Caller's Lament
I became a caller by chance and not design
The path is fraught with many a hidden snare
You strive to give the impression that it’s just a piece of cake
To control a room of dancers standing there
First you take a booking date, venue and the time
You ask what sort of function it will be
Then you find the venue’s changed, often time as well
The date is changed to when you are not free
Then to make a programme. Is the building long or square
Perhaps a thick pile carpet on the floor
Is there a stage, is there power and have the chairs got arms
Will someone please unlock the door
Perhaps the room has pillars with plugs along midway
So the band is in the centre of the wall
The longways sets are sideways and going round the bend
Its L-shaped at the bottom of the hall
Are there even numbers of ladies and of men
Or will the female ratio win the day
Are they young and full of zest, leaping madly round
Or dance a slower steadier way
All these considerations make programme planning hard
Should I include this time a stepping dance?
Perhaps a Little Hunsdon, Argiers or Rock the Line
Each client needs a proper chance
I unload the equipment, the speakers and the amp
Connecting up the many leads with care
I unpack the instruments, then check the sound
Hastily discard the wobbly chair
I start off with a circle to see what folks can do
Yes only three are swinging the wrong way
A Sicilian shows problems progressing round the hall
This doesn’t seem to be my lucky day
The Four Russian sailors from the tanker in the bay
Wreak havoc with my Cumberland Square Eight
While Farmer John and Bessie Bray descend into a heap
Just because I mentioned giving weight
There might be a Mr Awkward at the bottom of the hall
While you explain he’s chatting to his friends
You know he hasn’t listened whilst you carefully explained
But he’s telling neighbouring sets just how it ends
Musicians are talented and crucial to the show
BUT when I start to teach and call
If they talk and try their instruments
Its chaos and I can’t be heard at all
At last we’ve made the sets up and walked through the dance
The moment for the band to start draws near
When suddenly the sets disperse and vanish in a trice
The cry goes up THE PASTIES ARE HERE
At the close of the dance as the chairman gives thanks
And finally puts the mic back in your hand
You hear those happy voices as you pack away your gear
And say goodnight and thank you to the band
It’s a lonely occupation being a caller
It’s important that you wear a happy face
And there’s an answer to the usual critic
Would you like to come up here and take my place
Finally there’s the long drive home
All the heavy gear to stow away
But the dancers were happy, they all enjoyed the fun
So I’m preparing for another day.
The path is fraught with many a hidden snare
You strive to give the impression that it’s just a piece of cake
To control a room of dancers standing there
First you take a booking date, venue and the time
You ask what sort of function it will be
Then you find the venue’s changed, often time as well
The date is changed to when you are not free
Then to make a programme. Is the building long or square
Perhaps a thick pile carpet on the floor
Is there a stage, is there power and have the chairs got arms
Will someone please unlock the door
Perhaps the room has pillars with plugs along midway
So the band is in the centre of the wall
The longways sets are sideways and going round the bend
Its L-shaped at the bottom of the hall
Are there even numbers of ladies and of men
Or will the female ratio win the day
Are they young and full of zest, leaping madly round
Or dance a slower steadier way
All these considerations make programme planning hard
Should I include this time a stepping dance?
Perhaps a Little Hunsdon, Argiers or Rock the Line
Each client needs a proper chance
I unload the equipment, the speakers and the amp
Connecting up the many leads with care
I unpack the instruments, then check the sound
Hastily discard the wobbly chair
I start off with a circle to see what folks can do
Yes only three are swinging the wrong way
A Sicilian shows problems progressing round the hall
This doesn’t seem to be my lucky day
The Four Russian sailors from the tanker in the bay
Wreak havoc with my Cumberland Square Eight
While Farmer John and Bessie Bray descend into a heap
Just because I mentioned giving weight
There might be a Mr Awkward at the bottom of the hall
While you explain he’s chatting to his friends
You know he hasn’t listened whilst you carefully explained
But he’s telling neighbouring sets just how it ends
Musicians are talented and crucial to the show
BUT when I start to teach and call
If they talk and try their instruments
Its chaos and I can’t be heard at all
At last we’ve made the sets up and walked through the dance
The moment for the band to start draws near
When suddenly the sets disperse and vanish in a trice
The cry goes up THE PASTIES ARE HERE
At the close of the dance as the chairman gives thanks
And finally puts the mic back in your hand
You hear those happy voices as you pack away your gear
And say goodnight and thank you to the band
It’s a lonely occupation being a caller
It’s important that you wear a happy face
And there’s an answer to the usual critic
Would you like to come up here and take my place
Finally there’s the long drive home
All the heavy gear to stow away
But the dancers were happy, they all enjoyed the fun
So I’m preparing for another day.