2001 Druids Tour to Southwold

This year the Druids made a welcome return to the charming Suffolk village of Southwold. Its cricket pitch offering a wonderful, panoramic vista over the azure sea, green fields, blue sky and slightly off-white Sizewell "B" power station. But just who had made the effort to tour once again with the Druids. Please read on for rogues gallery that was the touring party.

Apologies were received from Bob "Biggest Ears" Swainson. 12 months notice was insufficient time for him to get his act together.

Apologies were also received from Keith "Fit" Millett who fancied a weekend in the pub for a change.

Apologies were not received from Edward "The Bin Man" Cooke who claimed he was strike breaking in Sheffield, however, our sources can now exclusively reveal that his absence was due to the fact he had the chance of a legover.

Neither were they received from Nick "I wear the trousers in my house" Mayhew, whose none appearance could signal a decline in general availability.

The Druids Tour

At around 9.00am on the morning of Friday 8^th June, retired policemen may have been surprised to see several questionable characters acting rather suspiciously.

In three, or maybe four locations in the Harrogate District (and elsewhere around the British Isles), large lifeless lumps, in larger lumpier canvas bags, were being squeezed into the boots of a variety of different cars.

However, far from it being members of the underworld fraternity in pursuit of their daily business of bumping people off, it was in fact the Harrogate Druids packing their cricket bags for the annual tour, which in 2001 was heading to Southwold.

Tour organiser ‘Olly’ McCulloch had contrived to get 17 Druids, of varying ages and abilities, to agree to meet at the Crown public house Stowupland. New tourists John Woodthorpe and Simon Croft were there. Missing however, was David Croft, unable to attend as Simon had all his kit.

In the weeks immediately preceding the tour, several mystery punters had inundated the local bookies. The shrewd money having been put on Mr Woodthorpe not making it to Suffolk, however, as a matter of personal pride (and some may say an incredible betting sting) he was actually there. Though the trip was not without its perils, for driver Simon Williams had been on the verge of stopping his vehicle and calling the A.A. to sort out the appalling sounds coming from his car.

It turned out that the terrible grating and wheezing noise was in fact passenger Woodthorpe getting 40 winks in the back of the car.

Back at the pub this was the first, and for some the last, taste of the locally brewed Adnams beer. It was remarked upon by ‘Big Nose’, that Adnams did not appear to travel well. In fact it could be argued that the Brewery door was a threshold that both taste and life failed to cross. However, in defence of Adnams’ range of beers, it must be argued that Big Nose does not travel well either. Riding shotgun, in the new open topped Mercedes Coupe of ‘Doc Morrissey’ Crystal, ‘Big Nose’ missed 10 minutes valuable drinking time removing the bugs and other detritus from his teeth.

So it was Guinness, sandwiches and chips that sustained the majority of Druids as they sat down to watch the British Lions narrowly defeat Western Australia 116 points to 10. At this point the tour proper had been up and running for about 1 hour and already ‘Kitty’ Hope was relieving the tourists of more money than they could have dreamed of.

After leaving Stowupland for Southwold, most Druids made a beeline for the Blyth Hotel. However, some of the party decided an impromptu stop for refreshment was called for, thus initiating the first argument of the weekend with the Kitty.

Room allocation at the hotel was based upon the simple principle of desirable rooms being given to whoever was standing near Olly as the keys were handed out. The Doctor, ‘Huge’ Hugh and ‘Single’ Rupert were not in close proximity.

As such, they were given the keys to the upper floor dormitory, where an action packed night of torches under the bedclothes; midnight feasts and compulsory manipulation were practised.

Next it was the turn of the Skipper (‘Skip’) and ‘Big Nose’ to wangle the Honeymoon Suite at the same rate as everyone else. The suite contained a magnificent 4-poster bed and a small single bed to one side.

‘Skip’ asked ‘Big Nose’ who was in the 4-poster; the fixed glare was all the reply that Skip needed. Having watched many prison videos, he new better than to ask what may happen later that night in the privacy of their own suite.

Following room allocation, a few beers were consumed as the party endeavoured to get to know each other after some lengthy breaks. The ‘Prodigal Son’ Drew Clarke was awarded top marks for making his reappearance on the Druids tour after an absence of nearly 10 years.

