This page is dedicated to the memory of Clare Masters, the late wife of Bob, a PMM member .
They are frequently called 'Morris Widows' as the lads are always out and about at some pub or other. However, the wives and partners of the Plymouth Morris often come along and watch. Here is a poem written by Clare Masters in 2004.
PLYMOUTH MORRIS MEN
"We are the Plymouth Morris Men"
Proclaims the squire in strident tones
"We dance at the dawning of May Day
On our magnificent Plymouth Hoe.
A team's danced here since 1482.
And we're here again today to mark
The annual awakening of the green,
With the rising of the sap unseen.
We clash our sticks and cross our swords
To frighten away the winter's end.
With each step our bells are jingling,
Bright blue handkerchiefs are waving.
The fool with feathers in his hat,
The tall black rat, are all in the act.
Musicians play familiar tunes,
On drum, guitar and accordions.
For Civic duties we have danced
So neatly in the Place de Brest.
(But inside the pub when it's raining
Hitting our sticks on the ceiling).
When we perform there's always a crowd
Watching the dancers, and proud
Of centuries of tradition.
Continued by Plymouth Morris Men.
Clare Masters
7th May 2004
Sullivan the Poet has written a poem especially for The Plymouth Morris Men, which was printed in The Herald in 2014
"We are the Plymouth Morris Men"
Proclaims the squire in strident tones
"We dance at the dawning of May Day
On our magnificent Plymouth Hoe.
A team's danced here since 1482.
And we're here again today to mark
The annual awakening of the green,
With the rising of the sap unseen.
We clash our sticks and cross our swords
To frighten away the winter's end.
With each step our bells are jingling,
Bright blue handkerchiefs are waving.
The fool with feathers in his hat,
The tall black rat, are all in the act.
Musicians play familiar tunes,
On drum, guitar and accordions.
For Civic duties we have danced
So neatly in the Place de Brest.
(But inside the pub when it's raining
Hitting our sticks on the ceiling).
When we perform there's always a crowd
Watching the dancers, and proud
Of centuries of tradition.
Continued by Plymouth Morris Men.
Clare Masters
7th May 2004
Sullivan the Poet has written a poem especially for The Plymouth Morris Men, which was printed in The Herald in 2014
'Here Come the Morris Men.'
Comes the May day, comes the morn,
ere the sunrise gilds the corn;
In the blackness tinkling bright,
soft brass bells to tease the light;
Squire and bagman whisp'ring low,
tensing on that first faint glow;
Heels 'n staffs impatient clicking,
seconds slow and pulses quick'ning.
Til the first rays brightly flash,
greeting all the willow's clash;
Tinkling, jangling, bursts to song,
dancing heels drum loud along;
Bagman raise your merry tune,
adieu to the waning moon;
Cast you down your winter bonnet,
dare the moonlight dance upon it!
Pon this day and one day more,
gambol we upon this shore;
In one heart and all as one,
once our dance to greet the sun;
Twice to raise the Mummer's play,
shoo the old year on its way;
Twixt and tween through lane and highway, dance we each and every byway.
Plymouth's Morris Men are we,
dancing brave and dancing free;
Dancing bold your ports and piers,
more than haifa thousand years;
Just as Drake and Raleigh we,
shade this City's history;
Through the joy and through the sorrow,
dancing proud unto the morrow...
(c) Sullivan the Poet 2014
Comes the May day, comes the morn,
ere the sunrise gilds the corn;
In the blackness tinkling bright,
soft brass bells to tease the light;
Squire and bagman whisp'ring low,
tensing on that first faint glow;
Heels 'n staffs impatient clicking,
seconds slow and pulses quick'ning.
Til the first rays brightly flash,
greeting all the willow's clash;
Tinkling, jangling, bursts to song,
dancing heels drum loud along;
Bagman raise your merry tune,
adieu to the waning moon;
Cast you down your winter bonnet,
dare the moonlight dance upon it!
Pon this day and one day more,
gambol we upon this shore;
In one heart and all as one,
once our dance to greet the sun;
Twice to raise the Mummer's play,
shoo the old year on its way;
Twixt and tween through lane and highway, dance we each and every byway.
Plymouth's Morris Men are we,
dancing brave and dancing free;
Dancing bold your ports and piers,
more than haifa thousand years;
Just as Drake and Raleigh we,
shade this City's history;
Through the joy and through the sorrow,
dancing proud unto the morrow...
(c) Sullivan the Poet 2014
