The Bonewood Inn
You see the Inn from across the Green
It looks friendly
The folk seem to be having fun
There’s a bloke coming towards you with a tray full of pints and a grin …
You weave your way across the green, hoping not to get trampled flat if they suddenly set off maypole dancing again, but not hurrying because everything around you is so interesting.
I mean, look at that bread on the stall.
And now the puppy is wagging his tail and climbing your leg and wanting to play,
and the old bloke encourages you and the puppy,
and the bitch-hound licks you too.
You manage to pass the bloke with the tray.
He grins at you and says,
‘Go on in, I’ll be back in half a tick.
Have a look at what we’ve got, and the food’s good too.’
You squeeze between the tables.
Nobody seems to mind.
Someone shifts a chair without looking round, making just enough room for you to pass.
The folk sat there look up and smile a greeting, and then you get to the door.
Gracious! Is that really a wolf? Bloody hell, it is!
And then this pretty lass comes out bearing a great trayful of pies
and your nose twitches, tummy rumbles,
and blow me if she don’t just step right over the huge wolf never blinking an eye,
smiles at you and heads off with the pies to table full of men and women laughing together
and all painted up, dressed in tatters and top hats covered in feathers and bones.
Goodness! The local Morris side.
You step carefully over the wolf, who takes precisely no notice of you whatsoever, and get through the door.
Inside, is not so bright as the May sunshine on the Green,
it’s warm and cosy despite being a big room and obviously busy.
Three more of the Morris side lean against the bar, pints in their hands,
a young couple are laughing over by the fire
and there, in a corner you’d not seen at first, a fiddler is tuning up.
This is looking good … fun.
How on earth did you land up here?
No matter, you’re not complaining,
but you would like a drink,
and probably one of those delicious-smelling pies.
Now, just where has the landlord got to?