‘Godfrey’, the ‘Grupenfuhrer’ and Mr ‘Tradition’ had hardly changed at all. However, when ‘Sizewell A’ Irvine introduced himself a look of incredulity spread over ‘drew’s face. He feared his mental capacity was impaired as his memory banks contained visions of Irvine as thin.

‘The Sec.’ Eaden was also praised (by the Druids anyway) for completing the family holiday earlier than had been planned. Such devotion can not go unrewarded, therefore it has been decided to offer him immunity for all his amorous tour indiscretions; what happens on tour stays on tour.

As the first round in the hotel bar was ordered, a toast was ordered by the ‘Grupenfuhrer’ Osborne to “Absent Friends”; a poignant reminder of the recent, sad loss of Peter Clarke, a life long Druid who will be greatly missed by his many friends and family.

It was during this pre-match snifter that the first “comedy impression” of the tour was unveiled. ‘Sizewell C’ slipped into his famous ‘Street Car Named Desire’ speech. Looking uncannily like Marlon Brando (as he is now) the bar shook to the cries of Stella! Stella!

So good was this impression that the gifted performer was rewarded with a pint of strong lager.

The Opening Game (Friday)

Late afternoon saw the opening game of the tour, one that was to set the scene for the weekend. A 15 over thrash (of 8 balls each) was planned to sort out the men from the boys and brush away a few cobwebs.

The President of the Club Mr Derek Atkinson, who was dressed most sartorially in his bright yellow trousers, greeted the Druids at the clubhouse. He was looking forward to a game where cricket would be the winner. How disappointed he was to be.

Yet again, petty arguing emerged amongst those who wanted to play. The cry of “Its not fair, I want to play” reminded those with no children how lucky they were. However, once those whose ire had been placated settled down, the tactical plan was announced. In an almost unheard of move, ‘Skip’, who won the toss, put Lowestoft into bat!!

Meanwhile, those players being saved for the big game on Saturday took to trying a couple of the local brews. By re-siting just one bench the Western Terrace was born!

Batting first Lowestoft steadily piled up the runs, averaging over 10 runs per over, until they finally ran out of overs on an impressive 157 for 5.

The fielding point was claimed by larger than life 'Sizewell C' Woodthorpe, whose athletic frame and boundless energy made Jonty Rhodes look positively pedestrian. Even on the last ball of the Lowestoft innings he was to be seen diving full length in order to stop a boundary. Unfortunately, however, he missed the ball as it bounced upwards, breaking his spectacles before crossing the rope for 4 runs.

Never mind Jon, it's the thought that counts.

The pick of the Druids’ bowling was ‘Big Nose’, who finished with figures of 5 overs, 2 wickets for 31 runs. Skipper, ‘Mars Bar’ Croft and ‘Snotty’ McCulloch each claimed 1 wicket; whilst a lacklustre ‘Sizewell A’ Irvine failed to claim any at all.

The batting however, was to produce fireworks.

Experienced openers, ‘Mars Bar’ and ‘Sizewell C’, tore into the Lowestoft bowlers. Unfortunately ‘Sizewell C’ occupied the wicket for precious few balls before he was pavilion bound with the first Duck of the tour.

‘Mars Bar’, however, was more successful. Skilfully nicking a well-pitched ball between the slips, he claimed the first Druids run of the 2001 tour. This magnificent shot was greeted with cheers of delight and appreciation from the knowledgeable Western Terrace.

Now partnered by ‘Godfrey’ Keogh and warming to the task, ‘Mars Bar’ may well have stayed at the wicket for the full 15 overs. However, in a moment that will live in Druids infamy, ‘Tradition’ (who was then umpiring) assured ‘Mars Bar’ that the magnificent cover drive he had so perfectly executed was worth a definite 2 runs.

Turning for the second run, ‘Mars Bar’ was run out by a clear 12 yards. The moral of this saga, of course, is to always treat the utterances of umpires with the contempt they deserve.

The ‘Prodigal Son’ was next up to bat and it looked like he hadn’t been away at all. From the start a series of flashing strokes despatched the ball to all corners of the ground; much to the delight of the growing numbers on the Western Terrace, who had now started some good-natured banter with both batsmen and fielders alike.

After 8 cultured runs ‘Godfrey’ selflessly gave up his wicket to allow another senior Druid the chance to savour the “Big Match” atmosphere. Up stepped ‘Grupenfuhrer’ Osborne.

