Extracted, by use of the black arts, from English Dance and Song, Volumes 41-44 (London: The English Folk Dance and Song Society, 1979), page 6:


THE LAST DANCE
by Bob Pegg

They came from the moor in the hour after sunset, past the ruined chapel and the shadow of the mill.
Their clogs struck fire as they rattled down the causeway that leads to the river at the foot of the hill.
We watched behind the windows, stood in open doorways, called them by name but they didn't give a glance.
Nothing could detain them as they ran like the wind to beat their old neighbours to the last dance.

There were farmers with their wives, shepherds with their collies, harvesters with scythes that could cut you to the bone.
There were carters, weavers, butchers waving cleavers; some took a partner, some danced alone.
Then the quarrymen stepped forward, shook the frost from their beards, shouldered their hammers in a military stance,
And each from his pocket pulled a pint of good ale, to drink a ranter's round to the last dance.

Down on the river bank everyone was rocking, except for some Methodists who wouldn't join the fun.
They'd never seen the like before, the dregs of all humanity; Gomorrah could have been no worse; they wondered why they'd come.
So they all took out their Bibles, closed their eyes in meditation, said a little prayer for the sinners as they pranced.
"God send us down a thunderbolt to show your disapproval," they were damned if they were joining in the last dance.

With a terrifying bang, the firmament split open like the Red Sea once had parted at the touch of Moses' rod,
And there, clad in nothing but whiskers and a nightshirt, was the ruler of the Universe, the one and only God.
He said, "Dance, you buggers, dance, or you'll never get to Heaven!" The Methodists were doubtful, but they couldn't take the chance.
So they put their sternest faces on and girded up their loins and went bravely, like martyrs, to the last dance.

Everyone was having fun, especially the Methodists. They shouted "Hallelujah!", threw their Bibles in the air.
Then they stripped off their clothes and jumped in the river, rejoicing that their bodies and their souls had been laid bare;
While the pipers and the drummers and the riflemen and gunners who had last been seen a-waltzing through the red fields of France,
Took aim at the moon and fired a thousand-gun salute for their other companions in the last dance.

In the morning they were gone; the riverbank was empty, except for a Bible and some bottles on a wall.
Some said they'd caught the early train to Bradford or to Manchester; some were in doubt if they'd been there at all.
But I was up at dawn on the hill above the reservoir; the last stragglers waved as they saw me in the distance.
Then tired and exhausted they slipped beneath the water, to sleep—perhaps to dream of the last dance.