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David Beasley
Holly Holy Day: Nantwich
Why aren't you with me here on Holly Holy Day ?
Nantwich's ancient streets echoing to the tramp of gathering regiments,
The drummer's incessant beat imposing rhythmic motion on uniformed ranks,
As the Sealed Knot's imitation armies muster and move to Millfields:
There, on the Weaver's grassy plain, to simulate the town's historic siege
When, for six weeks of England's Civil War, townsfolk, true to the Parliamentary cause,
Held Lord Byron's royalist host at bay till Fairfax brought relief and victory.
So, on this anniversary day, under the unexpected smile of the January sun,
Spectators and participants prepare for the rehearsed skirmish,
Which, upon the word, starts with the stunning thunder of an artillery barrage,
Joined immediately by the pyrotechnic thunder of the musketeers.
Stimulating a miscellany of standards and banners,
As taunt and challenge, cheer and counter-cheer, fill the air with oral hostility.
The two sides close and clash, dividing into detached groups of sparring combatants,
Wheeling scrums of belligerent pikemen, ploughing and puddling the meadow's soggy turf.
Opposing officers crossing swords with disciplined pugnacity, whilst overhead,
Grey smoke, with its acrid stench of spent powder, drifts in the day's light breeze.
In time the mock battle reaches its predetermined Roundhead triumph,
The day's lusty soldiers reluctantly disengage, reassemble and disperse-,
And as the cold, damp air of a riverside dusk settles, peace returns to the memorial scene. |
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