Crack.

The battlefield shivered with the sound of wooden staves colliding together. The enemy general Bordrick looked up sharply, a deep foreboding filling his heart.

Yes. Straining over the slowly diminishing sounds of men fighting and dying ... yes ... yes that was the sound of tinkling bells. "Oh gods."

Crack. Again the sound of iron-shod oak colliding with iron-shod oak. "Caaaalllll the RETREEEEET." Bordrick shouted, panic straining his vocal cords. "Caaaallll RETREEEEETTT."

Taking a deep breath just as he sees a splash of colour at the edge of the battle, the general desperately seeks to warn his men of the impending doom. "THEY'VE UNLEASHED THE BLOODY MORRIS DANCERS! REEETRREEEEETTTTT."

Many a Hey-Nonny was Nonnied that day, children, many a Hey-Nonny.