It seems a short day today although we jig for the normal six hours. My foot, rather sore at the end of the sixth day has seemed to be somewhat recovered after a long rest, but I soon discover that it can hurt a lot more. In 1600 Kempe tells us that when he strained his hip he ‘..held on, finding remedy by labour that had hurt mee.’
I follow his advice and find the opposite to be the case. By day’s end I am hobbling, leaning on Nicholas for support.
But today we reach Northamptonshire, the county of our journey’s end.

Our jig takes us through Cropredy, site of a Royalist victory in 1644 and of the Fairport Conventions annual farewell concert: the Cropredy Festival. We meet Mary, who joy of joy wears no rings on her left hand. She is on her bicycle going to feed her friend’s rabbit. She tells us that we are a bit of joviality in a life with too much sadness and I sense that she is warming to me. I mention that I notice she is unwed and go down upon one knee. She cycles hurriedly away, calling over shoulder that she has taken off her ring and she is very happily hitched thank you and goodbye!

We follow through the village and meet with the Goater family, who regret that they will not be coming to the Festival of History because that is when the Cropredy Festival is on. Otherwise they would definitely have been there. Young Henry keeps trying to give me his Teddy, or is he hitting me with it?

Timmy, a dog who turns out to be from a Rescue centre, barks loudly and keeps backing off.
‘It’s because of your hat,’ his owner explains, ‘He was abused by someone who wore a hat.’
I smile in an understanding way at her and her partner, who, incidentally, is wearing a hat.

 Along the canal we meet with Lee who is enjoying life and might well see us at Kelmarsh. The Barrat and Benford Families are headed for Napton on their hired narrow boats, then home to Cambridge.
‘You’re Radio Rental’ Says Mr Barrat.

There is no obvious boundary between Oxfordshire and Northants, so we pose for a picture by Apple Tree Farm, the first dwelling marked on the map inside the new county.  There we meet an Agricultural plant breeder called Tim and his apprentice. They rent buildings from Apple Tree’s owner John Adams. This causes some confusion because the apprentice is called John Adamson, but he isn’t John Adam’s son, Tom and Paul are, whom we do not meet. They (Tim and John the apprentice) tell us of a new grass they have bred and I dance a jig for them.
‘You’ve lost your marbles!’ says Tim.

As we come into Aston le Walls, we meet The Frusher family, Julie, David and Helly with their friend Clare from London. Her dog is called Bree and is apparently a Desperate Housewife. As a male dog runs past, she proves her point. The Frushers are apparently descended from Huguenots, but no one quite knows who the Huguenots were. (16th Century French Protestants)

All day we keep getting calls from James from the Northampton Chronicle and Mercury. Originally he had wanted a picture of us entering the county. But eventually, at 2.30pm, he meets us two miles short of our eventual finish, spends five minutes with us and gets a better picture than we have managed all seven days.

We finish as Badby, about four miles short of Daventry. Six miles ahead of our plan and only 21 miles to go!

Estimate on Map: 11.7 miles. Pedometer Reading 12.5 miles
Start of Jig 9.28 am. Finish 4.15pm.

Kempe recalls that on one day during his Nine Daies Wonder, 
‘Tom Slye (The Taberer) was earlier up then the Lark and sounded merrily the Morice’

Setting off on Day 6, near Sibford Ferris This morning Nicholas does not appear until a quarter to ten and thus we do not start jigging until well after eleven. We still make good progress however through the villages of Sibford Ferris, Shutford and Hanwell, describing an arc to the North East of Banbury. We finish, very tired about a mile and a half short of Cropredy, having crossed the M40. On the way, we bake in the sun, experience hitherto fore undreamt of soreness of foot but are greeted warmly by many people.

As we commence we hear a loud noise and look up to see hawks, coloured red, flying above at great speed. Unusually, they fly in an arrow formation.

Just North of Hook Norton we meet N L Matthews, he gives Nicholas his card but drives off without talking to me. Do I frighten him? We also meet Derek Matthews, the landlord of the Bell Inn in Hook Norton. I think he agrees that anyone mentioning the name “Peterkin the Fool” in his establishment will be entitled to free beer, though if you are refused or your request meets with violence please blame me.

Later that day we meet his twin brother driving an identical vehicle. He claims that Derek is a bit mad.

In Sibford Ferris, a car load of people pulls in to the side of the road. I jig up to them and bow my deepest courtesy, but the driver looks very frightened, waves her hand for me to go away and quickly turns around and drives off. I begin to get a little concerned.

