneeling couple once again joins their hands together:
Those whom God hath joined together let no man put
asunder.

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Reverend Stanley looks out at the witnessing crowd:
For as much as Edward Samuel Richard Coulter.  and
Annabell Louise Jane Samson have consented together in
holy Wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God
and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their
troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving
and receiving of a Ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.  Amen.

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O let the nations rejoice and be glad: for thou shalt judge the folk righteously, and govern the nations upon earth. Let the people praise thee, O God: yea, let all the people praise thee.  Then shall the earth bring forth her increase: and God, even our own God, shall give us his blessing.  God shall bless us: and all the ends of the world shall fear him.  Glory be to the Father, and to the Son: and to the Holy Ghost; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be: world without end. Amen.

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. . .
The wedding ceremony is over.
So the breakfast.
George, Meg, Constance and Arthur are spending the afternoon with Edward’s mother and invited older guests.
Workers attending the wedding have returned to their homes on the estate.  It is a day off for them.  So will be tomorrow and Saturday and Sunday.
Fred Enlem, guest and carriage driver, wife Betty beside him, have taken Willie and Ethel Entwistle, Mr. McBride and Mrs. Minton back to the Manor where they intend to have cakes and drinks and a lazy afternoon by the Pavilion.
Cyneswith, replacing for the day Seth, is busy as under underbutler at the Mandalmane gardens, aged head butler Archibald Watton insisting on helping when able.
Out by the ruins, a show with the large marquee carried from the lane entrance and then erected: a dining shelter with a fine white canopy where inside large cushions are spread about; beside the cushions low tables with lamps to hold evening and midnight snacks.
Excellent food dishes created by the estate cooks wait in covered pottery that have designs providing of somewhat a ‘nomadic’ touch.  Wine, cider and a speciality of one of the Mandalmane workers, home-made beer, their containers with their plugs are piled high against one marquee wall.
A shelter erected for the wedding couple, one for the young women, one for the young men, all show unsparing luxury: silk sheets, feather pillows, fine washing bowls and stands filled with scents, special soaps, and for the ladies, beauty accoutrements.
Carts brought down the lane emptied, and the kitchen and domestic staff now returned to the estate at the request of young Mr. and Mrs. Coulter, the nine attending are left alone.
The party of those attending are:
Mr. James Eadwine Briggs, aged 17.

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Miss Ellen Pearl Appleton, aged 16.

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Mr. Thomas Oscar Hopkins, aged 16.

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Miss Lucy Julia Evans, aged 19.

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Mr. Seth Joseph Nyler, aged 16.

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Miss Ruby Gentian Oakruen, aged 16.

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Miss Emily Priscilla Adams, aged 17.

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Mr. Edward Samuel Richard Coulter, aged 22.

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Mrs. Annabell Priscilla-Adams Coulter, aged 19.

