Moving the Furniture

A couple of months ago, we collected a beautiful organ. Nothing wrong with the instrument, as far as I have been able to tell, but presumably the church that had owned it had acquired something newer. I spoke to the beefcake and asked them if the instrument could be moved indoors from the storage space outside, and they assured me that it could, and would be in due course.
The days passed quietly as I continued to explore the musical highways and byways of time, and still the organ sat patiently in the storage space while the beefcake drank their coffee and looked for a slug in the garden outside.
There came a point at which I realized that unless I applied the point of something sharp to a sensitive area of the collective beefcake, the organ would still be sitting in the storage space when our tiring old sun finally blossomed into a red giant, "licking clean the faces of her daughter planets" to paraphrase Arthur C.Clarke rather clumsily.
Armed primarily with the knowledge gathered in my researches, I manufactured, tested, and installed a set of pulley blocks and rope tackle and hoisted the organ into the building by myself. Naturally, when the beefcake emerged from their intense debate of the merits of various sporting teams, they expressed mild surprise that the organ had been translated without their involvement, before returning to the matter of debate.
The whole effort put me very much in mind of this little ditty (which also became the name of a popular band), performed by the British actor and entertainer, Bernard Cribbins:

X:76 % number
T:Right Said Fred % title
C:Myles Rudge and Ted Dick % composer
O:http://www.mudcat.org/thread.cfm?threadid=6684&messages=92&page=1#39192
M:2/4
L:1/8
Q:1/4=160
P:A2BA2BAC
K:D
P:A
"D"d2"A"A2|"G"B4|"D"d>cd>A|"G"B2d2|"D"d2A2|B2F2|F>AF>D|"A"E4|
w:"Right!", said Fred, "both of us to-ge-ther, one each end and stead-y as we go."
w:"Right!", said Fred, "give a shout to Char-lie!", up comes Char-lie from the floor be-low.
w:"Right!", said Fred, "Have to take the door off. Need more space to shift the so-and-so"
w:"Right!", said Fred, "Have to take the wall down. That there wall is gon-na have to go"
w:"Right!", said Fred, Climb-ing up a lad-der With his crow-bar gave a might-y blow!
"D"F2A2|"G"E2D2|"D"F>AF>A|"G"E2D2|"D"F2A2|B2d2|f2f2-|"^al coda"f2e2!coda!|
w:Tried to shift it, could-n't ev-en lift it, we was get-ting no-where_ and
w:Af-ter strain-ing, heav-ing and com-plain-ing, we was get-ting no-where_ and
w:Had bad twin-ges Tak-ing off the hing-es And it got us no-where_ and
w:Took the wall down. Ev-en with it all down we was get-ting no-where_ and
w:Boy! Was he in troub-le, Half a ton of rubble Land-ed on the top of his
d4|"G"e4|"A"A>BA>G|F2E2||
w:so, we had a cup of tea, and
P:B
"A"A>AA>A|"G"G2G>G|"A"F2F2|"D"D3D|"A"A2A2|"G"G3A|"A"F2"D"D2-|D2B"E"^G|"B"B2B2|
w:Char-lie had a think and he thought we ought, to take off all the han-dles_ and the things that
w:Char-lie had a think and he said "look Fred, I've got a sort of feel-ing_ if_ we re-
"A"A2B2|^G2E2|^GAB2|"B"B2B2|BBE>"E"E|E>EE2-|E2"A"A2||
w:hold the can-dles, but it did no good, well I nev-er thought it would._ All
w:move the ceil-ing_ With a rope or two We could drop the blight-er through". "Oh"
P:C
"^coda"!coda!"D"f4|f2"G"g2|"D"f2e2|defd|ecd2|"B"B2"A"A2|A3e-|e"D"d3!fermata!|]
w:dome! So Fred and me had a-noth-er cup-pa tea and then we went 'ome.
%%text (spoken) I said to Charlie, we'll just have to leave it standing on the landing, that's all. You see the trouble with Fred is, \
%%text he's... he's too hasty. Now you never get nowhere if you're too hasty.
Image credit

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Lord of the Dance (4/4)

