Reminder
that it is 2024
And I have still not watched Season Three

seen from France
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Reminder
that it is 2024
And I have still not watched Season Three

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Proper vibin hey
Some appreciation my longest standing special interest
Letâs stop and appreciate Robin Hood. Mostly because it is so very rare that I get a chance to stop and appreciate Robin Hood with other people. Being a self-professed amateur Robin Hood scholar is a pretty lonesome business most days. The BBC Robin Hood fandom has this beautiful and wonderful fandom tradition of dedicating April 26th to posting Robin Hood content. And every year, I get to enjoy an influx of Robin Hood content as people I follow year round join together post about this old, nostalgic, and pretty cheesy version of my favorite myth.Â
I donât have any particularly special skill in making fandom content. But I thought Iâd share a little bit about what makes Robin Hood as a story special to me, by sharing some truly fun and wonderful memories that I have had interacting with it and consuming Robin Hood media.Â
-When I was 5, I religiously checked out the Disney Robin Hood VHS from the library every other week. I was allowed to choose one VHS, so I would check out Robin Hood one week, return it the next and get a different movie, and then back to Robin Hood. On one of the weeks I was going to bring Robin Hood home again, my friend checked it out before I could. I was very upset, and cried.Â
-Around that same time, I wrote my name in a Robin Hood book I had from the library. âBecause it was mine anyway.â Afterwards, my mother had to purchase the book, and then it really was mine.Â
-When I was 8, my friend and I had a little campfire in the woods behind her house, and we stayed out there for hours while she read âChildrenâs Classicâ version of Pyleâs The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood.Â
Hi again
Lovely to see this happen each year! Hereâs my contribution, a short pre-series fic.
The Maid and the Falcon
Relentless drizzle, seeping beneath his cape, soured Guyâs mood a notch further with each mile that passed. It was, he supposed, an improvement on the week before, when snow and black ice had caused the falconerâs horse to slip. The man had been laid up, his leg broken, waiting to send for help. He was fortunate, Guy knew, to have a relative within a dayâs ride; Vaisey would have refused his expenses. Guy had continued, transporting the sheriffâs valued cargo back to Nottingham.
The bamboo cage bumped awkwardly against the horseâs flank, in time with its slow gait. Guy glanced down, could see only sodden tail feathers peeking out from beneath the cageâs cover. He quelled a flash of pity, reckoning the bird probably fared better than he did at that precise moment. But then he recalled the falconâs stitched eyelids, and resolutely turned his thoughts away.
As drizzle became downpour, the rising wind clutched indiscriminately at hair, mane, cape, branches; head bowed, Guy hunkered down against it as they plodded forward, only his bitter thoughts and the temporarily blind falcon for company. Nursemaid to a bird. How far Iâve come. Chained, as always, by his lordâs whims.
This latest had been brought about by the debacle a year earlier. Not content with his goshawk â perfect for forest terrain â the sheriff had craved a long-winged falcon. A gift for the prince of course, dear boy. Iâll just borrow it for a while. Heâd sent his falconer to Valkenswaard, there to haggle at the autumn market, amongst other lordsâ representatives, for one of those prized birds. The project had ended in disaster; the bird hadnât survived the return from the continent. The falconer had been foolish enough to try and pass off an inferior specimen; Vaisey had thought it fitting punishment to cage the man on the castle battlements and paste his eyes with honey.
This time, Vaisey had tried something different. Heâd sent a man to Ramsey Island, off the coast of Wales, there to trap a young falcon. But, being late in the season, it had taken weeks; since then, the bird had been manned, but itâs training to fly and hunt postponed. Vaisey had wanted the birdâs eyes sealed until he took possession; he liked to tweak the silken thread attached to the stitches.
Guy had been sent to meet the pair, and to escort them safely home. With the Christmas hunt little more than a fortnight away, to which many local nobles had been invited, there could be no more delays.
And yet. The road had become a quagmire. Guy halted his mount, casting about for a landmark. He realised that with such poor visibility he must have taken a wrong turn. It couldnât be too far to Nottingham, but this cursed road seemed wholly unfamiliar.
