[Arry]

One more song and then a brief break for the band . . .

‘What’s the name of the lad sitting there with your Marigold?’ asked Gil of Falco. ‘Rory,’ came the answer. Gil turned toward the table where Marigold and the lad sat. ‘A song for you, Mistress Marigold, and your new friend, Rory, is it. A thank-you for the ale to wet our whistles!’ Gil winked at her and took a sip from his mug.

‘Now I know you all know this song,’ Gil went on, speaking to the rest of the crowd. ‘We’ve all had those dares when we were younger to see how long we could keep it going.’ He played the little tune once through and calls of, ‘Well, then, it’s Gaffer Finnigan! rang round the room. A number of the young Hobbits there with their families crowded up around the group of players and clapped their hands.

‘I’ll start it off, then,’ Gil said to them, and you can add verses.

There was an old man named Gaffer Finnigan
He grew whiskers on his chinnigan
The wind came up and blew them in again
Poor old Gaffer Finnigan, begin again

Little Daisy Heathertoes piped up in her sweet eight year old voice with a verse aimed at her older brother, Tolly:

There was a clumsy boy named Tolly Finnigan
He fell down and broke his shinnagin
Folks said, "Tolly, you'll never swim again"
Poor old Tolly Finnigan, begin again

Tolly turned red and screwed up his brow trying to think of a verse, but Gil’s little brother grinned and stood up. He raised his voice, pointing a finger at his older brother:

There was an OLD man called Gilly Finnigan
He kicked up an awful dinnigan
Because they would not let him sing again
Poor old Gilly Finnigan, begin again

Gil laughed and stuck his tongue out at his brother. ‘Little imp!’ He nodded toward Rory and made up a verse:

There was a young lad named Rory Finnigan
He hid away in the apple binnagin
Sister closed the lid, wouldn’t let him out again
Poor old Rory Finnigan, begin again

Rory put on a face of mock sadness and shook his finger at Camille. His little voice rang out then as he turned to Marigold:

There was a pretty girl named Marigold Finnigan
Went off fishing with a pinnagin
Hooked a trout but it fell in again
Poor old Marigold Finnigan, begin again

Gil and the others rang in with another chorus, as Falco piped the lively little tune.

There was an old man named Gaffer Finnigan
He grew whiskers on his chinnigan
The wind came up and blew them in again
Poor old Gaffer Finnigan, begin again

One of the old Gammers got up saying, ‘Don’t forget this verse!’

There was an old lady named Gammer Finnigan
She grew fat and then grew thin again
Thinner than a old clothes’ pinnigan
Poor old Gammer Finnigan, begin again

A number of other verses came out of the memories of the audience, some in quavering voices and some strong, though a mite off key. There was much clapping and good-natured laughter as many in the crowd joined in. At last Gil called out for one last chorus for the large and unfortunate members of the Finnagin family:

There was an old man named Gaffer Finnigan
He grew whiskers on his chinnigan
The wind came up and blew them in again
Poor old Gaffer Finnigan, begin again

Poor old Gaffer Finnigan, DON’T begin again

‘Time for a little break, don’t you think,’ said Tomlin, eyeing the trays of spice cake that the servers were now bringing out. The others agreed, laying their instruments back in their cases for the moment. Gil went with Falco to the table where Marigold and the Hedgeburrows sat. Introductions were made and Gil said thank-you once again to Marigold for the offer of drinks for the band. ‘And a fine little voice you have, Master Rory,’ he said, turning to shake the lad’s hand. ‘Give us a look up when you’re a bit older and we’ll see about bringing another singer into the group.’ Rory’s face lit up with pleasure. ‘And mayhap, Mister Headstrong here can teach you a bit of the whistle, too.’

‘And speaking of whistles,’ Gil went on, looking up at Falco, ‘how ‘bout you choose the next song – let us follow along behind you. We’d be honored.’