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The group arrive at the ruins in various ways.  Nelly, Lucy and Ruby in a carriage that Joshua Shenton, estate head groom, deciding he wanted a run out, drives.  Behind them is Henri in the large Brougham, Seth at the side.
Inside are Annabell, Emily and Edward, changed from their formal clothing into something more suitable for the stay at the moors.  With the ruins lane too narrow for the carriages, all walk at the entrance after waving goodbye to the two drivers.
Jimmy and Tom arrive on the small horse and pony, Curly and ‘Em.  Removing the saddles and straps, the horse and pony wandering, the two join the rest who have their feet immersed in the stream water.
Not content with feet, it isn’t long before Jimmy and Tom have stripped down to their underbreeches, both lying on the stream bed, its waters covering all but their heads.  Then Seth follows, then Edward, who tries to keep alight a pipe newly acquired as a wedding gift.  An attempt at getting the young women to reduce themselves to their knickers is not successful.
When food is suggested by someone in the stream, and then beer, “Food!” becomes the cry.  A quick run for towels for the men, ladies the wash bowls, all regroup inside the large catering marquee.
Quail with an excellent truffle stuffing filled with Chinese flower mushrooms and chestnuts is the favoured item.
Tom stacks shrimp at the side of the quail, on top of which he piles a concoction that Lancard the sauce chef has devised: a type of yoghurt Lancard grows himself from a culture he brought to Mandalmane, purchased on his visit to the Turks.  Ossetra golden-yellow sturgeon eggs, dill and lemon are mixed into this wedding yoghurt.
Lucy, never favouring quail, looks over a roasted stew of mutton marinated in curry.  A lover of curry, especially the sweeter milder type, she tries a taste of the dish that has onions, carrots, peas and minced ginger, then scoops herself a bowl.  Finding a vacant cushion, she seats herself and proceeds with the spoon.  It is delicious.  Very tasty.
Afterwards there are the deserts: Custards, including a brown solid custard that smells of cloves.  “It’s pumpkin, Jimmy.”
Nelly heaps a more than adequate portion onto a plate.  The spoon she places in her mouth soon provides the evidence.
Freckles thinks he could eat the whole table.  After quail and finishing a plate of beef with lashings of horseradish sauce, he engages in a garlic potato pie filled with cheese, buttered wortes, and rosemary leaves.
Desert has him trying the custards.  Then coffee and vanilla fudge, the most delicious he has ever tasted he tells the rest, more than once.
Emily leans to smell a honey-glazed pear, apricot and blueberry dish that appears to have a lavender hint.  This gets added to her fruit salad plate.
Ruby, finished with her desert, looks at Seth as she does, expecting him to deliver some great piece of wisdom, “What should we do now we are here?”
Everyone eating turn their attention on the couple.
“Well, you could get me a Fuller’s, Rube.”
“There’s some Fuller’s,” Ruby asks surprised.
“Over there!”  Seth points.
She laughs.  It isn’t the answer Ruby expected or wished, but in these matters of solemnity she has come to learn Seth, bless him, is Seth.  She wouldn’t have him any other way.
Seated on the outsize cushions with Annabell, Edward begins to light his pipe.  “Well!  Who has any idea as to the plan, now?”
Ruby gets up goes over to where the ale bottles have been stacked. Noticing them all watching as she struggles to open the wire attached cap, she calls out, “How about us playing Charades?”
“Oh!  No,” shrieks Nelly, going all red in the face!
“You don’t like Charades!”
“I never know what to do!”
“Blindman’s Bluff?”  asks Annabell.