Everywhere branches flailed; wind funnelled debris through gaps in the trees, pelting him and his mount with twigs. As he looked around, Guy heard a loud crack. A branch, splitting from the trunk; it crashed down mere paces away. It spooked his horse, and Guy barely had the animal calmed when he saw that the cover had been knocked from the cage. The bird was threshing about, drenched and distressed. Cursing, his own cape dislodged by now, Guy was struggling to re-cover the cage when a figure appeared, speaking quietly and calmly to the falcon, securing the other end of the cover which was flapping violently, its edges tugged by the wind.
When it was done, the young woman leaned in and spoke, placing a hand on his arm.
âThis way,â she said loudly, pointing. âFollow me.â
âââ---------------------------------------------------------------------
âMy lord Gisborne. Come in.â The maidâs father, his mouth set in a terse line.
âNo, I think not.â Guy stood on the threshold beneath the drip-line from the thatch and saw that preparations were underway for a modest feast. âThis bird needs quiet. But Iâll need a change of clothes, and a blanket for my horse.â
He had the girl show him to the village barn. It was draughty and cold but preferable to the stilted welcome in the cottage. Heâd rubbed down and covered his horse, changed his clothes and made a small fire. Guy sat staring into it now, chewing on pieces of dried apple and listening to the wind thrash outside. It made him slow to register the sound of a knock. He rose and lifted the bar, admitting the maid who now bore a tray with two covered bowls and assorted nuts and fruit. She placed it near the fire, then went to collect firewood from outside the door.
âFancy fare for common folk,â he remarked round a mouthful of beef and bacon stew, as she knelt by the fire.
He felt it poor return to ask outright how the household came by its meat, but she was no fool.
âSir William gives us our Christmas fare early. He knows I work at the castle, and that I wonât be here for Christmas.â
âYou work at the castle?â Guy quirked an eyebrow, vaguely interested. âWhere?â
âIn the kitchens.â
He was about to ask her name when he was diverted by the attention she now fixed on the bird.
âYou should have him out, you know,â she said. âHave him on your wrist, or your shoulder. They need to become accustomed to people.â
âWhat would you know about it?â he sneered.
âQuite a lot, actually. My uncle is a trained falconer, I grew up with tales of birds and hearing about his techniques.â
Guy watched as she rose and walked to the cage, his mouth too full to protest as she undid the latch and lifted out the bird.
âBarbaric,â he heard her mutter. Then, to him:
âWhy are his eyes still sealed? Surely, heâs ready to be trained.â
âYes,â Guy muttered. Truth be told, he was as discomfited as she was by the cruel practice. âVaisey insisted.â
âHe isâŠ..â the maid paused, tilting her head, a thoughtful look on her face. âYour master isâŠ.not a kind man.â
Guy spluttered on the home-brewed ale. When he recovered, he saw the girl smiling slightly; he smirked a little in return.
âNo. Thatâs not how I would describe him either.â
Wearing a conspiratorial expression, she perched near him, bearing the raptor on her wrist with an air of calm assurance.
âThere is another way, you know. If you were to help me, we couldâŠ.â
âNo.â Blunt, uncompromising. âVaisey wants them sealed.â
The girlâs expression remained soft, undaunted by his dismissal. He assumed she was waiting so she could take the tray away. He ate the last mouthfuls of stew, mopping up the juices with a hunk of rye bread. The maid, her fine-spun hair gathered in a loose plait, and a gentle innocence about her features, was silent and pensive.
But when she looked over at him, he saw there was a hint of determination beneath her softness.
âYou are not naturally a cruel man, Sir Guy. I see that. I know what you do for the sheriff but you do it for his sake, not for having any pleasure of it.â He began to snap a retort, affronted at her plain speaking, but the girl so surprised him by again laying a hand on his arm that he let her finish. âI see that this troubles you, so let me fix it. With your permission, my father and I can open the birdâs eyes and yet give Lord Vaisey a sop, let him think that heâs discovered something no one else has.â
Guy frowned.
