A Somerset Jig (Gustav Holst, Yehudi Menuhin on violin)   Mmmenuhin, Menuhin the bees are at their orchard din and I will catch that pure élan from your eliding violin, to go down into Somerset and relocate a scuttle butt of my North Curry kin,   where John Gould with his first moustache, can not yet write his name when asked, but puts big feet to canny use when fiddle tunes are fast and loose. And Lizzie Clifford with long face twirls circumspectly in that place with Hannah, William, Anne and Ben, washerwomen, husbandmen.   For Gustav Holst has tuned…