“Squeak, Piggy, Squeak!” shouts Jimmy Briggs.
“Hunt the slipper,” suggests Lucy, thinking Squeak, Piggy, Squeak definitely would not fit with her intended decorum.
So that’s settled, Charades it is.
Another pass around the table for those inclined.  Wine uncorked. Beer, ale and cider glasses filled.
Eventually the inside cushions are picked up, taken and placed upon the strips of carpet that have been laid outside.
. . .
“Who’s going first, then,” asks Edward.
“I will,” Lucy jumps up, runs out in front of the row of cushions, holds up four fingers and a thumb and then three fingers, to indicate eight words.
Then she holds up two fingers immediately followed by her hands on her hips
“It’s a person,” shouts Nelly.
Lucy touches her nose, points her hand at Nelly to show she is correct.  Immediately with some imaginary thing she carefully holds, she bends down, places the imaginary whatever-it-is upon the floor.  She then begins walking.
No one yet calling out, she stops, bends, begins to pat the air, smiling at what she is patting.
“Petting an animal,” Ruby says.
Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, to signal they are getting warmer, suggestions come in fast.  A cat!
A hen from Jimmy Briggs, which brings howls of laughter.
A dog from Tom Hopkins.
Lucy repeats her walking, stops, gets down, picks up whatever-it-is into her arms.
“Miss Hooper,” shouts Annabell.
Lucy taps her finger on her nose and points to Annabell to indicate she has the first two words.  Now she holds up five fingers for five words.
Stepping up to a pretend stand, which she shows by moving her arms around its dimensions, she then takes something from it. Opening as one would open a book, she moves her fingers across as she peers into it.
“Reads,” shouts Edward.
A touch on the nose and then four fingers.  Then a T is drawn in the air with her hand for The.
“Miss Hooper reads ‘the’,” calls out Nelly, just to make sure.
Lucy makes something that appears long, which she then forces into the ground.  Moving her hand all the way to the top, which is taller than she is, she seems to bring four things out from the top.
That has them all flummoxed so she goes up, pretends to look at what she has just created, walks around it.
“Signpost,” says Ruby. Pushing her two hands towards each other to indicate a shorter version, Ruby calls out “Sign!
A touch on the nose.
“Miss Hooper reads ‘The Sign of the Four,’ a shout from Annabell.
Another touch on the nose and Annabell is pointed at.
“The Sign of the Four?”  asks Freckles.
“It’s a Sherlock Holmes book!”
“Oh!  Is it a good book, then?”
As the girls groan, Ruby sitting next to Freckles takes off the straw hat she’s wearing and drops it on him.
“Who’s next,” says Edward.
“I’ll go,” Annabell flushed from guessing correctly the first charade gets up from her cushion.
Excited she rushes in front of them, holds her mouth and pretends to sing.
“A song,” shouts Lucy.
Four fingers for four words, Annabell then makes a T for ‘The.’
Holding up two fingers for the second word, she pretends to sing. Nobody can understand what this means.
Moving her hand up and down her arm to indicate a letter, she moves her hand back just a little from the very end.
“T,” calls out Jimmy Briggs.
Now there is a quick movement slightly back.
“S,” says Nelly.
A touch on the nose, a quick point to Nelly and two fingers come up for the second letter.  Her hand up and down her arm she moves it so it looks like it is in the centre.
“M,” says Jimmy.
Two chopping movements and a chorus call out “O”
That is followed immediately by “Song” from Emily, then as quickly, “The Song of the Shirt.”
“The Song of the Shirt?”  Everyone is mystified but Edward and Emily.
“It goes like this,” says Annabell
With fingers weary and worn,

