Singing the Song of Leaving or Something Like It

I once travelled to the far reaches of Norway, high above the Arctic Circle. A place where reindeer outnumber people 1000 to one. It suited me fine.
One evening, my travelling companion (we’ll call her Debbie since that’s her name), and I paid a visit to a group of people who were native to the area. It was, of course, entirely unavoidable.
We drove for what-felt-like the entire day to get there, mostly listening to some tribal music - the only CD Debbie had in the car. It consisted of various singers wailing and screaming as if they were simultaneously experiencing multiple orgasms whilst having their fingernails ripped out. There was also some drumming. Actually, on about the hundredth listen it sounded slightly less objectionable and I started to wail along with it. The opening track was the best as the screams of pain built into a frenzied cacophony that sounded like a dozen cats being tortured to death. I got quite good at imitating that.
We finally arrived and the evening was…interesting, as we sat in a tent rather than a house. There were quite a few guests and, as the evening wore on, a few decided to leave. I couldn’t blame them.
As they were gathering themselves to go, Debbie – and Lord only knows why – offered to sing them a song of leaving. She turned to me and said ‘We know one, don’t we Mike?’
We do? I couldn’t think of any leaving song we knew. Leaving song?
Actually, Debbie was right. We had been taught a leaving song some time back, which was so pathetically obvious that I had quite forgotten. It comprises singing, in a very soft voice, ‘Away, away, away’, over and over whilst looking sad to see the people depart. The words were fine but I found it difficult to look sad. People leaving is the best part of the evening.
Anyway, I had quite forgotten about the ridiculous leaving song. The obvious thing to do was to say ‘No, I don’t remember the song’ and ask Debbie what she meant. But in the kafuffle of people preparing to go, and being inadvertently put on the spot, that sort of logic completely escapes me. All I could think of was the wailing song from the car. So I sung that.
Debbie began singing her soft ‘aways’ whilst I launched into full-on tortured howling mode. I quickly got into the sound and started waving my arms around as I hollered out the screeching sounds of pain. I then started to sway to the rhythm and, since it seemed appropriate at the time, began to beat the earthen floor to accompany my strangled cries of agony. All the while, Debbie carried on her barely-voiced ‘aways’. Not that anyone could hear her with the racket I was making. I was oblivious.
All too soon, I became aware that everyone was staring at me. ‘Good grief’, I thought, ‘they must think I’m good’. So I gave them a fitting finale, throwing my arms in the air, whilst wailing at the top of my lungs, and bringing the whole thing to a rapturous and ear-splittingly thunderous finish. The least I expected was applause. Heck, a bouquet wouldn’t have been out of the question. Instead, the tent was deathly silent.
The people who wanted to leave sidled out of the door without taking their eyes off me.
The host then lent towards me. ‘Thank you’ he said, ‘thank you…very much’. And, in all honesty, I actually thought he meant it.