Maybe it was the Sun setting on the horizon, possibly a tear in his eyes as the memories flooded back, or maybe it was just the alcohol in his veins that distracted him just long enough to be caught and bowled for naught.

At this point the entire crowd rose to applaud onto the pitch ‘Doc Morrissey’, famous not only for his natty cricketing attire (Which will one day surely be in vogue) but also for his remarkable hand-eye coordination; a natural ability that has seen him excel in all sports that involve sticks and balls.

It was generally agreed, by those at Southwold anyway, that nobody left the ball as well as the Doc. He left the ball magnificently, he left it majestically, he left it with such precision and determination that one felt he could leave the ball all day.

However, these glories must pass and, reluctantly, ‘Doc’ went on to plunder 14 well deserved runs before being bowled by a ball that would have beaten many a better player.

‘Kitty’ was in and out quicker than an illicit shag. The scorebook having no record of his dismissal, we can only assume it was a very poor innings. (‘Kitty’ - please feel free to leave your version of events in the guest book).

In ambled ‘Sizewell A’. It was now obvious as to why his bowling had been below par; he was saving himself for the mad run scramble.

The Lowestoft bowlers were reduced to a shambles as ‘Prodigal Son’ and ‘Sizewell A’ settled into their task. Slowly they increased the run rate until a victory was in sight.

Needing over 20 off the final over, it wasn’t until the last ball had been bowled that the Druids resigned themselves to a mere 4 run defeat. ‘Prodigal Son’ finishing on a marvellous 58 not out and ‘Sizewell A’ claiming a dashing unbeaten 34.

And so to the bar for drinks.

Following such an exciting end to the game, it was obvious that most Druids required sustenance. However, though the game finished at 8.10pm, the local fish & chip shop closed its doors at 8.00pm. I mean, who on earth would want fish & chips after 8 o’clock on a Friday night?

At this point the Skipper showed his true mettle and within 30 minutes had negotiated a Fish & Chip supper with our Hotel. It should be noted here that some years ago very few would have forsaken an hours drinking time for food, but now the balance was well over 50% in favour of eating, are we getting old, fat or both?

Then it was on to the Admiral Nelson Public House for a bucket load of beer, or in most cases, Guinness.

Our return to the hotel at midnight was well received by the proprietors who had graciously agreed to a bar extension in the comfortable lounge.

Here the Druids settled down to reminisce and discuss days of yore. Matches that had been won, innings that had been played and ‘deeds’ that had been done. (For more information on “Done Deeds” please see ‘Kitty’ in the Coach & Horses.

As the hours progressed the tired party trooped one by one slowly upstairs until just a hardened core were left.

This core included the ‘Grupenfuhrer’ who had fallen asleep precariously perched upon his high bar stool. Looking somewhat like a wilting aspidistra balanced on a rickety mahogany 'what not', he swayed with each snore.

Bets were laid as to how long he would stay supported, or in which direction he would tumble if gravity overtook his internal gyroscope. However, the crowd were to be disappointed when he awoke and shuffled off to bed.

Up with the larks (or to be more accurate – the wood pigeons) Godfrey and Trueman surfaced around 5.00am Saturday morning. The bloody racket being created by the birds drove them both out of the hotel and down to the beach.

The beach at Southwold is like many others around the British coastline, water one side and promenade the other. The tarmac of the promenade was not as comfortable as the hotel bed, nor as warm, however, it won hands down of the noise front, being considerably quieter.

Elsewhere in the hotel (especially the dormitory), the dawn chorus was an orchestra of bodily functions, seemingly conducted by a tone-deaf man with no sense of smell.

Complaints of ‘dirty glasses’ or ‘off water’ were generally accepted to be the cause of the thumping heads owned by the majority of tourists. The Guinness, Stella or Adnams could not possibly have played any part in the pained expressions the Druids appeared to have rented for the morning.

An hour or so later the dining room of the hotel started to fill for what turned out to be a rather tasty breakfast. Good Suffolk sausages, tasty cured bacon, eggs done as requested and waitresses both pretty and willing to increase the portion size upon request.

Over breakfast the regular walk to the Ship Inn at Dunwich was discussed. When asked why we were walking around 5 miles to Dunwich, Mr Corner replied “Because we always do”.

The standard route took in the famous ferry, however it appeared the ferryman for the past 47 years had, rather annoyingly, died two days earlier. It was mentioned that this fit and able-bodied ferryman (who had not had a days illness in his life) may have been overcome by the thought of having to row several overweight cricketers in his rather lightweight craft.