With eyelids heavy and red,

A woman sat in unwomanly rags,

Plying her needle and thread

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Stitch!

Stitch!

Stitch!

While the cock is crowing aloof!

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Work!  Work!  Work!

Till the stars shine through the roof!

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In poverty, hunger, and dirt

She sings the Song of the Shirt.

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. . .
“Oh!”  replies Jimmy, did you write it?
“No!  A very dear man, a favourite of mine, wrote it: Mr.  Thomas Hood.  A lady has to make shirts all day and while she is paid, she isn’t paid much and she has to work all day for the little she has for food and to pay for her very small room.”
“Who’s next,” says Edward.
“Tom,” shouts Lucy, pushing him out.  “We haven’t had a boy, yet.”
Tom proceeds to the spot where everybody seems to be standing. Shaking his head what is it he is going to do?
Then he remembers.
Five fingers for five words then two fingers.  First he sort of strokes something.  Then looking up, he starts dancing and holding something that seems to be connected to what he’s dancing around.
“Maypole,” Nelly calls out.
Reaching out his hand, beckoning encouragement, he gestures for more.
“Mayday,” says Jimmy Briggs.
“Mayday Fair,” says Annabell.
Touching his nose he points to Annabell and one finger comes up for one word.  Getting on his knees, he begins to look beseechingly and afterwards thinking about it, one would say lovingly at whatever is in front of him.
“Mayday Fair, proposing to me,” says Lucy all excited.
Tom shakes his head, Lucy flabbergasted: “It’s not!”
Tom holds up five fingers to indicate the end word is wrong. Doing an alphabet along his arm, stopping in the middle.
“M,” calls out Nelly.
One chop back.
“L” cries Lucy.  “Mayday Fair, proposing to Lucy.”
Touching his nose he points not very far, for the apple of his eye has gotten up and is standing right in front of him.
“That’s what I said, nincompoop!”  Lucy storms back to her cushion, plonks herself upon it.
Somewhat abashed by the uncalled for flattery, Tom stands there.
“Did you accept?”  Edward is quite astonished.
“Yes!  But we decided to keep it a secret, didn't we!” Lucy looks daggers at her beau.
“Oh!  Luce!”
They are all laughing.  Ruby shouts, “Tom Hopkins, no flies on you, lad.”
Tom strolls back to the cushions where Lucy grabs him by the waist and pulls him down next to her.
“Who’s next,” says Edward.
“You’re next, replies Annabell, her unshod foot booting him off the cushion.
Also trying to remember what he had planned, he stands there  “Ah!”
His hand raised shows five fingers.  Then he stands with his hands on his hips to indicate a person.  Then he holds his hands in prayer.
“Religious,” calls out Lucy.
He beckons for more.
“Nun!”
“Archbishop!”
More frantic beckoning. “Priest!’
“Vicar!”  says Tom.
A touch on the nose for Tom and two fingers, then a pointing at each person in front of him and then at himself.
“Our vicar,” says Annabell
“Vicar Stanley!”  calls out Jimmy Briggs.
A touch on the nose for Jimmy.
Three fingers for the third word, a makeshift post is formed, then a top slightly angled and the outline of a book being placed upon the stand.
“Bible!”  says Nelly.
His hands around his mouth, silently he move his mouth.
“Sermon!”
Beckoning for more.
“Speaks!”  says Emily.
A touch on the nose for Emily and four fingers raised for the fourth word.  Here Edward turns his back.
“Against!”  shouts Annabell.
A touch on the nose and everyone groans for they have no idea how Annabell came up with that so quickly.
Five fingers raised, Edward gets down on one knee, jerks something that the keen eye might see as a rifle.
“Vicar Stanley speaks against war,” cries Jimmy Briggs.
Touch on the nose and Jimmy is pointed at.
“How did you get that,” asks Nelly astonished.
“It looked like something I’d do if I was called up for war, Nelly girl.”
“Does he?”  asks Ruby surprised.
“Does he?”
“Does Vicar Stanley speak against war?  I’ve never heard him at St.  Domna Ebba!”  She points her finger at Freckles.  “Which I go to when someone comes and gets me.”
“Er’s a learned man, that Vicar Stanley,” Jimmy says.
“Jimmy goes to St. Brannoc’s every Sunday,” Nelly beams.  “Knows all Vicar’s sermons.”
The game stops at that point.  All to go and do the necessaries.
. . .
The ladies finishing with the privies set up at the back, the gentlemen with their trip to the bushes near the stream, some beautifying takes place with regards to hair and such in the young women’s marquee.
More refreshments are suggested, glasses, bottles, plates brought out to the line of cushions.
When it seems the right time, Edward who has slipped off his shoes, asks if they should continue.
Jimmy, who isn’t that keen to make a fool of himself, very particular in such matters, decides to call a motion, suggesting that perhaps all are tired and should go on to something else.
“But you haven’t done anything, James,” Tom calls out laughing.  “Only fair you should have a turn!  All in favour!”
A big cry and its obvious the game is still on.
“Who’s up next, then.”
“I am!”  Nelly sensing Jimmy’s apprehension gets up.
“I ain’t very good.  I ‘ad a bit of wine, so you bear with me.” Standing before them she holds up three fingers then one finger for the first word.  Hands around her eyes, she peers out at everyone.
“Binoculars,” calls out Tom.
“Binoculars, is it Binoculars?”  repeats Lucy.
“Binoculars and Flowers,” says Tom who without ado gets down on his knees and begins singing a take-off of the popular Hearts and Flowers in front of Lucy:
Out among the flowers sweet

