Martha
The Tart that 'does'.
Left, or rather was invited to leave, Dorset after the residents of Verwood realised she was related to Richard Cabel (the inspiration for Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Hound of the Baskervilles).
Her tearful mother gave her a parting gift of her best dress and some spare curlers. She had to buy her own bra from George (from ASDA that is) but still hasn't realised that in Yorkshire it isn't customary to wear it on the outside.
Pioneer of the coconut implant -easier to source than the silicone implant- get it down the market...
Eschews the traditional tankard for a low slung hot water bottle complete with Mother's ruin.
Rarely to be seen without her..........................
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Were the good folk of Verwood right after all??
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The Vicar
The Vicar was rescued from almost certain disgrace in the
early days by the Tarts, following an ‘unfortunate incident’ at a funeral
involving a heavy glass of communion wine, a pair of warring siblings and some
bike clips. In return for their hospitality he offers divine intervention for
every aspect of Tarting, including ordering rain for when the supposedly ‘big
name sides’ are dancing, to the resurrection of the souls of the fallen women
who make up the Tarts.
The inspiration
for Dick Emery’s Barmy Vicar (before he got his teeth fixed), the Vicar is
actually much older than he appears, and is the high kick specialist of the
team. Just don’t ask him what time the services are on Sunday, as he hasn’t
been inside a church for years.
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The Witch
Mystery surrounds the early years of the Witch. An
apparently ageless specimen, she is believed to be around 300 years old and
hails from the wilds of the South Yorkshire forest. Though, as she is prone to programming her
broomstick’s sat nav system (formerly a cat) in incorrectly on a frequent
basis, she has lived all over the country. She is one of the newer members of
the Tarts, latching onto them during one of their Hallowe’en excursions and
feeling quite at home amongst the weird and wonderful characters. A rather grumpy,
plump looking creature, she is to be approached with caution by anyone not
proffering beer or chocolate.
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The Tartlet
The Tartlet is the Tarts mascot. A rather endearing
creature, she was the result of an ill fated spell cast by the Witch some time ago.
Whilst wandering the freezing wilds of Yorkshire, the Tarts were feeling rather
peckish. Not being the most organised bunch, all they could rustle up was one
hard boiled egg between them. The Witch announced she would turn the egg into a
lamb, whereby they could roast the creature on the newly constructed bonfire.
However the silly Witch had been drinking too much of the Irish black stuff and
the words to the spell went somewhat awry. The result was an impossibly cute
child with a penchant for prawn cocktail crisps. Well even Tarts won’t eat
children (yet) so she was adopted into the team initially to play percussion.
However the Tartlet seems to spend more time chasing the Vicar and trying to
fix the sat nav on the Witch’s broom.
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Miss Tart
Miss Tart is the truly ravishing creature stolen
from a local beauty contest by the Tarts, as she was up against the Ever So
Slightly Scary Tart and was well, very very scared by her indeed. One of
quieter Tarts when allowed out in public, she is to be found in a beautiful
array of gowns and the kind of accessories to make a darts pro weep into his
soda water with envy.
When not leading the Maggot around the flagstones of the
UK, Miss Tart will be found sniffing around the MC Tart, wooing him with her
silky fiddle skills and fine line in stripy socks. |
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The Ever-So-Slightly-Scary Tart
Ever-So-Slightly-Scary Tart has left the safety of the
Rhubarb Triangle to become a Fiddle-Maker’s Assistant in the Scottish Borders. Quite
the scariest move she has ever made! In this land of Reivers and Ruffians she stumbled
across Rag Bag Morris – Rag Bag by name and Rag Bag by nature – and has become
one of their number. Her slinky velvet tops and bouncy headgear have been
replaced by a tatter jacket and a red top hat but, much to her disappointment,
face paint isn’t permitted.
