I stepped up to my baby, laying an arm over his shoulders.

“Do you think you will?”

“How do I know, Dad? Not exactly been in any sort of thing with a girl before, have I?”

“Son… Mum and me, we talked you through where we were, before we met. When we were with Alan and Carolyn”

“They’re still family, Dad”

“Thank you, son. That means more than I think you know. Right… What I am hearing from you, I have heard before, and so has your Mum, so did Carolyn, the original. Confidence. Self-confidence, to be exact. None of us has it, or maybe had it, back then, and Auds said it so well, when… before Caro and I got together. Neither of us had any belief that we were worth anything”

“Dad…”

“Shush, son. If what you’re trying to say is that the sun shines out of my backside, I’ll take that under advice, but not now. Everyone outside the two of us, both pairings, that is, everyone else could see where we should be heading, but what sealed it…”

I drew in a deep breath, checking we were still alone.

“Little voices, Ish, for both of us. Whispering about adultery and betrayal”

“But that’s ridiculous!”

“Yup. That’s imposter syndrome, though. Pretty common, I’m told. What I did to cool it down was tell myself that there in front of me is the finest of women, and she has chosen me. She says she did the same, but it was easier for me because I got your Mum, and all she got was me”

“You do still talk some crap, Dad”

“Maybe, but look at it this way. You two met in a really busy place, with loads of fit young men on the rock. Clara’s at college, surrounded by more young men. She still chose you, though. If you value her opinion, then there’s your answer. As for getting it wrong, well, we all do. When it goes tits up, what you do is backtrack, go back to the basics of the relationship. And say sorry, even if you aren’t the one who slipped up”

I gave him another squeeze.

“And do the Big Picture thing: what might you lose in proving that you’re ‘right’?”

I made the appropriate finger wiggle for that one, and got a chuckle in return.

“Now, what’s the plan for this cooly aily thing?”

“Are you going to keep calling it that?”

I shrugged, grinning.

“Well, it’s your sister’s gift to the family, son”

“Okay. We are doing it on the grass between the beer and food tents. Be there or be rectangular. Shall we get this stuff back to the kitchen, then?”

I hugged him properly, getting a solid one in return, with a whispered “Thanks, Dad. I love you”

Maz and I lazed away our morning by the Village Stage once again before disentangling LC from a diablo rope with a promise of worms (noodles) for lunch and delivering it to her and Clara at the food tent, as our extended ‘tribe’ waited to cheer on our musical superstar-in-embryo. Pablo and Caroline settled themselves near us with a sigh, but no Rita, and as Pablo grinned and made an expansive gesture to the assembling ‘ukelele massive’, I spotted her in the not-inconsiderable crowd. Caroline did the honours.

“As she told you, when they first came to the UK, I treated them to a Steeleye gig, and she worships that new young fiddler of theirs. She’s clear she’ll never be as good, but it’s a sort of start. Right! Here we go. I’ll use my usual camera technique, love”

She gave me a grin and indicated her DSLR.

“I set it for multi-frame, so it fires off five shots each time. I get a lot of crap, but that’s the great thing about digitals—no film to waste. There she is, love, on the end, our left”

Clackclackclackclackclack.

There were all ages involved, and an obvious ‘steering group at the front. They played actual tunes while their ‘massive’ did what I always thought of as waving away flies. There were more than a few whose lips were moving as they clearly counted the beat, but it was largely in time and mostly in tune, and it was fun to watch so many people fulfilling young Darren’s observation as they entered into the music rather than simply being present while someone else delivered it.

LC ate her worms, but stopped for a cheer when she spotted her brother, who was grinning happily as he waved at his flies, but as one of the tallest there, he was in the back row, so none of us could catch more than a few glimpses of his cooly aily. Caroline held up a hand and pointed to the side, trotting off to what my military reading called an ‘enfilade’ position, and as the performance finished and the ‘massive’ dispersed, she came back with Rita, who was laughing happily.

