Ancestral Humiliation.

Ancestral Humiliation.

“I understand that you have deep dark relatives, or perhaps I should have said, ancestors? Tell me about them. I’m led to understand you are quite proud of them. Pirates weren’t they? Dastardly pirates. Real cut-throat types. Pity I can’t blackmail you about them as you sort of revere them. Have you thought of doing reprehensible things yourself? Do you plan on killing someone, or even a bunch of people? You could become a suicide bomber. Hang on though. Do you have anyone who later on can be proud of you?”

“You do run off at the mouth Dillon. It’s not pride I feel, in fact, I don’t know what I feel about them. To all accounts, they really were of the throat-cutting variety.

You shouldn’t be too surprised, Horace, after all, I come from that absurd branch of humanity and am known as a politician. I say absurd, as who in their right minds want to be plagued with telephone calls at three o'clock in the morning after a night out sipping the cheap wine the House makes available to us. No, no. I, on the other hand really do have a line-up, and I use that word advisedly, of ancestors that until recently, I could have been blackmailed for.

I’m afraid the cat’s out of the bag now and a secret that I have crushed to my bosom since first hearing about this depravity. I’m afraid the Opposition in the House is going to have a field day with me. I come from a long line of Morris Dancers. Morris Dancers mind you and it’s gotten even worse, they’ve devolved into Line Dancers. Can you imagine it, the Leader of the Opposition asking me if my portfolio also covers Folk Dancing in all of its hues? Will I be wearing short trousers to the House demonstrating my alliance with them. Or, please give me a little tune, I feel like dancing. It’s humiliating.”

Horace threw his head back in peels of laughter.

“Dillon, Dillon, Dillon. If that’s all you're worried about, then I am relieved. I thought you were going to say your recently dead relative caused the Chernobyl meltdown plus the tsunami that wrecked the Japanese outfit.” 

“You may joke, Horace, but this is serious. At least with your ancestors, I could have apologised for them but emitted a little swagger whilst I was doing it. But Line Dancers! I’m Minister of Cultural Affairs and should be in a position where I can get them banned, but I daren’t. That definitely would exacerbate the situation. Already I’ve received letters from adherents of these diabolical practises saying I’m the right man for the job. All I want to do is put a contract on them to prevent more of these congratulatory messages from coming my way.”

Horace couldn’t stop himself from chortling and slapping his knees observing the discomfiture of his friend.

“I haven’t told you the worst part yet, just about every Morris Dancer and Line Dancer in the country is coming to London for a massive Festival when we get out of Lockdown. It's going to last a week and I will obviously be the main officiating person that is expected to be at every function. We have had perfect unity in the House whereby my friends want to be amused by my mortification, and the Opposition my anguish. I really won’t be able to utter a word, I promise you.”

It was still in the hilarious category for Horace despite the serious way his friend was taking it and thought what he might do to relieve his stress.

“I take it that you’ve already thought of being a late recipient of the COVID 19 epidemic. You could have tripped over an obscure pocket of infection from some Hippy colony hiding out in the woods?”

“I can’t say I’d thought of that, Horace, but I like the way you are thinking. Not necessarily, COVID 19, but laid low as I was rushing to meet the contingent as they arrived en masse in the parliament grounds. So far, this seems the best option. I could have a car accident. If I use one of the new Tesla electric cars I could be okay. They are the safest cars in the world, they need twelve wheelers in order to do them any real damage at all. They are a bit expensive at the moment, but I think my bank could stand it.”

“Half a mo. Dillon. Aren’t you going a little overboard with this? For fuck’s sake, it just a bunch of dancers, really how bad can that be so bad?”

“But don’t you understand, Horace, a week of it, can they even stand it themselves. I’ll have to put on those funny shorts with all the decorations and my knees are not up to that level of scrutiny. I heard someone say once, that these folk dancers should be forced to have bells tied to them so they can annoy blind people as well.” 

However, salvation was at hand and from a very unusual source. Ben Abbe Can Ibi was the cultural Minister for the North African Country Alliance and on many an occasion had been invited to Dillon’s house to stay and meet his family. He was reminiscing with Dillon about the current cultural famine that existed under his personal administration when Dillion almost absentmindedly suggested that he had some Folk Dancers he could part with. Ben Abbe’s face lit up.

“Dill, my good friend, could you bear to part with them?

Almost choking in his effort to assure his extremely wonderful and true friend of the grand gesture he would make for him. He said he would move mountains to bring this fine historical-artistic form of their heritage to his fair country for a protracted visit. 

Ben Abbe’s country, being in their own eyes of the warrior class, had thrown caution to the wind in their defiance of being scared of something no one had ever seen. They prepared for the influx of dancers who were warriors in their own right. The dancers had braved the opprobrium of almost entire populations over many generations. They had braved the elements to bring their peculiar dancing to the streets amid catcalls and being pelted with rotten fruit but had not been deterred.

The indication of the adulation they were receiving from this overseas body of people convinced them to bring their form of enlightenment to a deprived people.

On their arrival in Ben Abbe’s country, they were feted as Kings and Queens and housed in luxurious apartments and plied with sweetmeats, which seemed to be all the rage at the time. The people wherever they went threw flower petals in their path. Somehow the music and gyrations evoked an exuberance that had been missing in the Arabic mind all of their lives.

The treatment of the dancers was so genuine and lavish that communication was sent back to laggards left in Britain that they should hasten to a land where their brand of dancing was not only liked but worshipped with a zeal usually confined to something else. 

Dillon Roxburg looked over a country that could not locate one remaining member of that occult class of dancing and declared it good. He would consult with his friend Horace to find out if there was another country that may be enchanted with Poets.