Lingers pretty Lucerite,

Sowing with her hands so white,

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Future blossoms, fair and bright

Till it yields for me alone,

Wondrous fragrance all your own,

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And its sweetest flowers shall grow,

For thy Tom, that I know.” 

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Jumping upside down, hands on the ground, his legs in the air:
And tis sweetest as you grow,

For my Lucerite, I know,

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Blushes deepen in your cheek,

Ere thy shy red lips can speak,

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Now upright kneeling in front of Lucy, his hands in prayer:
Ah, but what if weeds shall grow,

Mongst the flowers you bid me sow,

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Love will pluck them out, I cry,

Trust me Lucerite, so shy,

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Let my heart your garden be,

Give your seeds of love to me!

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Lucy red-faced, everyone but Nelly rolling around and falling off the cushions, another temporary break for liquid refinements from the large containers.
. . .
Lucy having pummelled Tom, considerably, Nelly stands before this somewhat jocular audience. “Now!  It ain’t no Binoculars nor Hearts and Flowers.  So who’s got more guesses!”  She places her hands around her eyes, peers out at everyone.
Pulling themselves together, Annabell shouts, “Seeing” which gets an extended touch on the nose and a pointing towards Annabell.
Holding up three fingers for the third word Nelly puts her arms out as if she is on a cross.
“Jesus,” says Edward.
Waving her arms about, more guesses:
“Cross!”
“Wood!”
“The good thief!”
“The bad thief!”
“Good!”
“Bad!”
“Believing in good!”  says Annabell.
That gets a mighty fanning from Nelly to indicate it is so hot.
“Believing,” says Seth.  Then: “Seeing is believing.”
A big smile on Nelly’s face, a touch on the nose and a fond pointing to Seth.
“Seeing is believing!  Why that, Nelly girl?”  asks Jimmy. They all listen for why she picked such a phrase is a puzzle.
“I was thinking how St. Thomas had such doubts about Jesus.  All the Apostles said he was alive again.”
Jimmy shakes his head.  “You thinking of ghosts again.  I suppose he expected Jesus to be a ghost.  Perhaps he didn’t want to see a ghost, Nelly girl.”
“That’s what I mean, Jimmy!  Thomas wouldn’t believe until Jesus came to him and then he did and he could see
Jesus.”
“Isn’t it about Thomas doubting,” asks Ruby.
“But seeing is believing, ain’t it, Ruby.  I sees the Squire but I don’t blames anyone for doubting I did.”
Having acquired a bright red face with an explanation she doesn’t think anyone understands, Nelly proceeds to gather herself on the cushion with Jimmy, hiding herself as much as she can behind his back.  That is until Edward calls for the next person and Jimmy, reluctantly gets up leaving Nelly exposed.
Jimmy standing in front of the group has his hands on his hips to mean a person.  Four fingers are held up for four words.  Then one finger for the first word.  Now hands are behind ears, which quickly changes to stroking some long make-believe whiskers. And then an attempt to lick himself.
“Cat!”  calls out Annabell.
Jimmy points to himself.
“Tom cat,” calls Lucy.
Hands move closer to each other, to indicate smaller.
“Tom,” calls Ruby.
A touch on the nose and a pointing towards Ruby.
Two fingers are now held up for the second word, and then Jimmy jumps.
They all stare at him, especially Tom.  “Jump!”
Hands expand outward.
“Jumps,” says Annabell.
A touch on the nose and a nod to Annabell.
Four fingers to indicate the last word.  Here Jimmy walks around carrying something on his shoulder.  He places the something upon the ground and jumps over it.
“Tom jumps over barrel,” says a laughing Tom Hopkins.
“Tom jumps over barrel!  Did you jump over a barrel, then?”  Ruby looks at Tom.
“At Point-to-Point.  Atherton, trying to get ‘Em over biggest barrel.  She wouldn’a go.  So I jumps to show ‘er.  Only last barrel that ‘Em balked.  Last was a’big’un.”
“And you still won!  I didn’t know!”  says Lucy.
“Third of prize,” corrects Tom.
“Who’s next then,” Edward calls out.
“I am,” says Freckles, being pushed out by Ruby.  With a particular gleam in his eye he comments.  “Now Rube.  Y’said I got to get out ‘ere.”
Holding up six fingers for six words, then one finger for the first word, he begins to feel around his outside finger, placing something over it, then taking it off.
“Ring,” calls out Annabell.
Beckoning for more guesses, “Diamond,” calls out Nelly.
Freckles waves his hands for more guesses.
“Is it, Ruby?”  asks Jimmy.
A touch on the nose and now three fingers to indicate the third word.  Then a pointing at his stomach.
Nobody knows what this means, so Freckles starts pointing at first one freckle on his face, then another. “It’s you,” says Edward.
A touch on the nose to give Edward the honour of the guess.
Now four fingers and a thumb are pointed upwards for the fifth word.  Freckles pushes some thing between his legs and starts dancing around with it.