âGo on,â he allowed, against his better judgement.
The maid glanced away, suddenly appearing uncertain. Instead of offering an explanation, she turned back to him with a question.
âWhy are you travelling with this bird? Has the sheriff lost another falconer?â
âTemporarily. He broke a leg falling from his horse.â
âAhh,â she sighed. âWell, I may tell you. I didnât want the risk of any more of my kin being asked to work for Lord Vaisey.â
Guy growled a caution. âYou speak too freely.â
âPerhaps. But listenâŠ.thereâs another way to keep a bird of prey calm. Word reached my uncle when his lordâs son returned from Crusade. Itâs a method the Saracens use.â The girl rose. âIâll show you, I have one in the cottage. We were discussing it last time we saw my uncle and have been experimenting since.â
âWhat is it?â
âIâll show you,â she repeated, slipping out of the barn.
When the maid returned, it was with her father in tow. She showed Guy a small hood which she explained was designed to fit over the birdâs head.
He watched, then, as she placed drops of something which discoloured the water into the birdâs shallow bowl.
âBy this evening he should be calm enough. My father will remove the stitches, he has a steady hand.â
The pair returned at nightfall, bearing additional lanterns.
âYou stay out of sight; you donât want the bird to associate you with this,â instructed the father, so focussed on the task at hand that he temporarily forgot whom he was addressing.
Bemused, Guy moved to the back of the barn, allowing them to tend the falcon. He couldnât see what they were doing, but more than once he heard a high, thin screech of protest. Finally, he was called forward, and saw that the hooded raptor was now sitting calmly on a makeshift perch.
âRight, if Sir Guy has no more need of our helpâŠ..â
âIâll stay awhile,â the young woman said, glancing back at Guy.
âNo, go. Have your celebration,â he said gruffly, weary now of company and wishing only for sleep.
But there was none to be had. The falconâs early calm wore off. The hood was loose-fitting; the bird scraped at it with its talons and tore it off. After the rigours of the day, the creature was stressed; it bated, flapping its wings as it hung tethered to the perch. Each time Guy managed to replace the hood, but after the third such episode he was ready to wring its wretched neck.
He was relieved when, a short while later, the maid returned to check on them. Once she saw the problem, she took the hood away to adjust. When she returned, together they secured it over the falconâs head.
âLetâs get the damn thing back in the cage.â Guyâs store of patience had long since evaporated.
âSoon. Letâs feed her first.â
Guy rummaged for the remains of a hare heâd snared early that morning, and they fed these to the now-sedate falcon. Then came the process of settling the bird back in its cage. By the time this was done, the fire needed tending; his companion helped with this too. Her presence was quiet, undemanding; her smile sweet.
Her father came eventually to the door.
âAnnie, time to come inside lass,â he said, still stubbornly protective, although his tone had mellowed somewhat towards Guy.
Once theyâd gone Guy bedded down in the straw. He found himself thinking, amongst other things, of the scent of rain in the girlâs hair, and of the way her lashes, wet from that same rain, had slanted down upon her cheek.
Annie. Perhaps she could be of help in the weeks to come. Guy had no doubt that, in the falconerâs absence, the onerous task of readying the bird to hunt would fall to him.
âââ----------------------------------------------------------------------
Guy waved the flagon-bearer away and gazed with jaded eye around the hall. Trenchers were full of half-eaten fare. Servants were beginning to clear space for presentation of the boarâs head, bearing away the various pies, pastries, stews and sauced meats which had cluttered the long tables. He would stay until then, Guy decided, before returning to all the tasks which had been set aside for the dayâs festivities.
Mopping up the last of a dark, wine-currant sauce, Guy watched as the showpiece was paraded in. Accompanied by musicians and a capering jester it was borne about the hall on its bed of apples and cherry sprigs, with cherries for eyes and a fanciful forelock of grapes. Applause rippled around the tables; from snout to ear-tip, the flesh was crisped and brown and gave off an aroma that made mouths water. Guy hid a sneer; gluttony was never his vice. As the master cook preened beneath Vaiseyâs rare praise, and as servants bore in fresh accompanying dishes and his neighbour exclaimed over the fine tastes awaiting them, Guy muttered some unintelligible reply, pushed back his chair, and left the feast.