Mishto hom mi dikava tute! (Good to see you made it here!). I'm sure you're wondering why I just took off and jumped all the way to eastern Europe. One of the German chivalric orders has been supervising a programme of (rather militaristic) colonization in this area, so here in Schäßburg,
Romania, seemed like a good place to start looking for the missing children.
The date today is Friday July 7th, 1284. With the extraordinary powers of persuasion which two gold ducats endowed me I bought us both temporary fellowship in a kumpania (Romany family), including sleeping quarters in one of their vardos. The accommodation is actually pretty respectable if you compare it with most common folks in this period. And I have to credit the Rom; their personal hygiene is a good deal better than most common folks. Of course, since we aren't Rom ourselves we get referred to as "paash raat", their term for a gaje who has adopted the nomadic lifestyle.

I should also explain that I abandoned my male persona shortly after arriving here. These wily gypsies saw right through my disguise and actually suggested a couple of improvements I hadn't thought of, but I'm quite happy for them to refer to me as miri kushti b'o-r (my dear (non-Rom) lady). I'm afraid as far as the family is concerned I haven't been much use for more than the most basic tasks; grooming the horses (they have three, two of them fine draft horses apparently), and fetching water and firewood. The wife of Chief Lovar has offered to teach me some fortune-telling skills but nothing has come of it so far.
However, the family has been very helpful in establishing a rapport with Laszlo Kriwaczek, one of the shepherds, and it is from Laszlo that I gleaned the most important information.

If you come with me up the hill I will show you the place that Laszlo pointed out to me where he saw, with his own eyes, as he told me, "a great river of alien children emerge from the cave. Some of them crying, and all of them weary." He has also told me how some of the families of the town took the younger ones in and lodged them with their own children. Most of the older children have been taken in as servants; the region is still recovering from raids by Mongol invaders about forty years ago, and there is plenty of work for young healthy bodies.
Without any prompting he gave me some important details: none of the children were more than eleven or twelve years old by appearance, and their language was strange to his ears.
Sadly, as a gypsy my welcome is tempered by a suspicious caution and I haven't been able to make a close approach to any of the local families, but I have heard small groups of children talking in German!
So let me close this account of my investigation with a stamping dance which Dinu Dalakis (his "local" name) taught me, playing his bosh.

References

Romany / English Dictionary
Excerpts from the original Finding Romanistan programme

  

The written content of this work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

Lord of the Dance (4/4)

Mishto hom mi dikava tute! (Good to see you made it here!). I'm sure you're wondering why I just took off and jumped all the way to eastern Europe. One of the German chivalric orders has been supervising a programme of (rather militaristic) colonization in this area, so here in Schäßburg,
Romania, seemed like a good place to start looking for the missing children.
The date today is Friday July 7th, 1284. With the extraordinary powers of persuasion which two gold ducats endowed me I bought us both temporary fellowship in a kumpania (Romany family), including sleeping quarters in one of their vardos. The accommodation is actually pretty respectable if you compare it with most common folks in this period. And I have to credit the Rom; their personal hygiene is a good deal better than most common folks. Of course, since we aren't Rom ourselves we get referred to as "paash raat", their term for a gaje who has adopted the nomadic lifestyle.

I should also explain that I abandoned my male persona shortly after arriving here. These wily gypsies saw right through my disguise and actually suggested a couple of improvements I hadn't thought of, but I'm quite happy for them to refer to me as miri kushti b'o-r (my dear (non-Rom) lady). I'm afraid as far as the family is concerned I haven't been much use for more than the most basic tasks; grooming the horses (they have three, two of them fine draft horses apparently), and fetching water and firewood. The wife of Chief Lovar has offered to teach me some fortune-telling skills but nothing has come of it so far.
However, the family has been very helpful in establishing a rapport with Laszlo Kriwaczek, one of the shepherds, and it is from Laszlo that I gleaned the most important information.