“Ruby and Freckles in broom closet,” calls out Ruby laughing.
“Didn’t Ethel Harvey chase Freckles out?”  asks Edward.
“Aye, it is,” answers Ruby.  “But weren’t first time, was it lad that you and I were in that closet.”
“Ethel Harvey chases Freckles out of the broom closet?” questions Annabell.  “Nobody told me!”
“As I heard it,” answers Edward.  “Ethel Harvey wants a broom, gets a broom and something she isn’t expecting.
“Chases Freckles all way down to kitchen sans trousers.  Chases him out the back kitchen door, though he’d mind to carry trousers with him and did eventually get them on.
“’Ave yer britches on,” calls out Jimmy Briggs.
“Yes,” answers Seth, laughing.
“Well, ain’t no ‘arm done then.”  
That finds a general accord in the somewhat inebriated crowd.
Edward calls out, “Who’s next.”
“I’ll go,” says Emily, running out in front.  Holding up three fingers for three words, two fingers for the second word, she lays her two fingers on her arm to indicate two parts to the word. Holding up one finger to mean the first part, she makes a bow shape in the air.
“Bow,” says Lucy. Emily motions for more guesses.
“Round.”
“Curve.”
“Arch.”
Emily hearing the word, looks around.  Seeing Annabell smile, she touches her nose and points to Annabell.  Then holding up two fingers for the second part of the word, she places her hands together praying.
“Praying,” calls out Nelly.
Motioning for more guesses, Emily bends her body and starts flapping her arms, and waving about as if flying.
“Bird!”
“Chicken!”
This has them all stalled until Annabell calls, “Angel.  Archangel...  Archangel.”
Another point on the nose to Annabell.  Holding up two fingers, stretching our her arm, moving her hand up and down then back to the centre, she stops.
“M,” says Jimmy.
Lucy follows that with, “Archangel Michael.”
Emily points at her nose and then towards Lucy.  She then holds up three fingers, then one finger, and begins to open her arms wider and wider.
This confuses everybody until Ruby says, “The first word.  We didn’t get the first word.”
To a lot of Ohhhhssss and Ahhhhssss, Lucy opens her arms wider and then wider.
“Big,” shouts Lucy.
“Great,” says Nelly.  “Great Archangel Michael.”
Emily smiles, point on the nose to Nelly.  “I was going to try and do an Ark, but then I realised it wasn’t spelt the same.
“Why Great Archangel Michael,” asks Tom.
“Because I like him,” Emily answers softly.
“Yes, but why him,” Tom persists.  “Why did you pick him?”
Emily becomes flustered.  “Because he’s...  I think he’s been talking to me.  Someone has.  He told me his name.  Michael!”
“Does he says he’s an angel, then.”
“No!  He’s never said that.”
“You leave Emily alone, Tom Hopkins,” shouts Nelly.  “Time enough when you’ve a child to be doubting Thomas.”  She gets up, stamps her foot.  “If Emily say’s it’s Great Archangel Michael, well he ain’t no namby-pamby either.  He’s strong and fierce and...”  her face bright red she pulls herself upright.  “wonderful.”
“You think I’ll be having a babe soon,” asks Tom.
“Has everybody gone,” asks Edward shaking his head and turning towards Annabell.
“Ruby hasn’t gone,” says Annabell.  “I think !”
“Ruby, it’s your turn,” Edward gently motions for her to take the stage.  “Give us a good one.  Something I can guess.”
Ruby gets up.  “I’ve give you one then.”  Holding up three fingers then one finger for the first word, she begins jumping.
“Broom,” says Lucy
Waving of the hands to encourage more guesses.
“Horse,” says Annabell.
Here Ruby starts to lift something that looks like it’s heavy, moves it from one place to another.  Then she picks it up again and places it mid air.
“Saddle,” call three voices in unison.
More waving of the arms.
“Stable,” says Emily.
A touch on the nose and Emily gets pointed at.
Now she holds up two fingers and lays two fingers on her arm to indicate two words together.
Pretending to pull up from the waist she seems to be pulling everything off.
“Taking off clothes!” they all call.
Raising two fingers, Ruby stands there.
“Is it ‘off clothes,”’ asks Edward.  “Seth, off clothes.”
“How can it be “Seth, when the first word is stable,” says Jimmy Briggs.
“Stable, off clothes,” says Edward quickly. A touch on the nose from Ruby and Edward gets pointed at.
“How do you know that,” Seth asks Edward, somewhat curious.
“I know because I was in the merchant yard by the water pump, checking over an invoice.  Two women came out, I won’t say who, they couldn’t see me other side of pump.  I heard your name and stable and clothes off.  I was interested so I asked Joshua Shenton. ‘A bet,’ he told me.  Wouldn’t say what kind of bet.  But he did say no ladies were present..”
“Well, I was drunk,” says Seth laughing.  “You’ve got to allow a fellow an excuse when ‘ers drunk.”
Ruby glances at Seth.  Staring around at the rest seated on the cushions, she’d been curious if he knew.  She looks at Edward Coulter.  He doesn’t know about his mother.  She and Seth wouldn’t be here if he did.  It’ll change him when he does know! He’ll let them go.  He’ll have to.  When Seth gets more experience as underbutler, they will go. They’ll find a place by the sea.  Some posh hotel.  Seth will do well with tips.