The day thus far had been tolerable. Although Christmas was never anything special, Vaisey in a benign mood was always preferable to whining or the mercurial malice which a day that hadnât gone according to plan could produce.
The morningâs hunt, for one thing, had been successful; the new falcon had performed well. Guy knew Annie was largely to thank. The falconer had returned only three days earlier. As heâd suspected, this had left Guy with the bulk of the birdâs training. In doing so, heâd more than once sought out Annie; drawing on snippets of her uncleâs wisdom, sheâd always been willing to help.
There were more important things to be done - he was on his way to check how much the quarter tax had brought in (Vaisey had to pay, somehow, for his entertainments) â but Guy found himself thinking of the mews. Perhaps he would check on the bird later. Then he remembered that he had to pay an evening visit toâŠ.
âŠ.what was that?
A small sound; a clatter, something dislodged.
Guy paused. He was near the sheriffâs chambers, and it occurred to him that for anyone with ill intent this was the perfect time to gain entry. Whoever it was would have heard him pass; stealth hadnât been on his mind. It was now; he unbuckled his spurs, set them aside and walked back, silently pushing the door open.
Vaisey would have spotted the culprit in an instant; after, that is, heâd registered the open door of one of the bird cages, its inhabitants fluttering past to escape into the corridor. Heâd interrupted a similar operation on another cage; Guy strode forward and flung aside the dressing screen.
âYou!â he exclaimed, grabbing the culpritâs wrist and hauling her to her feet.
Annie lost her balance, clutching at him for support. He glanced down, noting with a smirk where her grip had landed. Annie snatched her hand away from his thigh, her cheeks blooming with colour.
âWhat are you doing?â he snapped, steadying the maid on her feet. âHave you lost your mind?â
âThey were talking about these poor birds a few days ago, in the kitchens. I decided then, it being Christmas, that it would be the perfect time to do something about it.â She spoke boldly; Guy admired her lack of repentance.
âAnnie,â he said harshly, âthere is never a perfect time to defy the sheriffâŠ.â
ââŠI donât see whyâŠ.â
Guy cut her off.
âWhat did you think would happen, when he finds them missing?â he asked, shaking his head, touching her chin with a gloved fingertip. âHe will hunt for the culprit. And if he canât discover who it was, he wonât care, heâll punish someone anywayâŠprobably his squire. Did you think of that? Would you want that?â
Annie dropped her gaze. He had to bend down slightly to catch her next words.
âI hate it. I hate what he does to them. What he does to all of us.â
Guy let the last comment pass. For the first part, he had some answer.
âYou realise he will just go out and replace them? That heâll find some other creatures to make miserable?â
âYes.â Annie lifted her head, some of her defiance returning. âBut at least I will have done â have done â something.â
Guy gazed at her a moment, pitying the futility behind her brave words. He knew that futility right down to his bones; had supped on its bitterness, in moments of quiet despair. There were times â oh yes, there were times â when he wanted to do the same. But always, he must hold. Always there were shackles, his own ambition and his desire for revenge the clasps with which Vaisey had snapped them shut.
There was no escape; Annie was right about that. And yetâŠthey had unsealed the falconâs eyes and got away with it. Could they do it again?
They were both silent, the frantic noise of the birds whoâd seen their fellows fly free chattering in the background. Guy thought hard; he came to a decision.
âIâll take care of it. But you must leave, now.â
âNo! Youâre not to take the blame for this,â she protested, as he walked across to the empty cage.
âBe quiet, woman.â
Guy knocked the stand down on which it stood and kicked at the clasp with his heel.
âWhat are you doing?â Annie demanded, grasping his arm.
He glanced down, wondering the same thing. But he had a plan; he (mostly) had it all worked out.
