Between the thumps of the drum and whoops of joy, I could hear the church tower ring out something o'clock. Half of the count lost to the good natured revelling near me. Whatever time it was, the village party was well under way. The beer had been flowing, people had eaten well and the band - Micky's Dozen - although there seemed to be well over that on stage - were giving it there all. Feet and boots stamped on the make-shift wooden floor as people danced away under the stars. They were thankful for good weather and the harvest it had given us.
Me? Oh, I wasn't dancing. Not really my thing. I sat in the the fringe between dark and light, old solar lamps completing with polished paraffin burners. Micky lead the riotous musicians into one song after another and each time I wondered how the crowd could keep up, but keep up they did. Cardys, shawls and jumpers were cast aside in the frantic movements. Hair was let down and hats tossed towards the straw bales that ringed the stage and wooden floor. There were whoops of delight as a pair of work trousers were thrown towards the band. Whoever had lost them, it was impossible to see.