If you come with me up the hill I will show you the place that Laszlo pointed out to me where he saw, with his own eyes, as he told me, "a great river of alien children emerge from the cave. Some of them crying, and all of them weary." He has also told me how some of the families of the town took the younger ones in and lodged them with their own children. Most of the older children have been taken in as servants; the region is still recovering from raids by Mongol invaders about forty years ago, and there is plenty of work for young healthy bodies.
Without any prompting he gave me some important details: none of the children were more than eleven or twelve years old by appearance, and their language was strange to his ears.
Sadly, as a gypsy my welcome is tempered by a suspicious caution and I haven't been able to make a close approach to any of the local families, but I have heard small groups of children talking in German!
So let me close this account of my investigation with a stamping dance which Dinu Dalakis (his "local" name) taught me, playing his bosh:

Click on the music to visit the site and get a complete copy

References

Romany / English Dictionary
Excerpts from the original Finding Romanistan programme

The written content of this work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

Lord of the Dance (3/4)

s friars, even mendicant friars, we are expected to attend mass once in a while, and since today is Monday the 26th of June it would look fishy if we failed to attend the festival mass of Saints John and Paul. The town is busier than usual for a Monday with people from many of the surrounding villages who have come to town for the festival mass, and presumably at least some of them are hoping for special blessings on this festival of two saints.

It's not hard to get caught up in the crowd squeezing into the Minster of St.Boniface and once inside I am surprised yet again by the absence of something I had expected: the smell of a large mass of unwashed medieval humanity in a confined space is much less noticeable (or my nostrils have become desensitized during our stay here) than the sweet scent of bunches of herbs hung from the walls and stacked in the corners of the windows.
At about the point that the priest is making the absolution I plan to slip outside, and I encourage you to do the same. If anybody asks where we're going, say it's a call of nature. On a feast like today's the mass can take quite a bit of time if the clergy are keen to include all the various options in the service which might give the piper more time than he needs to do his dirty work. My hope is that we can catch him in the act (but remember, look, but do nothing that might change the course of events!).
We don't have long to wait in the shadows of the Minster before I hear the sound of that shawm once more. The streets are not deserted, but very much quieter than earlier, with the few traders who have chosen not to attend mass vying for the closest positions to the entrance to the Minster. Making our way towards the town walls, aiming to get closer to the sound of the shawm a couple of young girls come running out of one of the smaller houses. The older girl is clearly trying to get her younger sister to listen to her cries to come back, but within minutes, both seem more curious about the sound of the shawm which is definitely playing more musically this time.
The air is a dance tune with a lively beat, and I find the jigging rhythm almost hypnotic.

Getting to the town gate, it is clear that we are following the last of the stragglers. Ahead of us, on the westward road heading up towards the hills is a sizeable crowd of dancing children and keeping up is quite an exercise in itself. By the time they reach the stand of yew trees on the lower slopes I have lost sight of them completely and when I manage to struggle up there myself, the grove is completely quiet.

The story we are trying to follow speaks of them entering a cave and it doesn't take long to find the trail of trodden-down bushes and broken branches. By the time the undergrowth gives way to the rocky ground there is a cleft in the rocks a few meters to the right, small enough for less well-nourished bodies to squeeze through. But my calls and whistles go unanswered.
The eeriest thing though, to me, is the silence up here. No birds, not even crows cawing in the trees. And nothing grows under the yew trees. The ground is just littered with leaf mold and little red berries.
Perhaps the best plan would be to return to the town and make a respectable exit. If we just disappear I am worried that we might become part of the legend, however unlikely it is that anybody would ordinarily notice the departure of two mendicants. Particularly, I am worried that if we should disappear without some kind of explanation, somebody will make a link between us, and the missing children. And Mother Church has a long reputation of accepting oblatus novices without examining their past too closely.

The written content of this work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

Lord of the Dance (3/4)

s friars, even mendicant friars, we are expected to attend mass once in a while, and since today is Monday the 26th of June it would look fishy if we failed to attend the festival mass of Saints John and Paul. The town is busier than usual for a Monday with people from many of the surrounding villages who have come to town for the festival mass, and presumably at least some of them are hoping for special blessings on this festival of two saints.