As one of the original Rhubarb Tarts, tarting is in her
blood, and ESSST hopes to make a guest appearance or two when time and
circumstances allow. Until then, should you find yourself in the vicinity of
the Scottish Borders, watch out for her with Rag Bag Morris continuing the true
Reivers’ tradition of terrorising the inhabitants of small, picturesque
villages…
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Lady Tart
Lady Tart is the senior member of the Rhubarb Tarts. She was
initially drafted in to enable the slightly flagging Tarts gene pool with a bit
of class, elegance and the ability to make the meanest pavlova this side of
Russia. However not even the cultured vowels and globetrotting escapades of
this most elegant creature was enough to bring the standard of new recruits up
to the desired level, so she passes the time whooping the Mississippi, banging
an exotic variety of drums, sitting in any old gutter and making sure that the
Tartlet has a ready supply of crisps so that chaos does not ensue. A truly
fascinating Tart.
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Feather Tart
Often confused with being the Vicar’s carer, the Feathery
one is actually one of the founding members of the Tarts. Unfullfilled by being
a long standing member of just ONE team, she yearned to spread her wings
(covering everything with feathery bits) and dance dance wherever she may be.
After everyone else had stopped sneezing, they agreed that yes, she might be on
to something and.... LO! It became that on the First Day of Rhubarb the Feather
gave to all ten tambourinemen, nine lime and sodas, eight tankards gleaming,
seven muscles aching, six bangles clinking, FIIIIVE DIFFERENT HATS!!!, four
packs of tissues, three tubes of Savlon, two pairs of glasses and a fine Molly
dancer was born! (There are also rumours she is responsible for the arrival of
the Witch, claims she frequently denies).
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Hungry Tart
Another rather more cultured member of the Tarts, and one of
the more recognisable with his bright red Fez and assortment of instruments,
the Hungry Tart is also one of the original crew. Always on hand for those
wishing to know where the nearest cafe is, HT is a versatile musician. He was taught
how to play the squeezebox by a Moroccan pharmacist in Tangiers, whilst he was
searching for a pork pie one rainy afternoon.
The Hungry One was so entranced by the cocktail of music he could
produce from this wonderous instrument that he missed his tea for the first
time in some 60 years. He was so grateful to the pharmacist that he brought the
instrument to the Tart community and adopted the Fez in honour of the
pharmacist’s favourite comedian Mr Tommy Cooper (RIP). He is rarely allowed to
wander on his own during breaks in dances, so if you spot him on your travels,
do escort him back to where he belongs.
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Swedish Tart (Dancing Queen)
The country of Sweden has given us many fine things- the
Vikings, IKEA and Stefan Edberg immediately spring to mind- however one its finest
exports has to be the Swedish Tart, who comes armed with an insatiable appetite
for dance and an even more insatiable appetite for ice cream. A devotee of the
fine work of ABBA, our little Chiquita rarely meets his Waterloo during a
session, mainly due to being the Dancing Queen (and always knowing where the
nearest public convenience is- ask him if you see him. Quite extraordinary...).
Should an SOS be required due to a lame Tart, the team are always happy to Take
A Chance On Him as he is indeed a Super Trouper of the highest order.
The baby
of the team (barring any Tartlets), the Scandinavian Fernando is rather a shy
creature, however he is producing a promising double act with the Witch,
determined as they are to be the Bruce and Tess of Molly dance.
We never need
to ask him Does Your Mother Know as....
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Top Tart
is his mother
Can be seen at most dance outs mouthing the next figure to whoever will listen.....this is because she is the repository-yes you read that right- of The Dances.
What more can be said of the creator of Gregory's Powder- the dance obviously, not the ACTUAL pharmaceutical preparation.
Why Top Tart?
Well Rhubarb Tarts are mainly her fault - she did say it was possible, and a few of them believed her.
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| Pixie Tart
Most Tarts, upon encountering the team, simply tagged along,
invited themselves in or cast spells on all the dancers until they start seeing
things HER WAY. Some people have even MARRIED a Tart, so desperate were they to
join the hallowed bunch. Pixie, as in many things, does like to be different.