Interest in the ferry rapidly waned until Kitty noticed an obituary of the aforementioned ferryman in “The Times” newspaper. It broke the news that the position of ferryman had been filled by the 29-year-old daughter named Danny.

Suddenly there was a rush of tourists booking their places on the walk.

30 Minutes later, just half a mile from the hotel, Danny and her dinghy hove into view. Judging by the size of the boat and the size of the potential passengers, it appeared 3 crossings might be necessary. However, Danny claimed she could take all eleven no problem.

In a bizarre scrimmage that had the appearance of the film Titanic being played backwards, the Druids clambered over each other in an effort to get a front row seat. Those that fought hardest were not disappointed as a combination on Danny’s small vest and the gentle but cooling easterly breeze gave those in the bow seats a couple of very impressive sights to behold.

Like many such experiences for the ageing cricketers, it was over in less than a minute. However, more pictures were taken in those 60 short seconds than the whole of the rest of the tour added together.

The only thing now separating the Druids from their lunchtime appointment was a few miles of dense, coastal reed beds. Fearing there may be some Japanese soldiers hiding in the reeds who still believed the war was not over, the party kept up a commendable pace arriving at the Ship Inn just in time for a long liquid lunch.

At the Ship Inn the party once again toasted “Absent Friends”, but were soon delighted to meet Sandy Sanders (pictured below right with tourists Keogh and Corner) a man whose friendship to some of the senior members of the party goes back several decades.

Sandy’s rugby career commenced at Ipswich Y.M.C.A. before making the giant leap to fashionable Harlequins. From ‘The Stoop’ his career progressed to the pinnacle of England prop forward before injury curtailed his playing career.

His occupation then took him to Harrogate where he found sanctuary on the Rugby Club Committee before his elevation to President of the RFU.

With the advent of professionalism, accompanied by a certain scepticism, Sandy has now gone full circle and is once again to be found as Chairman at Ipswich Y.M.C.A. The world is a better place for people of his stature.

Meanwhile, back at the bar, the morning had dragged on longer than some tourists had anticipated. As such, Crofty had not managed to line his pockets with Mars Bars and was now paying the price. Fearing imminent malnutrition, he ordered his fish and chips at the same time as the rest of the party.

Twenty minutes later a sizeable portion of chips surmounted by two healthy fillets of prime East Coast fish was laid before the ravenous Croft. Twenty-three minutes after the order was placed Crofty’s plate was empty. He then ate 95% of 'Tradition’s' portion and within a further 10 minutes had ordered a further helping of this local delicacy. Two packets of crisps kept him conscious whilst awaiting the arrival of this 3^rd portion.

Poor chap; it must be remembered that it was nearly 2 ½ hours since his meagre full English breakfast.

This propensity to eat did not hamper his, or the other members of the party, in there efforts to cram as much alcohol into their bodies as possible. Therefore, by the time the team arrived back at the pavilion for the big Saturday game, it was noticed that many were more than just the worse for wear.

The Closing Game (Saturday)

In a bold and brave manoeuvre, ‘Skip’ announced that the Druids’ Innings would be opened with the cavalier batting of ‘Huge’ and ‘Freddy Trueman’. The tactic was to wear out the fast bowlers so that the middle order could come and knock the second rank bowlers all over Suffolk. And to a degree this tactic worked.

'Huge' hit a mighty blow for two runs on the off side, at which point the club historian noted that this was the first time Huge had hit the ball in front of the wicket in over 3 years. However, his glory was to be short lived as he was out just 3 balls later.

'Freddy', meanwhile, at the other end was mentally destroying the Lowestoft bowling. 'Rocket Ronny' and his cohorts were systematically being reduced to quivering wrecks by his vast repertoire of defensive shots.

After 7 overs, his task well and truly accomplished, 'Freddy' sacrificed his wicket for the greater good of the team. Southwold were on the verge of collapse, it just remained for ‘Prodigal Son’ to administer the coup de grace.

It was at this point in the proceedings that the carefully devised plan began to go awry. Wickets steadily tumbled until the Druids were finally dismissed for a humble109 runs. ‘Sizewell A’ top scored with a cultured 24, just ahead of extras with 20 runs.

