Mark Evans Posted September 28, 2008 Share Posted September 28, 2008 (edited) Greg Bacon, great guitarist, singer and flautist at the Stone's Session sent out a call for help with a session for last night at the Wayside Inn in Sudbury, Massachusetts. It was on the annual Sudbury Muster of the Fyfe and Drum Corps who take over the Inn and it's many acres to set up camp, march drum, fyfe, fire off muskets and God knows what all. The Inn asked Greg to set up a session in the period Tap Room for the esembled reenactors wishing to continue the days time travel. I went and whew! That was a mad scene. Raining in sheets I drove there to the grounds and stepped back in time. After slogging through the mud and into the Inn, the bedlam before me was surreal. There were Colonial officers and troops setting along side the King's finest with towns people of the period and a group called the Ancient Mariners already pissed beyond navigation. Only Greg and my dear bosouki master George were in evidence as our colleagues from Stones has chosen hearth and home. We were pushed into a corner along with a number of flute players and an alarming collection of bodhrans, bones spoones staffs and lads armed with drumsticks. From the open window I could hear a large goup of folks druming from the encampment....I was affraid. Things started calm enough as we cracked through a set or two. Folks were smiling and politely thumping along....then this lovely raven haired lass pulled out her tinwhistle and all hell broke loose. She wanted to warm up on a reel and off she flew sparks following in her wake! Like an old horse who knows better but when asked goes to the gallop anyway I roared off to stay with her and perhaps pushed her a bit as well hoping for mercy. None was given. The esemblege broke into a percussion frenzy that was no longer of this modern world. No clinkers in the crowd. They beat on the tables struck their staffs against the floor....scary. We were pressed to start another set as one had ended. Finally Greg (who has been a part of this world since he was 10) asked me to start a slow one or things would only get faster. I took refuge in a set of jigs, don't remember the name of the first one but the other two were Geese in the Bog and Pipe on the Hob. At the end the crowd continued to beat out a jig tempo that was increasing in swiftness along with shouts to get on with it. Our raven haired whistle player took off on another jig and there we went again. As the evening grew late I sang the Parting Glass and bid them good evening. One interesting lady at the door said "You can go, but the concertina stays." A big hug and she let me out the door. God in heaven, that was fun. All the aches and pains of a portly ole fool like myself dropped from me, my fingers flew, I sang at the top of my lungs and downed several pints. Don't want to do that sort of thing too often, for of course this morning still happy with my adventure I had to take my daughter for her horse lesson. Thought I had done very well until I feel asleep in the car as she tacked up and had to be awakened to get to the ring as the riders started. I was old, fat and in pain again....ah well...... Edited September 28, 2008 by Mark Evans Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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