“Well, shall we call a break,” says Edward.  With that some take off for the privies some into the Marquees.  Seth and Ruby just wander for a time by the stream.
. . .
“Us of the male gender have been talking,” announces Jimmy Briggs when they all reassemble upon the carpet strips and the cushions placed outside.  “We think we should play King of Sheba.”
“King of Sheba, you ‘ave, ‘ave you,” says Lucy.  “Tom Hopkins in on that too!”
“Now Luce,” Tom answers.  “Only a bit of fun.”
“All in agreement then,” asks Edward.  “How about you, Emily?  What do you think?”
Emily shrugs: “It is the longest day, Midsummer.  Let’s have some fun.”
“Ain’t that be feast day, Quarter day?  I always thought,” asks Ruby.
“Tonight’s real midsummer,” replies Emily.  “Both Aunt Mary and Aunt Keren will be celebrating.  Placed offering in the well for the coming year already I am sure.”
They all look at her.  “So the water will stay pure and good.”  She laughs, “Right now King of Sheba, yes, I think so.  If you want?”
Jimmy Briggs and the boys did want.  Cushions are brought out from the food and drinks marquee, piled one on top of the other to make a throne equal to anything.
Lucy, Nelly and Ruby run off at that point, not to take themselves to escape, which the boys did think they might be doing, but to find a kerchief, silk, different to that which they can see has been brought out of Jimmy Briggs’ pocket for use.
Satisfied with finding a pretty one, they return, Lucy announcing she’ll be the first to go.    So she’s blindfolded.
Tom Hopkins sits on the cushions.
“Warm!  Cold!  Warmer!”  are the cries after she’s been twirled about and hasn’t a clue where she is.  Colder, colder come the calls from the deceitful fellows, but Lucy anywhere within ten yards knows Tom’s male scent.  Waving her hands, she plods forwards to where exactly he is.  He grabs her.  “Kiss the king, m’lady” he cries, pulling her into his arms.  “Kiss Tom your King.”
And she does.  A long, soft, wet kiss where everybody cannot help go, “Ahhh! Ahhhh!”  At least the young women.  And the cerise silk blindfold is taken off.
“Nelly’s next!  Nelly’s next,” calls out Jimmy.  “Get your blindfold on girl.”
It’s no disputing the passion, and nobody does.  The deep-red, cherry-coloured scarf Nelly acquires, then she’s spun round and round while Freckles and Tom take their time moving the cushions that Jimmy is to sit upon.
Twirled around and around by the girls, Nelly is so dizzy.
“Warmer, colder, that’s it, turn around.  Hot now!”
Nelly knows he is in front of her.   She just doesn’t know if she dare move closer, not with them all watching.  Feet tangling together, one hand reaching out she finds the collar of his bib shirt that he still wears from the wedding.
But then she stumbles the other hand slipping right down to his trousers.  It’s the first time she has touched him there and Jimmy is kissing her and she’s still got her hand there.  He’s pressing her into him.  Abandoning herself, she opens her mouth, joins with him in his vitality, his yearning, his manhood, giving herself, her softness.
“Ahhhh!”  goes the cry.  “Look at the love birds!”
Only the desire for air forces them apart, Jimmy pulling off her scarf, Nelly straightening herself.  “Whew!”  she says, and she cannot help laughing.
Ruby gets up.  For her kissing Seth is nothing.  They do it all the time.  He is a good lover.  But the blindfold is tied, the cushions moved over to the side of the spring.  After being twirled around and spending forever trying to find him, she does eventually, but can’t stop laughing as she gets close to him, which doesn’t help with the passion.  They manage it anyway and everyone claps.
“Best kiss of the day,” shouts Edward.  “Bell, isn’t it time for us.”
Annabell reaches up to his tallness, pecks him on the lips.  “There!  I know who is my King of Sheba.”
“That’s it!”  So everyone is now staring at Emily.
“Me!”  Emily looks astonished.
“You!”  Annabell smiles sweetly.
Emily adorned with the scarf, is turned around, then again, then again twice.
Emily cannot mistake the delicate wafts of cinnamon and lavender not far from her.
“Warmer,” the calls come.  “Hot!  Really hot!”
Tripping over Annabell’s feet, suddenly she’s pulled into the pale wondrous warmth.  Emily’s mouth reaches.
Softness, gentleness, and now tears springing into the eyes of Annabell.  “My dearest, I love you so much.”
. . .
That ends that game.
The late afternoon, early evening, has turned sultry and hot and it is time for a break.
The women in high spirits depart to the privies then to the wash stands in the marquee to refresh.
The lads wander to the stream first to rid themselves of ale, then to pour water over their heads, which becomes pouring water over each other’s heads, which become sort of a brawl.
Dripping wet they return to the food and drink marquee for more to imbibe.  Night awaits.
“You want a towel?”  Lucy asks Tom when she sees him.
“No!”
“Can I get you a towel?”  asks Nelly to Jimmy.
“Water feels good, Nelly girl.”