It's not hard to get caught up in the crowd squeezing into the Minster of St.Boniface and once inside I am surprised yet again by the absence of something I had expected: the smell of a large mass of unwashed medieval humanity in a confined space is much less noticeable (or my nostrils have become desensitized during our stay here) than the sweet scent of bunches of herbs hung from the walls and stacked in the corners of the windows. At about the point that the priest is making the absolution I plan to slip outside, and I encourage you to do the same. If anybody asks where we're going, say it's a call of nature. On a feast like today's the mass can take quite a bit of time if the clergy are keen to include all the various options in the service which might give the piper more time than he needs to do his dirty work. My hope is that we can catch him in the act (but remember, look, but do nothing that might change the course of events!). We don't have long to wait in the shadows of the Minster before I hear the sound of that shawm once more. The streets are not deserted, but very much quieter than earlier, with the few traders who have chosen not to attend mass vying for the closest positions to the entrance to the Minster. Making our way towards the town walls, aiming to get closer to the sound of the shawm a couple of young girls come running out of one of the smaller houses. The older girl is clearly trying to get her younger sister to listen to her cries to come back, but within minutes, both seem more curious about the sound of the shawm which is definitely playing more musically this time. The air is a dance tune with a lively beat, and I find the jigging rhythm almost hypnotic.

Getting to the town gate, it is clear that we are following the last of the stragglers. Ahead of us, on the westward road heading up towards the hills is a sizeable crowd of dancing children and keeping up is quite an exercise in itself. By the time they reach the stand of yew trees on the lower slopes I have lost sight of them completely and when I manage to struggle up there myself, the grove is completely quiet.

The story we are trying to follow speaks of them entering a cave and it doesn't take long to find the trail of trodden-down bushes and broken branches. By the time the undergrowth gives way to the rocky ground there is a cleft in the rocks a few meters to the right, small enough for less well-nourished bodies to squeeze through. But my calls and whistles go unanswered. The eeriest thing though, to me, is the silence up here. No birds, not even crows cawing in the trees. And nothing grows under the yew trees. The ground is just littered with leaf mold and little red berries. Perhaps the best plan would be to return to the town and make a respectable exit. If we just disappear I am worried that we might become part of the legend, however unlikely it is that anybody would ordinarily notice the departure of two mendicants. Particularly, I am worried that if we should disappear without some kind of explanation, somebody will make a link between us, and the missing children. And Mother Church has a long reputation of accepting oblatus novices without examining their past too closely.

The written content of this work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

The Lord of the Dance (2/4)

I hope you slept better than I did. It took me hours to get to sleep because of flea bites and I woke a couple of times in the night (apart from Matins ), convinced that there were rats nipping at my fingers and toes although I don't think I've heard any skittering feet since last night's frische Luft performance.
oday, God be praised! is Friday, the 23rd of June, in the year of our Lord, 1284 and if the tales are correct ('scuse the pun), the ratcatcher will be attempting to collect his payment from the burghers of the town, a gros for every rat according to his account. Since the rathaus is a busy commercial focal point, we have an ideal excuse to find a convenient perch beside the entrance where we can sing psalms, perhaps preach a couple of improvised sermons, and ask alms while watching for the ratcatcher.
By sext, I have all but given up hope of seeing anything notable. And my piety has given way to my mischievous nature, which is why when you came back from getting some lunch I was wearing my most pious face and singing quietly "In Taberna Quando Sumus" from the Carmina Burana. The latin sounds pious enough to most common folk, but the words are fun!

