'Give to me the life I love, let the lave go by me......'

‘Rum-te-tum te-tum te-tum, rum-te-tum-te-tum-tum…..’

‘Hello he’s off again.’

‘M’mmm?’

‘I was observing oh ancient poop, that you were rum-te-tumming like a good’un.’

‘Was I?’

‘Was you? Coo you’re having a laugh guv, and that’s a fact.’

We are sauntering along the well worn paths, in our favourite bit of the ancient forest. For some reason one of Vaughan Williams settings of ‘Songs of Travel,’ has been rattling around the old cranium. As ever I’ve been oblivious of actually rum-te-tumming out loud!

‘That was a jolly tara-diddle guv.’

‘Ah, it was an old favourite at smoking concerts of old’

‘Crumbs, how do you set fire to a concert?’

 

‘No Bing, it was a term given to evening soirees where folk were entertained by singers, musicians and recitations and so forth.’

‘And such like?’

‘Oh definitely, and such like.’

‘Crumbs.’

‘Well of course it’s all rather of a different age now, but back in my student days they still existed, and it was a chance to rattle of some ‘gems’ of the song sheet catalogue.’

‘If you say so guv.’

‘Oh I do Bing, I most definitely do…..say so.’

‘Crumbs.’

‘Oh yes those evenings could be great fun, particularly as you were never sure who else would be entertaining. One could often end up singing a duet with someone you didn’t know. But it was all good practice, and as long as you had a few decent old war horses to trundle out, the evenings usually went pretty well.’

‘Stone me guv, you don’t mean to say you actually sang from the saddle?’

‘What?’

‘Blooming Horses guv, that must have got a tad dangerous in the confines of a soiree, what and wherever that is?’

I look down at the lad, and not for the first time I’m unsure whether he’s trying to comprehend me, or just, as the poet would say - ‘having my trousers down!’

‘War horse, refers to a favourite song, that would be sung.’

‘Nothing to do with those chaps.’

The lad nods in the direction of three horses out with their riders, enjoying one of the many bridle paths that criss-cross the Forest of Epping.

‘Oh no, Bing.’

‘Well thank goodness for that guv! The thought of the chaos those hooves would cause to settees, rugs and comfy armchairs, doesn’t bear thinking of eh?’

Again, why do I feel as if I’m being ‘sent up?’

‘I wonder if they would fancy a certain chaps treat or three?’

The lad looks up, and I feel his steady gaze upon me.

‘Not even in jest guv.’

‘Really Bing?’

‘Nope, and certainly if you don’t want to be ‘bounced’ by a certain pal!’




(Snacks were had.)