“Got them both, people. ISH!”

She wasn’t up to Neil’s standards, for bloody obvious reasons, but there were some wonderful captures of both fly sweeping and facial expressions. Caroline beamed with satisfaction, looking around at our two families.

“Happy with that lot, I am. I’ll mail Steph the best of yours, Ish, and she can send them on”

He simply asked if he could just give her his own address, and Caroline shook her head.

“She says she always wants a first look at anything like that for, what’s the phrase, love?”

Pablo, in an atrocious attempt at a Welsh accent, said “Fun and profit through blackmail, I believe”

Steph shouted across, “Oy! I resemble that remark!”, before dissolving in laughter, at which point a very hushed Clara asked if she could have some sent to her. I couldn’t help thinking of that famous line from ‘Casablanca’, about always having Paris.

Enough of that, Rhodes: it was time to see Jimmy yet again, and to my surprise he called Mark up on stage to join him after about ten minutes. Jimmy’s accent was even thicker than normal, clearly for effect, but I gathered he was having plumbing difficulties, a clear reference to the lad’s smallpipes.

Another ten minutes, and it was a shout of “HOW STEPH! HOWAY UP HEOR!”

Ah. I was seeing a pattern in how he strove to keep his act fresh, and when he feigned surprise at something large and covered by a sheet, wanting to know who had left it there.

Off went the sheet, and I started laughing before he had barely begun shouting the next question: was there a harpist in the tent?

Up she went, and then Mark started his own cod-posh questions.

“My grandfather here believes that we require a rhythm section. Specifically, a young man called Darren”

It shouldn’t have worked: two fiddles, a set of Northumbrian smallpipes, a medium-sized harp and a bodhran, which had already been on stage awaiting the lad, but it did. They gradually increased speed, two fiddlers harmonising with the pipes, switching leads between the three of them, while Enfys used her harp almost like a rhythm guitar and Daz showed me exactly what Annie had described. Then…

“HOW! ANNIE!”, and then “HOW! KELLY!”

Annie slipped into the mix seamlessly, but Kelly had a board awaiting her, and as the band, as it now was, slowed slightly, she started clogging.

Eric leant across to me, during a pause for some incomprehensible announcement from Jimmy.

“They sometimes do a thing here they call a ‘folk slam’, Mike, but that’s all done by the pros. This is Jimmy’s answer to it. Blake?”

The big man leant forward in surprise.

“What exactly are you up to, Eric?”

“Wife’s idea, mate. I hope you, Mike and Ish are in good voice”

Jimmy put out the triple shout, and the three of us headed forward, where Stewards led us around the side and onto the stage, oh shit: those were the bloody Wilsons! One of them winked at me.

“Two songs only, lads. You know ‘Miner’s Life’? And ‘Rolling Home’? aye? Job’s a good’un, then. We’ll lead on the verses, you give us the boost in the choruses, okay? he’s a devious old bugger, is Kerr. Getting the appearance fee and leaving the work to everyone else”

There was a twinkle in his eye as he said it, which reassured me. Out we walked, Mark now doing the announcing after the applause on recognition of the Wilsons.

“Thank you, Shrewsbury. We’re tired of doing all the work, so it’s your turn to sing. The Wilsons are lending us their lungs, but we have three more very good friends: Blake Sutton, of Cardiff, give a wave, marra; and Mike and Ish Rhodes, all the way from Perth in Australia. Granda?”

Talk about intense. The band wove little details around our singing, but it was the four Teesside veterans who claimed the stage, the three of us simply bobbing in their wake, but still there, still feeling that thump to the diaphragm that a solid vocal group delivers.

The first song brought a full-throated response from the audience, but it was the second where I picked out the harmonies from both men and women. So, so REAL.

We were shepherded straight off stage, of course, while the band played some more tunes to finish their set.

The hairiest Wilson shook hands with me, another dangerous grin lurking there.

