"Ay, so ’tis, a ceremony that’s come down from very ancient days, very ancient indeed, when we was all heathens, so it seems.  ’Tis the anointing of the British Stone, they do call it, a rare old block of granite all by itself in a field some way north o’ the town. Nobody knows how it come there, but ’tis said there was a battle on the spot, I don’t know how many hundred years ago, and a whole cemetery of bones down below.  Whatever the truth is, the mayor and corporation marches out in full rig once a year, and the mayor breaks a bottle o’ cider, the wine o’ the country, atop of the stone.  I say ’tis just an excuse for a randy, for they make a sort of fair o’t, wi’ stalls and merry-go-rounds, and I don’t know what all.  There won’t be so much fun as usual this year, though, owing to shortage of sugar for sweets and cakes and such. Still, maybe ’twill be worth your seeing, being so ancient."