‘Big Ears’ stroked 19 runs and ‘Single’ Whiting 17; nobody else achieved double figures. ‘Doc’ finished on ‘o’ not out and claimed a potential 50, however, his major contribution to the innings came earlier in the day when ‘Big Nose’ top edged a full toss into his eye.

With blood pouring down his face ‘Big Nose’ staggered to the boundary where ‘Skip’ had readied the Druids’ medical bag. After 30 seconds or so of intensive study, 30 years of medical training came to the fore when ‘Doc’ announced the result of his examination: -

“It’s a cut” he claimed before strolling back to his pint, pausing just long enough to slip a bill for consultancy into ‘Big Nose’s’ pocket.

Taking charge, ‘Skip’ decided to patch the injury up and get ‘Big Nose’ back to the wicket. However, on opening the medical bag he was surprised to find an empty chip bag, 3 wooden chip forks and an unopened sachet of tomato ketchup.

Several minutes later, following the application of a bandage the size of a pillow case (many thanks to Southwold for their help here), ‘Big Nose’ returned to the fray.

10 minutes later, with only 109 runs to defend, the Druids apprehensively took to the field for the Southwold innings. Nevertheless, the game was still there to be won.

However, at this point it must be noted that the skipper appeared to take leave of his senses. Whilst it would be unrealistic to claim that there are bowlers in this world who have never been hit for the odd boundary or two, it is normal practice, when a particular bowler is smashed to all sides of the ground, to “rest” him for a period of time; normally the rest of the game.

Bowling in tandem with 'Big Nose', the runs rapidly piled up. Defeating even the specialist fielders such as 'Kitty Hope' (sharing a game with legendary batsman Inzamam “he’s the man” al Crystal) and the ever-sprightly 'Sec' Eaden.

In fact the situation deteriorated to the point where 'Huge' could be seen at mid-off, flailing his arms around like a windmill in a hurricane, endeavouring to let it be known that he was loosening up for a bowl.

Druids with only limited memories thought back to the infamous Monte Carlo Millennium Tour and the startling 14 ball overs that 'Huge' had served up. What it to be a case of out of the frying pan, into the fire?

Fortunately not, for Nature, having witnessed ‘Huge’ in action, intervened in the shape of a brief rain spell. This coincided, somewhat alarmingly, with the running of the Derby, which the Druids watched on the television set in the Southwold Clubhouse.

Those who were interested (‘Skip’ and ‘Single’) acted as roving bookmakers; however, whilst ‘Skip’ declared a sizeable profit, ‘Single’ was relieved of several pounds in a short and decidedly unproductive career.

The rain clouds soon parted and, once the commotion of the big race died down, it was noted that two or three Druids were snoring soundly on the banquettes than lined the wall of the clubhouse. It seemed that the excesses of the previous night were finally catching up with some players.

But minutes later it was back onto the field to resume battle. Once more ‘Big Nose’ was proving to be the pick of the bowlers, taking 2 wickets for 20 runs in his 5 overs. ‘Skip’ conceded 31 runs in his 6 overs, however, his figures were somewhat blemished by some poor fielding from ‘Kitty’ and ‘Freddy Trueman’.

‘Single’ went for 19 runs off his 5 overs and ‘Sizewell A’ had 18 runs taken from his 3 overs, both players taking no wickets.

Fortunately good sense prevailed and ‘Freddy Trueman’ was brought into the attack. However, by this point it was too late to change the outcome of the game.

With Southwold requiring just 3 runs from 12 overs with 8 wickets in hand, ‘Freddy’ had little hope of turning the game round. However, fine bowler that he is, he dismissed Southwold’s main antagonist first ball, caught and bowled.

He then asked for a fielding adjustment, which ‘Skip’ refused, resulting in 2 runs being scored. Realising he would have to do all the work himself, his third ball removed the middle stump of the hapless Southwold batsman.

Three dot balls later his dramatic first over was completed and the game was not yet lost. However, in a moment of drama seldom witnessed in normal games (but unfortunately all to prevalent in Druids matches), the game ended on a note of controversy.

The delightfully flighted last ball of ‘Freddy’s’ over was a yorker, which pitched on the off stump. The batsman, appreciating the quality of the ball nodded his approval to ‘Freddy’. However, this gem of a ball was called a wide by ‘Tradition’, who was occupying his favoured role as umpire, and so the game ended.