In taberna quando sumus non curamus quid sit humus, sed ad ludum properamus, cui semper insudamus. Quid agatur in taberna ubi nummus est pincerna, hoc est opus ut queratur, si quid loquar, audiatur. Quidam ludunt, quidam bibunt, quidam indiscrete vivunt. Sed in ludo qui morantur, ex his quidam denudantur quidam ibi vestiuntur, quidam saccis induuntur. Ibi nullus timet mortem sed pro Baccho mittunt sortem: Primo pro nummata vini, ex hac bibunt libertini; semel bibunt pro captivis, post hec bibunt ter pro vivis, quater pro Christianis cunctis quinquies pro fidelibus defunctis, sexies pro sororibus vanis, septies pro militibus silvanis. Octies pro fratribus perversis, nonies pro monachis dispersis, decies pro navigantibus undecies pro discordaniibus, duodecies pro penitentibus, tredecies pro iter agentibus. Tam pro papa quam pro rege bibunt omnes sine lege. Bibit hera, bibit herus, bibit miles, bibit clerus, bibit ille, bibit illa, bibit servis cum ancilla, bibit velox, bibit piger, bibit albus, bibit niger, bibit constans, bibit vagus, bibit rudis, bibit magnus. Bibit pauper et egrotus, bibit exul et ignotus, bibit puer, bibit canus, bibit presul et decanus, bibit soror, bibit frater, bibit anus, bibit mater, bibit ista, bibit ille, bibunt centum, bibunt mille. Parum sexcente nummate durant, cum immoderate bibunt omnes sine meta. Quamvis bibant mente leta, sic nos rodunt omnes gentes Qui nos rodunt confundantur et sic erimus egentes. et cum iustis non scribantur.

When we are in the tavern, we do not care that we will go to dust, but we hurry to gamble, which always makes us sweat. What happens in the tavern, where money is host, you may well ask, and hear what I say. Some gamble, some drink, some behave loosely. But of those who gamble, some are stripped bare, some win their clothes here, some are dressed in sacks. Here no-one fears death, but they throw the dice in the name of Bacchus. First of all it is to the wine-merchant the the libertines drink, one for the prisoners, three for the living, four for all Christians, five for the faithful dead, six for the loose sisters, seven for the footpads in the wood, Eight for the errant brethren, nine for the dispersed monks, ten for the seamen, eleven for the squabblers, twelve for the penitent, thirteen for the wayfarers. To the Pope as to the king they all drink without restraint. The mistress drinks, the master drinks, the soldier drinks, the priest drinks, the man drinks, the woman drinks, the servant drinks with the maid, the swift man drinks, the lazy man drinks, the white man drinks, the black man drinks, the settled man drinks, the wanderer drinks, the stupid man drinks, the wise man drinks, The poor man drinks, the sick man drinks, the exile drinks, and the stranger, the boy drinks, the old man drinks, the bishop drinks, and the deacon, the sister drinks, the brother drinks, the old lady drinks, the mother drinks, this man drinks, that man drinks, a hundred drink, a thousand drink. Six hundred pennies would hardly suffice, if everyone drinks immoderately and immeasurably. However much they cheerfully drink we are the ones whom everyone scolds, and thus we are destitute. May those who slander us be cursed and may their names not be written in the book of the righteous.

The traffic to and from the building has consisted entirely of scruffy town folk and the occasional richly dressed burgher until a fellow comes out of the building with a deep scowl and shouts up at the windows;
"Wenn Sie nicht zahlen mich in Gelt, ich will etwas viel kostbare von Ihnen" before storming off. ("If you will not pay me in gold, I will take something more precious from you!")
His tatty clothing and the beery smell aren't at all what I was expecting, but he seems like the most likely candidate for the fellow we are looking for. I think we should both hurry along and see if we can't get a good look at him. Perhaps if we offer him a holy blessing he will pause long enough that we can get a good look at him?

The written content of this work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

The Lord of the Dance (2/4)

I hope you slept better than I did. It took me hours to get to sleep because of flea bites and I woke a couple of times in the night (apart from Matins ), convinced that there were rats nipping at my fingers and toes although I don't think I've heard any skittering feet since last night's frische Luft performance.
oday, God be praised! is Friday, the 23rd of June, in the year of our Lord, 1284 and if the tales are correct ('scuse the pun), the ratcatcher will be attempting to collect his payment from the burghers of the town, a gros for every rat according to his account. Since the rathaus is a busy commercial focal point, we have an ideal excuse to find a convenient perch beside the entrance where we can sing psalms, perhaps preach a couple of improvised sermons, and ask alms while watching for the ratcatcher.
By sext, I have all but given up hope of seeing anything notable. And my piety has given way to my mischievous nature, which is why when you came back from getting some lunch I was wearing my most pious face and singing quietly "In Taberna Quando Sumus" from the Carmina Burana. The latin sounds pious enough to most common folk, but the words are fun!