âIâll tell the sheriff that cook planned a surprise, a version of lark pie using Vaiseyâs own birds. That I surprised the lad he sent in the act, and in the scuffle his birds escaped.â
Would such a ruse succeed? Guy thought so. A bribe to the cook to go along with it, if questioned, though he doubted Vaisey would punish attempted flattery - no matter how misguided. Iâve punished the lad, my Lord; youâve no need to worry. Would he get away with it? Without doubt, it was a risk.
Annie still held both his arm and his gaze. The gratitude in her eyes warmed him, as did her smile. Oddly, it reminded him a little of how Christmas had once made him feel, a very long time ago.
âThank you,â she whispered.
Guy raised a hand and stroked her cheek.
âWeâd better not make a habit of this,â he chided. âThereâs only so much we can get away with.â
A pause, then; a thought. Another decision.
âBut there may be other ways in which he doesnât need to own us.â
He lowered his face to hers; his lips grazed her forehead, and her cheek. Her lips. Then, abruptly, he withdrew.
âItâs time to leave,â he repeated.
Guy stalked out of Vaiseyâs room and reattached his spurs; Annie watched, her gaze perplexed. She watched him rise and walk away.
At the end of the corridor, however, Guy turned back.
âWell?â he challenged, his voice a deep lure. âAre you coming?â
âââ-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Annie watched him walk away, leaving her in a welter of confusion.
âWell? Are you coming?â
She had seconds to decide, she knew. An offer that wouldnât be repeated. Annie thought of that moment when sheâd lost her balance and knew very well what thought had been on both their minds.
He turned, disappearing around the corner.
Heâs the sheriffâs lieutenant, and what am I? A mere kitchen maid.
But Annie knew she had a penchant for wild things; she knew this about herself. Creatures proud and fierce, untameable, ones that came into your life for a time and didnât necessarily stay there.
And yet, while they were thereâŠâŠah yes, while they were thereâŠ..
Annie also knew how precious their trust, once it was gained.
She stepped out of the sheriffâs chambers and followed Guy of Gisborne, her heart and nerves a-flutter, just like the wings of those desperate, captive birds which they had just set free into a Christmas twilight.
Genuine question- has anyone ever made a Men In Tights/BBCRH mashup? I feel that this is something we need in the run up to Robin Hood Awareness Day 2018

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âMiss me much?â
âŠor should we say, âMiss me, Much?â
C'mon...20 Years since Gisborne's first sneer. Now doesn't that call for celebration?
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My Gang to Me Day Call for Participation 2026
26 April marks Robinâs rescue of the Locksley Four as depicted in the BBC seriesâ first episode.
2026 will mark TWENTY YEARS since BBC Robin Hood debuted.
[As we do] We shall celebrate like itâs 1192!
We will again be activating our ONE-DAY-ONLY posting blog at mygangtome.tumblr.com, where we will REBLOG anything you post to the tumblr tag #my gang to me 2026 on your own blog, and you can SUBMIT your content to us in advance to be posted on the day (if youâd rather).
This blog will post and reblog posts submitted, or in the tag, ONLY on Sunday, 26 April, 2026.
Since tracking tags has long ago been de-simplified by tumblr, you can FOLLOW the blog at mygangtome.tumblr.com to get all the dayâs celebration posts on your dash.
Wondering what to do/post? Check out the blogâs archive, which spans multiple years of celebration.
It is our preference that, if possible, you post to your own blog first under the tag #my gang to me 2026, as your posts will reach more and varied people (and perhaps birth new viewers), and we will reblog from there. But we are also happy to accept your submissions and schedule them to post from the eventâs official blog if youâd rather.
The official My Gang to Me blog will remain viewable and able to be re-blogged from following 26 April into whatever amounts to tumblr perpetuity.
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*mygangtome is set to Eastern Time (NYC), though we do schedule posts to begin earlier than midnight (ET) 4/26 in acknowledgement of our international followers
Time flies like a grey goose-fletched arrow, so keep your eyes open, your anachronistic wardrobe at the ready, and your ears alert to the sounds of outlaws within the forest, as April 26th arrives always sooner than you think.