Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.

Wednesday 3^rd August 2011

To all members Essex D

Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.

Thankfully enough of you have kindly cancelled your holidays to allow us to field a team. Many thanks for the expressions of regret or remorse about unavailability and your best wishes for the night.

For those of you reading this on your iPhones in Antibes, Faliraki or Cleethorpes I hope the weather holds or gets better*, that the hotel is as described in the brochure and that you can live with the choice you made. No matter how wrong it was.

In your absence my merry band o’ men will see the campaign out with a resounding win or loss and a pint in the Bell. The team is:

Philip of Fordham

“Big”John

“Little” Andy

Tom, Tom the piper’s son

Peter the Wise

Hugh the Mad

And as travelling reserve and arbiter bibendum, me.

For those of you wondering who Tom is, he is the future. A 21 year old with a proper forehand, rocket service and everything. It’ll be hard to drop him after stepping in like this….. Bet you wished you hadn’t gone on holiday now, don’t you?

Finally, and because I think we may need all the help we can get, I offer a bit of inspiration from The Bard who obviously had August the 4^th at Castle Hedingham in mind when he wrote:

(read this out loud for maximum shivers-down-your-spine impact)

“This day is called the feast of Crispian:

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,

And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

He that shall live this day, and see old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.

And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'

Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,

But he'll remember with advantages

What feats he did that day: then shall our names.

Familiar in his mouth as household words

Neil the Skip, John, Philip, Tom, Andy, Peter and good Sir Hugh,

Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.

This story shall the good man teach his son;

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,

From this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be remember'd;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,

This day shall gentle his condition:

And gentlemen on holiday now a-bed

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.”

Apt, I think. OK, that is all. Gentlemen to bed, for tomorrow we ride to victory.

N

* delete as appropriate