May 7, 2012
Gloomy weather for the Jack-in-the Green festivities today . But those in the procession were full of enthusiasm. These pix were taken at the top of Croft Road which links the Old Town to the West Hill, Ladies Parlour and the Castle where the Morris Dancing and the Slaying of the Jack happen at the end of the day. Croft Road is a steep climb even without fancy dress and instruments!
The baby had been nosed with green paint, of course, but some one was also running around doing blue nosing . . .
. . the younger element made a presence . . . .
. . and this coterie always come to the party in style and substance. Like the nonchalance of the rucksack and the dedicated detail of the costumes . . .
. . and the rear view of a parrot on the shoulder and the quite magnificent ribbons . . .
. . . . and on to some pairs. Some wearing suits and holding hands . . .
. . and some not holding hands, but being supportive . . . .
. . and as in previous years, simply the best pair, below. Check out the footwear on the rooster – such dedication to the costume!
And finally, in the misty composition of figures and landscape . . . .
Spring came again, and the flowers rose
From their quiet winter graves,
And gayly danced on their slender stems,
And sang with the rippling waves.
Softly the warm winds kissed their cheeks;
Brightly the sunbeams fell,
As, one by one, they came again
In their summer homes to dwell.
And little Clover bloomed once more,
Rosy, and sweet, and fair,
And patiently watched by the mossy bed,
For the worm still slumbered there.
Then her sister flowers scornfully cried,
As they waved in the summer air,
‘The ugly worm was friendless and poor;
Little Clover, why shouldst thou care?
Then watch no more, nor dwell alone,
Away from thy sister flowers;
Come, dance and feast, and spend with us
These pleasant summer hours.
We pity thee, foolish little flower,
To trust what the false worm said;
He will not come in a fairer dress,
For he lies in the green moss dead.’
But little Clover still watched on,
Alone in her sunny home;
She did not doubt the poor worm’s truth,
And trusted he would come. Louisa May Alcott