(Wednesday, March 1st, 1600)
I continue to be taken by surprise by Will Kemp's eagerness to get going. Being somewhat of a late riser (around 7pm) on these chilly mornings, the other tavern guests are usually finishing their breakfast or making horses ready by the time I get to the table. This morning master Kemp set out nearly an hour before, borrowing a horse to ride the three miles he danced previously and continue, so I will have some way to make up.
I finally catch up with Will in Sudbury, the first of the Suffolk market towns which we will pass through but I have no idea where he is. Usually it's a pretty fair bet that if I head for the nearest excited crowd, Will is either in the middle, or somebody can tell me where to look but today a wagon has lost a wheel and there is no shortage of bystanders with advice on how to raise the wagon, repair the axle and take care of the horses!
I am alerted by a ringing "Heigh Ho! Master Kemp!" as Will sets out to leave the town for Bury, and along with the rest of the throng I run for the edge of the marketplace to see a large and hearty-looking fellow with a ruddy complexion stripping off a butcher's apron announce boldly that he would count it an honor if he might keep Will company in a morris as far as Saint Edmundsbury. Will, of course, is always glad of a companion in his epic dance and the pair set out together. I choose to follow them, leading Cherry, my mare.
We have covered barely three-quarters of a mile by my reckoning when master Cobbold, for such is his name, calls a halt, panting, drenched with sweat, and crimson in the face.
He seems a tad embarrassed to admit that Will's energy is uncommon, and though he might be offered a hundred pounds (more than a year's income) he would not make the distance.
To add insult to the poor fellow's embarrassment one of our fellow-travellers, a red-haired young woman, taunts him as a "faint-hearted lout"! saying that if she had begun to dance she would go at least a mile if it killed her. Which raised as much of a laugh from the group as any of Will's quips might have.
And so it was that Will's "Maid Marian" borrowed a set of bells (fortunately for us, Tom Slye was carrying an extra set), kilted up her skirt, and danced with determination to Melford.
After slaking our thirsts we parted company, "Maid Marian" (Mistress Martyn) to a nearby farm, and Master Kemp, with his company, to the home of Master Colts, who would not suffer him to stay at a common inn. And I took my weary limbs to sleep at the Swann Inn, but I couldn't get this particular morris tune out of my mind. For some reason it seemed to suit Mistress Martyn.
Kemp's Jig on Google Maps
To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].
Acknowledgements
Please visit the Kentwell Hall page to learn more about re-enactments at this historic building, not far from Long Melford, Suffolk, England.
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