As the team trooped disconsolately off the field, ‘Tradition’ revealed the motive behind his wildly inaccurate decision. His natural affinity to the game and the spirit of gentlemanly conduct was overruled by the desire not to let the Lowestoft captain, at the non-strikers end, score the winning run in the following over.

And so to the bar. Dressing room recriminations over, the Druids and their victorious counterparts climbed aboard that trusty old bandwagon that is alcohol.

Stories of dashing innings and spellbinding bowling were liberally thrown into the conversation, stopping momentarily only for the arrival of a never-ending vat of delicious chilli, served by the kind ladies of Southwold.

The evening raffle was won by “Olly” who generously donated his prize back to Southwold Cricket Club; it seems the Adnams was already showing signs of the strange effect it can have on those who are unused to the local brew.

Many beers and handshakes later, the party ambled across the field back to the Admiral Nelson pub to top up the alcohol levels. The Druids were beginning to show the drinking form that has carried them through tours stretching back over many decades. ‘Mars Bar’ was hitting the Guinness like a world shortage was due; “Prodigal Son” and “Sizewell A” were not far behind.

“Skipper”, “Huge” and “Single” could be seen drinking at the end of the bar, where a raised floor gave them the chance to converse with ‘Mars Bar’ and also see around the rest of the pub.

It was noted that many of the local ‘gals’ had made the effort to come and see us, the dress code ranging from reasonably modest to exceedingly revealing. However, the staunch moral code that is instilled in every Druid ensured that no more than pleasantries were exchanged.

By ten o’clock the call went up to move to a new establishment and in a break with tradition (not Corner), base camp was shifted to a ‘wine bar’. Raised eyebrows greeted this new home, but very soon the party was joining in with the sing along provided by Southwold’s very own popular beat combo, the name of which was instantly forgotten.

Skipper made his way to the bar and by means of an unusual handshake (known only to barmen and considerably more useful than a Masonic handshake) organised a continuous flow of drinks to the thirsty tourists.

Judging by the behaviour of some locals (for whom vertical posture or coherent talking was impossible), it soon became apparent that alcohol was not the only recreational substance available. In fact this bar was the source of the famous Southwold hash, blow, gonjee, waccy baccy, grass, weed or whatever else it may be called.

‘Mars Bar’ gave the distinct impression that he, never mind the locals, was addicted to one of these mind-altering substances; for whilst ‘Doc’ played the air violin with some gusto, ‘Mars Bar’ joined in with the percussion side of the Wine Bar’s ensemble, tapping out the rhythm of the music with his delicate hands on the roughened surface of the oak table.

Unfortunately the manic rhythm, which he beat so enthusiastically, bore absolutely no resemblance to the rhythm played by the band. In fact his effort was so embarrassing that his fellow tourists tried in vain to disown him; one member remarking that his rhythm was so poor it was a good job he wasn’t a practising Catholic, otherwise the streets of Harrogate would be overflowing with junior Crofts.

The more he pounded, the more the regulars of the bar prayed for closing time. Finally, and with a relief that made Mafeking look like a Sunday picnic, the landlady called time. Less than 2 minutes later we were on the street looking for the next venue.

Southwold’s diminutive stature ensured that there were no further establishments the Druids could enter at such a late hour, so it was back to the Blyth Hotel for another late drink with our pleasant hosts.

However, on returning to the hotel we found the bar was still in full swing, with other guests enjoying the hospitality of the owners. This is where the Druids played their trump card.

‘Doc Morrissey’ Crystal was invited to start the sing along, and although his expression was one of reluctance, it was obvious that he was itching to go.

For the record it must be mentioned here that ‘Doc’, over the years, has mastered the little known art of ‘forgetting by rote’; that skill of forgetting more and more of the words to any given song the more often he sings it.

Therefore, as the opening notes of Tom Jones’ “Delilah” were played (Doc by this time having changed instruments to air banjo), the audience heard the lyrics “At break of day…..” followed by mumbling, a few lah lahs and some weird nasal vibrato.

However, the guests were made of sterner stuff. It wasn’t until Doc tried audience participation that these poor visitors finally gave up and abandoned the bar, leaving the Druids to enjoy a couple of hours of ribald humour.

Several songs, poems and jokes (plus a fine rendition of Albert and the Lion) later, ‘Skip’ introduced the theme of limericks.

These humorous ditties got progressively cruder until the debate descended in farce when ‘Tradition’ and the ‘Grupenfuhrer’ embarked upon the rather abstract argument of whether a particular cork was ‘plucked’ or ‘prized’ from a certain part of a lady’s anatomy.