Nicholas has taken to playing in strange time signatures. I try jigging in 17/8 and in 9/3 but look even more ridiculous than I normally do.

We meet a lady with a dog called Scrumpy. Scrumpy looks at me, whines and pulls away on her leash. I could begin to take this personally. Scrumpy’s owner tells us: ‘You’re as queer as a diesel driven donut.’

Jigging with Celia in Hanwell, Day 6 As we pass a local feature called Jester’s Hill, Nicholas serenades us with a strange version of the Beatles’ ‘Fool on the Hill’ Apparently it ‘doesn’t fit’ on the three fingered pipe he is playing and thus is almost completely unrecognisable. Over the next two miles I catch snatches of ‘Yellow Submarine, ‘God Save the Queen’ and the Archers theme tune. He also starts doing hamster impressions. I wonder if the sun is affecting him.

Just past Shutford, Elfie the Malamute (A dog rather than a Tolkein character) barks and growls at me. I realize a little too late that wearing a costume for six days in this heat might have made me quite unpleasant to contemplate. This now explains many people’s behaviour through the day. The Perry Family tell us we are: ‘quite potty, but really rather lovely’ I ask Mrs Perry if that means she will consent to be my wife, but it appears she is already married.

The village of Hanwell brings us Celia who invites us in for a cup of tea. Today is the anniversary of her brother’s death and she is really pleased to meet us because he would have loved the lunacy of our escapade. She tells us we are ‘A filling short of a sandwich’ before dancing a jig with me. Half way through her partner returns with their granddaughter and I show her a magic trick marginally less skilful than my jig, Nicholas plays ‘The wheels on the bus’ for her on his pipe which has her giggling and skipping around. I am very jealous. Celia’s partner tells us we are ‘Top and short of a penny’

We end the day late and tired but now within 35 miles of Kelmarsh with three days jigging still to go.

Estimate on Map: 11.6 miles. Pedometer Reading 12.5 miles
Start of Jig 11.15 am. Finish 6.32pm.

In 1599 Kemp accepted a ride out of Chelmsford to set him back to where he had left off dancing the previous Saturday. We accepted a similar kindness this morning out of Bourton-on-the-Water back to the Fosseway where we left off last Friday

From there we skirt round Stow-on-the-Wold and head east for the Rollrights (Little and Great) before turning North again on the Banbury Road.

T Peterkin and family, near the Rollrights, Day 5 he day is again warm, but milder than the previous week and we have a following breeze most of the way.

On our way we meet, as always, a variety of people and have some unexpected guests.

As we pass through the hamlet of Maugersbury we spy four Llamas in a field and I annoy Nicholas for the next mile thinking up variations on the theme of Dally, Delli or Delay Llamas. I have a small mind and it is easily occupied.

In the same village we meet Brenda Parsons, teacher at the Stow on the Wold Scottish Country Dance Group. I prove to her in no uncertain terms that my jig is of the rudest fashion and she smiles sadly at me. Her friend, Edith Vaughn, is visiting her and she entertains us with her life story, including stories of ‘piece and jam’ thrown down from the windows of a Glasgow tenement to hungry children for their tea.

At Oddington a trio of half naked men on some scaffolding find great merriment in my antics, but refuse to wolf whistle, even though I show them my finest calf (as in lower leg rather than young cow).

Half a mile down the road we meet Pippa and Prabhu. Pippa gladly jigs with me and her husband tells us: ‘Tu to paagul hái  (Hindi) They say that they had taken us for journeymen and I instantly fall in love with the idea of being a journeyman fool, going from village to village and accepting work from anyone in need of an honest day’s folly.

Two hundred yards down the road a red car flashes it lights and pulls in. The driver is waving enthusiastically and the rear seat passenger is filming us on a handheld video. I smile, bow and jig a little demonstration before realizing it is my mother and father together with our daughter (mine and my partner’s rather than mine and Nicholas’). Their enthusiasm is very endearing. If I can reach my dotage in as charming a way as they, then I shall be a happy man. They are also very loyal and totally dedicated to the furtherance of my career even if they sometimes have a little difficulty remembering which of their three sons I am.

We spend a pleasant few minutes with them and meet them at various points along the route before dancing a jig with them at the ‘Kings Men Standing Stones’ at Little Rollright. My daughter hugs me good-bye than exclaims ‘Uuuuurgh!’ as she feels the dampness of my jerkin.