“Jimmy tells us ye’ve got a working song. About clay. We had a listen. Encore is a tune from the album, then you’re leading the song, if you like. If not, don’t worry. Anyway, you’ve got the voice for it, Mike. I’d take a chance. Right—they’ve finished the clapping”

The MC hadn’t finished, as she started the traditional ‘do you want more/can’t hear you’ speech, and then our friends started playing ‘Bonelace’. It’s a really sweet, melancholy piece, and they passed it round the group, all except the bodhran giving their own interpretation, until it was left to Annie and her flute to bring it to a soft conclusion.

Jimmy waited for the applause to die down, before saying something like, “Ye cannat gan hyem feeling like that! Howay back, lads”

They shuffled me to the right spot, I drew breath, and…

Darren was so abso bloody lutely right.

We sang; we finished. The crowd roared. Jimmy and the others took a standing bow in line with us, and the MC made her announcement.

“JIMMY KERR AND STEPHANIE WOODRUFF ON FIDDLE! MARK WOODRUFF-KERR ON NORTHUMBRIAN SMALLPIPES! ENFYS HIATT-EDWARDS ON HARP! ANNIE JOHNSON ON FLUTE! DARREN EYRES-JOHNSON ON BODHRAN! MIKE AND ISH RHODES AND BLAKE SUTTON ON VOCALS! KELLY WOODRUFF-KERR ON CLOGS! AAAAAAAAAND----THE WILSONS!”

It got even more embarrassing as we made our way back to our ‘tribe’, for random groups in the audience kept stopping by us to applaud, or shake hands, or simply say some form of ‘thanks’. There were other expressions of appreciation, but as they were between pairs of individuals, they were rather more intimate, and neither Ish nor Clara held back. Enfys was in her own world of happiness, as Alys stopped snogging her, and the former just grinned at me.

“All Jimmy’s idea, Mike. That’s why I brought my harp, or rather Geoff did. Can’t exactly lug it around sessions, can I?”

Jan and Elaine were conspiring, gathering together some of the uninvolved, and as we headed for the picnic tables for a rest, they came trooping back with our eskie, which held a collection of ice lollies and cans of fizz.

As we sipped and sucked, Clara’s phone chirped. She tapped it open, then squealed.

“It’s from Kim! They were all watching the live stream! You’re famous!”

Jimmy settled down next to us, just as Mark returned from the bar.

“Shropshire Gold, Granda”

“Aye, that’ll de, son. Ah!”

The ‘ah’ came after a slow but long sip from his pint.

“Champion”

His accent faded a little, his speech now oddly precise, exactly as Steph and Annie had described.

“Ah hev a gig the morn, and the Wilsons are driving us. I am gan te find a space in the shade where I can listen te Mister Thompson withoot getting crisped by the sun. Ye wez aal canny up there, by the way, but divvent ask us for a cut of the fee”

He can never stay serious for long.

“Mike?”

“Aye, Jimmy?”

“Thy bairn, aye? Been watching hor, each time we’ve met since that shite got sorted. She is coming alang champion. Ah wez worried. But, well, ganna embarrass ye here by saying ye are a bloody good Dad and husband. Aye, ye an aal, Maz. I mean, getting better, not being a Dad, like. Aye, we plotted te get the gigs, but it’s been a real delight. Ah, we aal knaa, ye’ll be gone soon, but divvent forget us, for we will nivvor forget thee”

I shook his hand, the lovely old sod, and tried not to sound rude.

“Long way to and from our place, Jimmy”

“Ah knaas, but it’s not that far te thy Scottish Fiddlers’ Club, even though Ah’m ne Scot, and that little festival in the woods sounds canny”

I watched my wife’s jaw drop.

“You’re coming over to Perth?”

He took another long pull from his pint.

“Aye. Ah dee foreign tours ivvory couple o year. Not deein America for a few years, and so it’s Oz. Beer’s a little better there, at least, than Yankland. Got twenty dates doon there. Just need somewhere te kip when Ah’m in Western Oz. Any ideas?”