Heatwave Heroes & Ice Cream Angels

Kris King

Uploaded August 6, 2021 8:59am.

Busking at the market on the hottest day EVER - just had to be commemorated and enshrined in song. The song contains snippets from the market day, some memories from the hot summers of youth, and most vitally the four horsemen of the apocalypse and St Macarius the patron saint of merchants.

The old girl under the fishing shade is of course me - emoting away under my brolly. Gosh though - those ice-creams were welcome.

Lyrics:

There were heatwave heroes and ice-cream angels fighting and flying in the blazing hot sun
fiery men mounted on horseback– wielding sword, famine, beast, and pestilence
I never was one to catastrophise – but I have seen it with my own eyes
patron saint of the merchants give us strength and resilience
Oh Venerable Macarius of the Yellow Water Lake and the Unzha, the Miracle Worker
bring us ice bring us cream and the cool waters of benevolence

circled wagons at the Sunday marketplace
too hot to do much of anything more than just get through the hours oh
red hot rays and rainbow diamonds seed the sweat on our eyelids,
and the old girl under the fishing shade just goes on singing those songs
I remember the summer of seventy six – silver fishnets and cotton shirts
grandad taught me an old army trick to keep the sun off my back
back in the sixties when I was small sand-pipes and sweat and talk about the end of days
pavements too hot for our feet, silk dipped into the river and laid across my neck

There were heatwave heroes and ice-cream angels fighting and flying in the blazing hot sun
firery men mounted on horseback– wielding sword, famine, beast, and pestilence
I never was one to catastrophise – but I have seen it with my own eyes
patron saint of the merchants give us strength and resilience
Oh Venerable Macarius of the Yellow Water Lake and the Unzha, the Miracle Worker
bring us ice bring us cream and the cool waters of benevolence
wilted flowers at the Sunday market place

too hot to do much of anything more than just get through the day oh
time moves slowly and the air is still and we are baked to perfection
and the old girl under the fishing shade just goes on singing those songs
I remember summers in caravans – stretched out on the dunes with a telescope
staring at ships on the sparkling sea with a pirate patch on my eye
heat and the haze on the headland, cold lemonade and talk about the best of days
sand on the soles of my feet silk bound up in my hair and lifting in the breeze

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