“Anyone want to play ‘The Messenger”’ asks Ruby when Annabell and Edward meet up with her.
“‘My master sends me!’ ” Jimmy asks.  “You mean that game!”
“Yes!”
Energised by high jinks of throwing water at each other, a stand-up game where the body forms into a varied series of contortions somehow appeals.
“I’ll be first.”
All seem to agree, so the new game begins.
Jimmy enters a circle they have formed, stands in front of Annabell.  A huge sweep of his arm, he bows: ”My master sends me to you, Madame.”
“What good reason pray for, good messenger?”  Annabell asks.
“That my master commands that thou should do as I do, good lady,” replies Jimmy.  Without further ado, his right arm is held out, then bends so that it turns behind his back.  He waits.
Mechanically, as a wooden doll a spring inside to power an arm, hand or head, Annabell copies his motion.
Jimmy then moves across the circle to Lucy, repeats the command. With his arms and hands held firmly at his sides, he starts moving his body back and forth sideways. Both Annabell and Lucy now following this motion,
Jimmy moves to Edward, where he calls out the command and strokes a make-believe beard.
Edward copies the stroking as do Lucy and Annabell.
A walking on tiptoe for Nelly that has everyone picked so far attempting at least to walk on tiptoe.  Then a roll on the ground for Emily to the relief of everyone.
Tom, Ruby and Freckles still not given commands, Tom gets a wiggle to do.  Not particularly pleased he does it anyway, and everyone follows with great laughter
Now a spin for Ruby, and for Seth, the last person to be picked, a tapping of the toe.
Everyone tapping their toe, Jimmy calls for everyone to join hands, to begin dancing a French gavotte.
Emily takes the lead on this, for she quite likes the little springs that one makes.
A flute seems to be playing as they parade around.  So natural, so right that it should be there.
The dancing continues: right foot crossing over left, a skip, the toe pointing, then a twirl.
Annabell and Emily and Ruby and Nelly as they laugh, as they link arms, turn outwards, cast off the boys, each now dance alone with the little jumps.
The musical sound not only continues but seems to have turned into more instruments.
Some country people celebrating, gathering here on the moors have joined them in this midsummer brightness.
The line reforms they dance more, twirling first to the left, then back to the right, taking springs.  Their circle has become surrounded twice again by an outer gathering.
Country folk in the most elaborate country finery dancing around them.
Many pipes are being played, mellow pipes, deep and piercing pipes, it must be an orchestra that has come with these gay, laughing villagers.
Hands on hips, hands on knees, turning, hands clapping, they dance first towards the stream, then to skirting the ruins where a circular hay is made, where each passes right then left between the next, where the two circles meet and then separate.
Around the courtyard area surrounded by the stone they dance and as each skips high, so high, so high they could be touching the sky, they seem to be dancing in the air.
Partners now jumping into the clouds, swinging and turning back on Earth, they dance and dance and dance, four together, two together, faster, faster, clapping knees, kissing when the mood takes, a backward bend, a clockwise turn, a stop where half the line turns back upon the other, weaving until a polonaise line takes shape
Now into the trees.
A great shining archway appears, a high porchway that seems to be built into nature’s summer wooden canopy.
And as each enters the worlds of Pan, many make sounds of wonder.
“Oh!  Crikey,” Lucy is heard to exclaim, touching the amulet around her neck.  “A foreign lady that came by.  She said this stone would bring...”  She squeezes Tom’s hand firmly.  “You’ve proposed and I thought a shilling might be too much.  I should have given at least half-a-crown.”  
Dance ‘o dance to the pipers of Pan.

Dance, dance fast as you can.

The Game - The Enslavement Dream. TheWE.cc
Seek the door that leads into the way.

Weave and soar and have your sway.

The Game - The Enslavement Dream. TheWE.cc
For in the night all is gay.

The Game - The Enslavement Dream. TheWE.cc
Laugh and be bright, the ceremony is coming

The Game - The Enslavement Dream. TheWE.cc
War and bloodshed, families torn.

The Game - The Enslavement Dream. TheWE.cc
Gas and bombs, cities and homes and everything burnt.

The Game - The Enslavement Dream. TheWE.cc
Illness and disease

The Game - The Enslavement Dream. TheWE.cc
Tens of millions dead, many more hurt.

The Game - The Enslavement Dream. TheWE.cc
Dance my little ones

Dance and be merry

Make as if all is cherry.

The Game - The Enslavement Dream. TheWE.cc
Feast and be happy, the morrow soon here

Pan but a dream once the sun blooms.

The Game - The Enslavement Dream. TheWE.cc
This work is dedicated to those who seek freedom for children and themselves.

This work is dedicated to all those who are imprisoned.

The Game - The Enslavement Dream. TheWE.cc
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