She was actually donated to the Tarts, right at the outset by a strange, darkly
bearded overlord who claimed to be related to the Black Dog. The reason for the
donation was rather unclear until the minute Pixie opened her mouth and all
manner of words tumbled from her mouth in a fit of verbal dysentery. The Tarts,
being a polite-if uneducated- bunch allowed her to ramble on for three whole
days, until they could take no more, gagging her with one of the tumbleweeds
that had floated by and set her to dance.
What a revelation! Despite being no
bigger than the (not very) common flea, the Pixie could dance! Powder, Pop
Tarts and a few bottles of liquid grape were duly found to enlarge this
delicate specimen, and a drum was procured from a passing child band- who
clearly remembered that Pixies like nothing better than a roasted child of an
evening- and a star was born. The voice, however, remains weeny sized. The
Tarts are many things, but they are not daft.
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The Cow Man
The Cowman is a parttime Tart-his other job is on the Faaarrm. Don't look too closely at the Fiddle strings you may not like to know what they're made of.......
Lucky audiences may get the chance to see him perform in his signature dance, Pandemonium. The trick is to understand that it's actually everyone else who's going the wrong way- though those in the know will realise it's because he's from Nottingham. If you can't make head nor tail of this please be reassured that we can't either.
The Cowman provides the practise venue for the Tarts and keeps it looking ship shape and bristol fashion for our weekly get togethers. He'll even provide clothes pegs for your nose if the 'residents ' are in the back.
One day we might be allowed in the big house but for now we're content to remain in -The Cowshed
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Now what can be said about MC Tart? Whilst there have been
many truly great MCs over the years- Shabba, Solaar and, of course, Hammer- MC
Tart actually got his name quite by accident. Born not that many moons ago
following a dalliance betwixt his turtle chef mother and a mysterious Lord of
the Realm who liked a tipple and was rather dyslexic. So what should have been
MR Tart ended up as MC Tart- spellchecker being at a rather primitive stage in
those days. Not wishing to disappoint his father (even though no one was ever
quite sure who he was) MC Tart took to learning a weird and wonderful variety of
instruments. Attempting first the Squirrel mandolin, graduating to the
Caribbean keyboard and finally to the Fruity Squeezebox (sniff it if you don’t
believe me!). Along the way MC Tart learned how to charm a crowd like one would
a swarm of birds from a tree (albeit more carefully and with marginally more
feathers). His deep, resounding tones will be heard in streets and on cobbles
the length and breadth of the United Kingdom. You can usually find him propping
up the nearest session (coincidentally these things happen in the pub),
followed loyally by the beautiful Miss Tart whose violin is also charmed by his
mellow baritone.
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Queenie
The Queen of Tarts
Queenie is indeed a Queen, it's clear for anyone to see. It's
rumoured that she is in fact the love child of the Cowman, and her dear
mother Martha , though Martha will not admit to this and insists Queenie was found under a Rhubarb leaf.
Queenie can often be heard bickering with mumsy for not taking
the H.R.T treatment she was given, and warning her that she'll grow a
beard if she's not careful.
She rules the tarts with a rod of rhubarb, ensuring that
they always get to bed by 9 o'clock so as to keep fit and healthy.
Queenie can always be found in the company of Nursey tart, who keeps
a constant monitor on her bodily health. Not to put too fine a point on
exactly which part.
Don't ever ask her how she is, or she may well keep you for an
unspecified amount of time telling you about all her ailments. She has
enjoyed ill health for a number of years now.
Queenie can be found with either a banjo, or perhaps a mandolin.
The former she uses to fend off the many male admirers who often get
over familiar with her tarts. Any would be Romeos are advised to
negotiate with Queenie before approaching her girls in pursuit of a
possible date. It's a given that she always fully inspects, and
samples, the credentials of anyone wishing to try out chat up lines on
her beloved tarts.