At The Stones we meet Eileen and Peter Robinson of Ramsbottom in Lancashire. Eileen is a member of the Ramsbottom British Legion Ladies Darts Team and tells us ‘You’re doo lally’. As she arrives she is wearing a Mr Toad style leather driving helmet - they are travelling in a replica 1930s Squire sports car.

We also meet Anne Bathurst, taking her mother home from Malvern. She is related to Lord Bathurst but affects not to know how many of his relatives need to pass away before she can assume the title. She tells us; ‘You’re a few slates short of a full roof’

Our last encounter is with a near naked Adonis holding his young son above a paddling pool. Nicholas deduces that he is ex-army, I think it more likely he is ex-Chippendales.

Estimate on Map: 10.5 miles. Pedometer Reading 14.2 miles
Start of Jig 9.30 am. Finish 5.28pm.

I think I should have looked up the meaning of the ‘Wold’ part of Cotswold, before starting on this venture. The Fosseway, built originally by the Romans, runs straight as an arrow up the side of about four ‘wolds’ between Cirencester and Bourton-On-the-Water, the gradient: 14% (I think that’s about 1 in 7). I was also somewhat hampered by having accepted the invitation of my friend and fellow Fool Jenny to enjoy an evening out the night before.

T Peterkin in Bourton-on-the-water, Day 4 he day started well by my leaving Nicholas’ tabor (or drum) behind in the rooms I had been staying in. He improvised with a stone jar and an old belt (see pictures) but I was not a popular man.

The traffic was heavier, the road narrower but the drivers still generally friendly and enthusiastic. As always, found the road full of people to talk to. So many people have told us that we must be mad, that we have taken to asking them to express it in their own vernacular.

We met Mr and Mrs Price on their way to Porthcawl having dropped off their dog in Bourton. They were not lost, merely enjoying the diverse geography of the Fosseway. (‘The cheese has slid off your cracker’)

Carol and Angela at the Hare and Hounds Inn (a 15th Century Coaching house at Foss Cross) Staying at the Inn was a Scottish Lady, down in the area for a wedding. Not her own, she told me and no she was not looking for a husband, thank you and goodbye. (‘Ye maun be reid-wud’)

Mr and Mrs North from Sheffield, returning from a holiday in Wales. They had got lost in Bath on the way home so had stopped to miss the jams in Coventry’s rush hour. Mr Smith would like to start a campaign to replace motorway bridges over large rivers with tunnels. (‘E god, thee mun mun be a gawby’)

An English woman with a German husband and daughter, from Merzig in Saarland, S W Germany. She jigged with me but doesn’t want the photograph seen by anyone (‘Du musst total verrückt sein’).

We arrived at the junction for Bourton on the Water at 5.19pm and realized that our route took us past the town. Accordingly we agreed to end the jig there for the day and so went in to see Bourton itself. There we were met with a wonderful reception as I danced a demonstration jig and explained our purpose. A whole clutch of children – whom, I was informed, were not all of the same family, danced over one of the bridges with me.

We also met: Norma Keogh from Melbourne (‘You’ll be off yer rocker, Mate!’); Bonnie & Sam from Taiwan, studying at Nottingham University  (‘Neī fang le’ – Mandarin); and Shawn and Jerina from Singapore (awak sangat gila – Malay).

At nearly half past five, I took my last bow and headed off to rest, resolved to stay out of any of the local hostelries.

Map Distance: 12.2 miles. Pedometer Reading: 12.4 miles
Start of Jig 10.30 am. Finish 5.28pm.

Today we try to beat the sun by starting earlier, and I wear a sheer silk shirt to prevent heat rash. Works a treat!

We s Day 3, Peterkin en route to Cirencester et off along the main road to Cirencester. I receive a call from Radio Gloucestershire and I speak on air to a very nice man called Matt whilst dodging traffic and attempting to bow to everyone. I don’t make much sense, but he laughs a little.

People hoot, smile and wave. The temperature reaches 34 degrees (That’s 92 to us oldies), but wool has a peculiar property of keeping you warm in winter and warmer still in summer! At lunchtime we search for the source of the Thames to hear it has dried up so we make do once more with the water we carry ourselves. At one stop we see a swimming pool, but resist temptation to strip off and jump straight in.