Sometime between 2 and 3 o’clock in the morning, the last of the Druids party accepted a drink from the owners of the hotel then climbed their way wearily to bed. It had been a long day and would provide topics for conversation well into the future.

As the Sun rose majestically over Southwold it may have been tempted to call it a day, race through the sky and set immediately over the western horizon. The reason behind this idea was the look of the touring party over breakfast.

Drew and the Sec. Eaden had left in the early hours to return to the bosom of their respective family’s. However, those that made the unsteady journey down to the dining room had the deathly appearance of participants in Chairman Mao’s ‘Long March’ who, having completed it, were asked to turn around and do it again because they’d forgotten to put film in the camera.

Many forsook the standard Full English fare for the locally caught and smoked haddock which, surmounted by two perfectly poached eggs, was an ideal start to the day. In a short while we would all be heading up the A1 for lunch at Normanby-by-Spital (a recommendation from “Biggest Ears” Swainson) followed by golf at a local course.

However, prior to departure, bills had to be settled.

There was much argument as to exactly who had put the Mars Bars and Twiglets (2 packs) on the room bill, though the general consensus of opinion was that it had to be Crofty as nobody could consume the calorific amount that he had demonstrated was achievable.

Just half an hour later as ‘Olly’ negotiated the final figure, the subtle harmonies of the Beach Boys faded as the Doc’s sports car accelerated out of Southwold. And in a rash moment of madness, the proprietor of the Blythe Hotel assured ‘Olly’ that we would we welcome to return at any time in the future.

The remaining Druids caught a last glimpse of this charming Suffolk village before following the ‘Doc’, possibly not noticing the twitching curtains and relieved looks from the inhabitants who were safe; well for another year at least.

The Journey Home

Normanby-by-Spital is a small, well-proportioned village to the West of the Lincolnshire Wolds and just a short walk from the famous horseracing town of Market Rasen.

It is also just 3 miles East of the disused airfield at Hemswell, which is now a large antique and bric-a-brac site. It may have been more appropriate if the Druids had driven to Hemswell instead as they would have felt much more at home amongst the curios and objet d’art of this second hand environment.

A few beers and one large (but instantly forgettable) Sunday lunch later; the golf was abandoned in favour of an early return home to Harrogate.

And so by four o’clock the remnants of the party was ensconced in the familiar surroundings of the Coach & Horses Public House. Just when he was needed the ‘Kitty Master’ was conspicuous by his absence, having returned home to count his ill-gotten gains. ‘Godfrey’, ‘Tradition’ and the ‘Grupenfuhrer’ had also retired to the relative safety of their homes.

‘Single’ had earlier travelled South, ‘Mars Bar’ and ‘Sizewell C’ were listed as MPE (Missing Presumed Eating) and ‘Huge’, it was assumed, had gone to the one place he really needed to go – the nets.

‘Olly’ retreated to his country residence in Bishop Monkton and ‘Skip’ disappeared without trace.

Never the less, beer flowed, tales of heroic innings were embellished and one of the more bizarre business ventures was floated to a disbelieving crowd.

The ‘Doc’ and ‘Big Nose’ declared that what Harrogate needed was a mobile, late night kebab van. This could be driven from pub to pub at “chucking out time” to service the needs of Harrogate’s starving.

To be called ‘SimTel Kebabs’, it would play Greek music to alert potential clients of its presence and could even follow those with particularly healthy appetites home in order to refresh them mid-journey. A route from the Coach, via the Oval to Westbourne Ave. was pencilled in as a likely money-spinner.

Proceedings faltered their way to around 10 o’clock when the last of the Druids left for home. ‘Doc’ had been trying to leave (unsuccessfully) for 5 hours, ‘Big Nose’ left around 8 o’clock having put his foot in it with at least two separate females (the names are missing to protect the innocent), ‘Sizewell A’ called it a day around 9.00pm and finally ‘Freddy Trueman’ accompanied ‘Big Ears’ back across the Stray towards home.

It had been a long, long three days.

Doubtless the tour stories will be exaggerated over the years to come; but you can be assured that the above account is completely and undeniably true.

A photo album of the tour appears below, all interesting pictures being gratefully accepted for inclusion. For amendments to the above document please refer to the Editor (whose decision in matters of accuracy is final).