Peasant’s Rest

Here is a nostalgic song about Rowany Festivals past.

When Festival was held at Fairholme Park in Wilton, a lot of people who left on Tuesday would stop at the service station at Pheasants Nest, a little way south of the site. There they would partake of two of the mundane world’s luxuries: hot showers with unlimited water, and fast food that didn’t have to be cooked over (in those days) a cooking fire.

Of course, I never called it Pheasants Nest. I took note of the fact that, shorn of our finery, we were all equals now, no longer Master This and Princess That, and so gave it a different name. This song is about that. The tune is an original; I’ll record it as soon as I can get the BatPup’s assistance.

January 2020

The Tuesday’s bright, unwelcome light
On bleary memories of last night;
Marquees deflating, cars on site:
It must be time to leave.
Our tents and armour neatly stowed;
Some hugs delivered, far more owed;
Before we hit the open road
There’s still one brief reprieve.

All Lords and Ladies, plainly dressed,
I’ll meet you at the Peasant’s Rest
Before we start our final quest
To wend our homeward way.
Though heading south or north or west,
I’ll meet you at the Peasant’s Rest
The mundane need not manifest
We’ll keep it all at bay.

The food’s… OK… it must be said;
It’s nice not waiting, underfed,
An hour and a half for bread!
(A shame about the taste.)
But in behind the loos that flush
The queues have formed a major crush
For proper showers — what a rush!
A week of dust erased.

The siren call of home and bills
Will send us off like Burke and Wills
To modern life’s satanic mills;
Next Easter’s years away.
But here upon these plastic chairs
Postpone a while your looming cares.
(You know they’re waiting, all your shares.)
Let’s rest a while and stay.