The sun rose this morning. That’s my job done for the year.

On May Day morning, about 4.30am, the stalwart members of Coton Morris Men and the Ely and Littleport Riot rolled out of bed, put their bells on and journeyed to Ely Cathedral. There they performed the ancient dances of their folk, starting in the icy darkness before dawn, to encourage the sun in its journey into the sky.


Thus, though their hardy musician suffered a painful numbing of her fingers such that the music became a great labour unto her sore hands, still they capered on until with a great burst of golden light, behold


The sun arose upon Ely cathedral, and also upon all those other places in the world, such as Harrogate, and Ipswich and Shingay-cum-Wendy. Then, seeing that the regular rotation of the earth and the celestial bodies had been preserved, the dancers cried the ritual words, “blimey, I’m cold. How about breakfast?” And there was great rejoicing.

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