NEWS FLASH !

 

It is rumoured, although I have to say that I didn’t hear it myself, that BBC Radio Cornwall have broadcast an unconfirmed report of the discovery of a 5-section male voice choir in Cornwall, featuring top tenor, second tenor, baritone, barmytone and bass. It is apparently generating some excitement as possibly yet another first for Cornwall. A reporter and film crew have, so the rumour goes, been dispatched by the BBC to verify the story, as the county, nay nation, nay world holds its breath. The suspense…….

 

 

Meanwhile, from a top secret location, barely half a mile from the village of Xx Xxxx ……

 

 

(More)  Tales from the Barmytone Section (2nd Edition)

 

A miscellany of recollection, reflection and wild creative excess following Loveny MVC’s beguiling performance at Treverbyn, which has, as I’m sure none of you will be surprised to hear, been met with a cacophony of international acclaim.

 

A notable first was entering the church while singing the first piece, Tibyay Payom. The audience were at first a little thrown by monks wearing bright blue blazers, but were soon receptive to the spiritual up-liftment engendered; a kind of gospel on dope. It could have gone badly wrong - in which case I, as mere messenger, having made the suggestion in the previous edition, would no doubt have been shot - but it didn’t. It was very well received and so a triumph for Brian, who’s pre-meditated spontaneity (?) at Minack (starting up Cornwall My Home while leaving the stage) was matched by spheres of tungsten from Marcus in actually giving it a go in a more formal setting. As the Romans would say, whilst violently hammering their right fists against left breasts, cracking at least two ribs in the process: Hail, Brian! Hail, Marcus!

 

I understand that when we next do something similar, Marcus is intending to introduce a Pythonesque twist. All choristers will carry a heavy version of the Holy Bible and, on every fourth step, will crash it against their foreheads, in unison! Won’t be a bad thing being in the union, in case there are any personal injury claims.

 

Once again we enjoyed some cracking performances from all the soloists on the night, in whatever form those contributions were delivered. I feel we should also recognise in this respect how the hosting vicar excelled himself during the evening, pre-ordaining pole position, first in line for the lovely spread laid on by the delightful Treverbyn ladies and, not content with that, claiming the first winning raffle ticket! Thought for the day: Social engineering, or Divine intervention? Discuss.

 

Unfortunately a few of the Boys were a bit naughty at the back of the church and had to be chastised by Sir. Suitably contrite, and lesson learnt, they were spared the cane. Can’t help feeling the problem will sort itself out if we can just get out a bit more, having been virtually holed up in the village monastery since the turn of the year (at least the abbot likes to have a different guest ale every few days, I suppose). Mind you, it subsequently turned out to be a night of mixed messages. We’ve since been told that we were wearing far too much clothing in the community hall and that future Afterglows would be enjoyed in beach attire and shades, while sipping flowery cocktails and the like (rubber rings and surfboards optional). It does worry me a little that this would perhaps be an over-acceleration of our social adjustment after so long in confinement. Perhaps these concerns could be noted, please, at the next committee meeting. Thank you.

 

I think I was the last of us to leave the hall after an enjoyable social. And, before anyone tries to suggest otherwise, after having only two-and-a-half cans of beer! Anyway, as I was going down the steps towards the road, I could hear what I thought at the time were strains of Wild Rover drifting on the night air from a gathering somewhere else in the village. But no, when I stopped and listened more carefully, the voices seemed a lot closer, but maybe just smaller? Moving towards the sound, I ended up leaning over a stone wall and looking down upon half a dozen garden gnomes gathered round a small solar light. They were swaying as they sang, with big beaming smiles under huge brightly coloured floppy hats, with sloshing tankards raised to the stars. I couldn’t help but laugh, at which point I was offered a wee tankard of the ‘clay country dew’, as they called it. I said I was familiar with the odd 'bucket of the mountain dew’ in Ireland, but hadn’t had anything similar in Cornwall. Amid the quick exchange of conspiratorial smirks, a wee tankard was charged and then raised up to me with the aid of a miniature fishing rod. “Back in one”, they chorused, and I duly obliged, before a sharp drawing of breath as the punchy liquid bit my throat and eyes began to water! Yep, just like poteen (pron: 'pot sheen'). I wonder if gnomes’ lower centre of gravity somehow helps them better deal with its effects? Anyway, when I could speak again, I learned from them that one of their number, a certain Jethro, was a bit of a composer and had, on the spur of the moment and in honour of the special little people who had accompanied the choir this evening, put his own composition to the tune of Wild Rover. They offered a full rendition on condition that I sank another tankard of the ‘clay country dew’. Curiosity was killing me as well, so I agreed. Their song went something like this:

 

Those little crisp munchers were ever so sweet,

When they came to Treverbyn we sang in the street,

We heard them tapping the tables and dancing around,

And we ended up jigging about on the ground.

 

Chorus:

 

And it’s… Yo! Yeah! Forever!

The Munchkin fan club are we,

They’re the loveliest daughters,

Of Jo and Loveny’s M D !

 

(Repeated with gusto)

 

Unfortunately, I then became aware of puzzled looks from Mellyn, Owain and Colin, sat waiting patiently for me in the car. I bade the little fellas good night, thanking them for making my day, sure that they’d party till dawn. As I moved towards the car they struck up again, with a familiar tune drifting over the wall, but with different words….

 

Good night, Munchies,

Come back soon,

Farewell, Munchies,

You brighten up the room……..

 

As I gradually acclimatise to life in Loveny, I’ve come to expect the unexpected, and that it’s best to just loosen up and go with the flow. And so, to the Gala Concert we go. Back in the clay country so soon. Enjoy, but keep your wits about you. Be alert to seemingly innocuous approaches. “Tis heavy dew this evenin’, boy”, may lead to more than you bargain for. You’ve been warned, but let’s have a cracker!

 

Regards,

 

Barmytone 

 

  (Aka Steve Jefferson)

 

  25th May 2018