And woe betide any man attempting to touch any one of
them without first being vetted. Unless they wish to feel the blunt end
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| Nursey Tart
Nursey Tart was initiated into the Tarts back in the early
days, when some rival team demanded that a fine medical mind conduct a Human
Test on our team. Once it was demonstrated beyond ANY doubt that the Tarts can belch,
scratch and sneeze as well as the next person of dubious heritage, curiosity
got the better of Nursey and she enlisted herself onto the dance roll. Sadly,
it has been a little downhill since for Nursey, as while her dancing skills
improved- it is a little known fact that she is the body double for the likes
of Ola Jordan on Strictly Come Dancing- her mind started to wander away from
all things medical. She spends most of her days tending to Queenie, whilst
trying to remember the correct dosage of Gregory’s Powder to give to Her
Majesty after her signature dish of Rhubarb Chilli Cor Blimey. Overdoses are a
frequent occurrence, and as a result Nursey now has a rather unhealthy fixation
with lavatory bowls, and especially cisterns. What Nursey doesn’t like to
discuss is the fact that she lost the Senility Competition (to Martha) and is
now restricted to Germoline duty.
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The 'Somewhere near Bakewell Tart'
This new addition to the team lives in South Yorkshire- wherever that is. Not being familiar with geography outside of the 'Triangle' we can only refer to him with that moniker as we believe he's from thereabouts.
He'd love to play his guitar but has realised the futility of this idea when pitched against the mass ranks of the bucket and washboard percussion, if it can't double up as a cleaning aid it ain't worth carrying into the melee.
If you've got your I Spy book of Tarts - he's the athletic looking one
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Model Tart
Strike a pose - there's nothing to it
You may well assume giving Model Tarts flowing auburn locks,
her delightful peaches and cream complexion and her ramrod straight posture-
the latter being due to her sleeping standing up against a lamppost- that she
is named for her physical attributes. You would be wrong. What separates MT
from the rest of her peers is her ever expanding collection of model plasticine
fruits and vegetables. There is not a banana, cucumber or even a moist cumquat
that our Tart has not managed to wrap her hands around in the name of art and
her own personal entertainment.
One of
the more natural dancers in the team, MT is also a game musician and a fine
soprano, rather giving her er ‘affectionate’ nickname of Granny Tart something
of an inappropriate edge.
If found
awandering you are best advised to wave some fresh ginger loaf under her nose
and lead her to the ceildh. Just lock up your husbands.
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Tractor Girl
Tractor girl is never happier than creating mayhem in a rural
environment. Give her anything with wheels and she will guarantee to
crash it. she's also a dab hand with a pair of bellows! Often to be
found hiding beneath overalls and large glasses, but watch out for
garish frocks and pink knickerbockers on high holidays and feast days.
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Coming soon--Arty Tarty and
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Long believed lost following the battle of Mytholmroyd, Comrade Tart is
the last survivor of an expedition to liberate Lancashire from
Lancastrian domination. Intensive Landlord therapy has revealed that he
was hidden from capture by an over-friendly native and forced to work in
the tripe mines of Ilkley.
Following renewed unrest in West Yorkshire, Comrade Tart joined the
struggle for the liberation of Wakefield. Wakefield turned out to be
quite liberated already, thank you and following intensive negotiations,
5 pints of Pendle Witches Brew, a packet of cheese and onion crisps
and a pickled egg, the comrade brought his revolutionary fervour to the
rhubarb triangle.
Despite these tribulations, his commitment to the common ownership of
real ale and cake remains undiminished. His in depth knowledge of
Marxist brewing theory is unrivalled and he’ll tell you about it if you
buy him a drink, or not if you make it two.
The revolutionary fervour is also now responding to treatment with
powerful unguents (like Vim) and he can be safely approached in public. Unsafe
approaches should, however, be made in private
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