Our Route takes us along the main road, joining the ancient Fosseway just past a place called Jackaments Bottom, near Kemble. We never learn who Jackament was or why his bottom was of such note. We go through the middle of Cirencester, stopping to jig with a member of the public and perform for a small crowd outside the Abbey Grounds. Three miles north takes us on to the Stow Road, again on the Fosseway.

We meet Harry Thomas, a chainsaw woodcarver who has just finished restoring a 1950 Compton Showman’s trailer. Stunning carvings and quite the smiliest family I have ever met. Then we meet an American lady, Deanne Delapena, and her daughter Cecily.
 
We learn about the Ghost of the Fosse from Ian, the owner of M B Snack Bar two miles south of Cirencester, and his friend Malcolm, the recycling lorry driver. Apparently when the road level was lowered no one told the ghost, so if you see someone floating four feet above the road just north of Moreton-On-the-Marsh you know why.

Just short of Cirencester, we meet Lisa, an agricultural stu Nicholas in the sun, 18 July 2006 dent from Johannesburg, en route to a charity shop with her old clothes. When told of the chance of a free ticket to the Festival of History in return for a picture of her jigging with us, she drops her black plastic bag and runs back to get her camera. We meet her again at the 15th-century Church of St John the Baptist, where, after a brief lesson, she dances a jig for a photo.

Meanwhile a lady called Anisa, kindly tells us our route north, but declines to jig. I ask her why and she explains that it would not be appropriate in her condition, I understand this to mean that she is expecting a baby and ask her when she is due. It appears that the Angel visited her on Lady Day, for she expects a Christmas baby.

We jig for the public at the gates of the Abbey Grounds, to a round of applause and an array of smiling faces. We continue across the grounds and through the magnificent 12th Century Gate House, the only surviving building of Cirencester Abbey.

Our last encounter of the day is with a Mrs Sue Prout (‘I became a vegetable when I married’ she explains)
‘Are you lost?’ asks she
‘No,’ says I ‘We know where we are going, it is just a very long way away!’

Map Distance: 11.5 miles. Pedometer Reading: 13.4 miles

After a few good days rest, we are out of bed at 6.30am, ready for anything. We retrace our steps to the Church at Chipping Sodbury, where our departure is met with some incredulous stares. People call their friends over to watch and drivers sound their horns.

The day is set to be the hottest of the year so far. As we cross Sodbury Common the sun beats down on our backs. A herd of cows walk over to see what the noise is. As I bow, they fall into line behind and fol Day 2, Peterkin at Horton Primary Schoollow us as far as the next cattle grid.

Our route takes us next through Horton, past Horton Primary School. I tell the school children of our purpose and dance a jig with them. They are fascinated – especially with our appeal for urine!

As we venture cross country to Petty France, we meet two beautiful horses and their owner, a stallion named OJ and a mare called September. A short conversation reveals them to be joust horses and we talk of the English Heritage Knights Tournament (next date playing at Scarborough Castle 29 – 30 July).

The temperature reaches 32 degrees as we make our way along the main road through Didmarton, Westonbirt and towards Tetbury. I am met with friendly waves from most, with a tattooed lorry driver hooting and cheering loudly, and a van driver giving me the Agincourt salute.

We also meet John and Charlie, estate workers for the Duke of Beaufort. They are erecting bollards to keep the public away from the gate house to his estate. He is a good and kind employer, they tell us and at Christmas all the workers are invited in for drinks.

Police Constables Evans and Crocombe of the Royal Protection Squad seem a bit confused when I enquire and take down their names. I ask them what they are doing, and it emerges that we are outside the Prince of Wales’ residence at Highgrove. Order is restored as they take down our particulars and ask us what we are doing.
For some reason they seem amused. I ask ‘If I throw Nicholas at you would he count as an offensive weapon?’
We escape arrest. Neither will divulge their first name so we resolve to call them both Bill. The Prince seems unaware of our presence and we jig past his estate, but I think his trees appreciate Master Nicholas’ music.

As we jig through Tetbury, pausing for photographs at the Church of St Mary The Virgin and the 17th Century Old Market Hall, we excite a lot of comment from the people in the cafés. I ask one lady for directions then find myself upon my knee asking for her hand in marriage. She laughs and declines.

We finish Day Two a mile beyond Tetbury, quite tired, but having proved ourselves again. Tomorrow we head for the ancient settlement of Cirencester.

Map Distance: 13.5 miles. Pedometer Reading: 14.6 miles