I met Frank on Saturday, the day of the Mayor of Ock Street. He told me a few of his Morris Dancing memories.
He was with the Abingdon Traditional Morris Dancers up until 1956 — that makes him one of the oldest ex-dancers still about. He got into it when he was at Boxhill School — him and half a dozen other lads. It meant missing a lesson for an hour. Next thing, because he was good enough, he was dancing with the regular side.
He remembers a young Stuart Jackson — he was the mascot back then. Stuart went on to be the Mayor of Ock Street many times, and now is President.
Frank was dancing in Conduit Road one day when Prince Philip drove past. The Queen and him were in Abingdon to reopen the County Hall Museum. The Prince did a double take when he saw the Morris Dancers in all their kit. Must’ve thought, ‘Whats going on here?’
There was a big Morris ring meeting over in Buckinghamshire one year and Slim Mooring was the fool. He had a pig’s bladder, same as Roger Cox carries now, and went about bopping people with it. He got near this policeman — who was there to keep the crowds in order — and raised the bladder as if to bop him. The policeman just gave him a look, as if to say, ‘You just try it, and see where it gets you.’
They had lots of Americans in those days, from the airbase. They loved all the old English traditions and used to stand and watch the dancing and throw coins, half crowns sometimes.
Major Frier played the accordion and he’d drive the dancers round in his old maroon charabanc. It looked more like a hearse than a bus.
And poor Jimmy Grimsdale. One day he sat on a bag of cherries in his white Morris trousers. He didn’t realise until it was too late and a great big red embarrassing patch bloomed on his backside all day.
When Frank was sixteen, he looked at the older dancers — some nearing forty — and thought, ‘They’ll never get through the day!’ But even though they could hardly walk, they kept on dancing.