In taberna quando sumus non curamus quid sit humus, sed ad ludum properamus, cui semper insudamus. Quid agatur in taberna ubi nummus est pincerna, hoc est opus ut queratur, si quid loquar, audiatur. Quidam ludunt, quidam bibunt, quidam indiscrete vivunt. Sed in ludo qui morantur, ex his quidam denudantur quidam ibi vestiuntur, quidam saccis induuntur. Ibi nullus timet mortem sed pro Baccho mittunt sortem: Primo pro nummata vini, ex hac bibunt libertini; semel bibunt pro captivis, post hec bibunt ter pro vivis, quater pro Christianis cunctis quinquies pro fidelibus defunctis, sexies pro sororibus vanis, septies pro militibus silvanis. Octies pro fratribus perversis, nonies pro monachis dispersis, decies pro navigantibus undecies pro discordaniibus, duodecies pro penitentibus, tredecies pro iter agentibus. Tam pro papa quam pro rege bibunt omnes sine lege. Bibit hera, bibit herus, bibit miles, bibit clerus, bibit ille, bibit illa, bibit servis cum ancilla, bibit velox, bibit piger, bibit albus, bibit niger, bibit constans, bibit vagus, bibit rudis, bibit magnus. Bibit pauper et egrotus, bibit exul et ignotus, bibit puer, bibit canus, bibit presul et decanus, bibit soror, bibit frater, bibit anus, bibit mater, bibit ista, bibit ille, bibunt centum, bibunt mille. Parum sexcente nummate durant, cum immoderate bibunt omnes sine meta. Quamvis bibant mente leta, sic nos rodunt omnes gentes Qui nos rodunt confundantur et sic erimus egentes. et cum iustis non scribantur.

When we are in the tavern, we do not care that we will go to dust, but we hurry to gamble, which always makes us sweat. What happens in the tavern, where money is host, you may well ask, and hear what I say. Some gamble, some drink, some behave loosely. But of those who gamble, some are stripped bare, some win their clothes here, some are dressed in sacks. Here no-one fears death, but they throw the dice in the name of Bacchus. First of all it is to the wine-merchant the the libertines drink, one for the prisoners, three for the living, four for all Christians, five for the faithful dead, six for the loose sisters, seven for the footpads in the wood, Eight for the errant brethren, nine for the dispersed monks, ten for the seamen, eleven for the squabblers, twelve for the penitent, thirteen for the wayfarers. To the Pope as to the king they all drink without restraint. The mistress drinks, the master drinks, the soldier drinks, the priest drinks, the man drinks, the woman drinks, the servant drinks with the maid, the swift man drinks, the lazy man drinks, the white man drinks, the black man drinks, the settled man drinks, the wanderer drinks, the stupid man drinks, the wise man drinks, The poor man drinks, the sick man drinks, the exile drinks, and the stranger, the boy drinks, the old man drinks, the bishop drinks, and the deacon, the sister drinks, the brother drinks, the old lady drinks, the mother drinks, this man drinks, that man drinks, a hundred drink, a thousand drink. Six hundred pennies would hardly suffice, if everyone drinks immoderately and immeasurably. However much they cheerfully drink we are the ones whom everyone scolds, and thus we are destitute. May those who slander us be cursed and may their names not be written in the book of the righteous.

The traffic to and from the building has consisted entirely of scruffy town folk and the occasional richly dressed burgher until a fellow comes out of the building with a deep scowl and shouts up at the windows;
"Wenn Sie nicht zahlen mich in Gelt, ich will etwas viel kostbare von Ihnen" before storming off. ("If you will not pay me in gold, I will take something more precious from you!")
His tatty clothing and the beery smell aren't at all what I was expecting, but he seems like the most likely candidate for the fellow we are looking for. I think we should both hurry along and see if we can't get a good look at him. Perhaps if we offer him a holy blessing he will pause long enough that we can get a good look at him?

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.