You Don't Learn That In School

We'd talked about doing a wassail. Some time around Twelfth Night, as is traditional, in Bewdley, as you would expect. Our squire had happened to mention it at the Harvest Fair, and the ever-enthusiastic Ellie, from Bewdley Development Trust was on board before you could shout "Gesundheit!"

"We need to get the schools involved, can you do some workshops? Teach them a dance, how to make rag jackets, that type of thing." To be honest, we'd just been thinking about a low key do, us and perhaps another side, doing a bit of dancing, a bit of drinking,bit of singing, sprinkle some cider around a few trees, job done. Down to the Cock and Magpie for a well-earned session and home to bed happy, if not completely sloshed.

Ellie's energy is infectious though, and before we knew it, we'd agreed to do a workshop one Sunday in December, followed up by a session in each of two schools to reinforce what they'd hopefully learned. I must admit, whilst I'm always happy to go along with anything, I wasn't overly hopeful about any kids turning up for a dancing lesson on a cold Sunday afternoon in December. So at about 1130, with little anticipation, I lugged my drums from the car park to the museum (yes, I'm still lugging, whether Santa sees fit to reward my fairly good behaviour all year with a sturdy drum trolley remains to be seen).

They'd set us the education room aside for the workshop, and we all gathered in there around the radiator, which was lukewarm. And our first customer! He was there too, a young lad who had stepped up to the mark at the Harvest Fair and enjoyed it so much he'd come back for another go. He came out with his mum to watch us do a few dances in the courtyard. As we danced, a few others turned up, and before we went back into the education room, we were in double figures!

Our Squire started off by introducing the dance and the side danced it through, to polite applause from the mums and dads and excitement from the kids. And then we were off, teaching a group of about a dozen children, aged between  five and ten, a dance. And pretty good they were too! The good thing about children is that they are all so enthusiastic! They worked really hard, whilst the bemused parents looked on with pride. After only about an hour, they (the kids this is, the parents I suspect would have taken considerably longer) had just about grasped it. We taught them the song to go with it, and then started on the jackets.

Rag jacket making for beginners:
1. Take a child's tee shirt, cut it down the front middle to make a little jacket
2. Cut some strips of coloured material. We had brown, red, orange and yellow, like our own.
3. Use PVA glue to stick said strips on randomly on the jacket.
4. Use a hair dryer to speed dry the glue.

Here at last was a great opportunity for the mums to get involved, and soon the floor of the room was littered with happy families all making rag jackets. Great! I'd dread to think what the electricity bill was like though, three hair dryers going full blast for about an hour. I bet the little disc was spinning like an old 78 record!

The jackets done, we had time for another run through, and then took them outside, for their FIRST PUBLIC PERFORMANCE! And very well it went too. A fair crowd watched the proceedings, and gave them a good round of applause at the end. And so our first children's workshop came to an end. All in all, a pretty good show. The Wednesday after, six of us held a workshop for children at St Annes School, which also went very well. Under the watchful eye of Headmaster Simon Tapp (who dances with Alvechurch) we put about twenty young hopefuls through their paces, many of whom had been to the Sunday event.  It only remains now to wait for 5th January, when the wassail takes place, and the children's hard work can be seen by all. The excitement is intense.

PS. Long-standing readers may have noticed no references to cider, beer or spirits. For once your drummer was responsible, and not a drop passed his lips. I'm waiting for the wassail.

Shining in the Shade

We've been guests at a fair few days of dance this year, and thoroughly enjoyed all of them. This time it was our turn to organise. We had been invited to open the Bewdley Harvest Fair and were making a weekend of it by inviting a few local sides for the next day. Invitations had been e-mailed, replies received, and dance spots arranged. We'd also agreed to run a dance workshop on the Saturday in the museum, and were hoping for a few willing volunteers!

The day dawned bright and sunny, if a little chilly, and we all met up at the museum entrance at around 10am, eager to start. We did a few dances, got a fair amount of applause, and then made way for a procession of heavy horses. This gave us chance for a break in the museum tea shop, and a well earned cup of tea. No beer? I hear you cry. Well, it was only about 1115, and you'll be pleased to know I managed a pint or two later. Anyway, a cup of tea and a listen to the excellent Whalebone who were playing in the cafe. They played a few tunes, including one of our dances, King of the Fairies, although a lot faster than we do it! I had a chat about their stomp-box too. It's on my wish list.

On to our workshop which we held in the gardens adjoining the museum. A little disappointing with only about half a dozen volunteers. I've always said that nothing clears a crowd quicker than talk of audience participation. Quite a few wanted to watch on this occasion, but not many took the plunge. So if you are ever out, watching a morris side, and they ask for volunteers, go on! You know you want to really. You won't regret it, honest.

Anyway, we taught a small select group an Upton Snodsbury, had another cup of tea, and wandered back to the front of the museum for our second set. The only slight problem with the museum front is that it seems to be constantly in the shade, and so quite chilly on a brisk autumn day. However, another great set and a fair sized audience of happy shoppers. Bewdley bustles a bit on a Saturday so there was always a constant supply of new onlookers. I managed to run down to the Arches for a nice pint of Robinson's cider. And then a bit later on I managed to run down for another one.

The set finished for the day, we said our goodbyes to the museum staff, packed our things up and enjoyed a swift one in the sun, by the river. Well, the Robinson's was slipping down rather nicely by then.....

Keep On Walking

After our successful dance-out at the Robin Hood, Drayton in May, those hard dancin', hard drinkin' girls from Aelfgythe had invited us to their day of dance. Alvechurch is their home, an ancient village only about half an hour away, and fairly close to the Worcester and Birmingham canal. But more of that later. We took the dogs, "we need to get them more acclimatised to dancing, and you can hold them while you're drumming (?!!!) said my wife. So we packed them in the car, Darcy the Labrador and Nutmeg the Cocker Spaniel, along with all the dance gear and three drums, and off we went, bright and early. Having got lost only twice on the way, we arrived in well under an hour, and parked, on advice, in the car park of the Red Lion, in the middle of the village.

It was around 10am, and we were due to start at 1030. I got out. My wife sat in the car. "Are we not going then?" I asked. "Let's wait for the others." "But they might not even park here" "Do you know where we are supposed to be?" "No, do you?" "Yes, the Crown" "Where's that then?""I don't know"
Such was the quick-fire repartee. We agreed to do the unthinkable and ask someone. After about ten minutes a local looking woman walked past and pointed us along a road, up a hill. "Just keep on walking along there, it's near the canal. Just keep walking." We did. For about twenty minutes, my wife with the two excited dogs, me buried under a mountain of drums, until we finally crossed the canal and found ourselves in amongst a gathering of morris dancers. It was just 1030. Just about time for a cup of tea then. There was a huge queue at the bar, and two young barmaids were running frantically around trying to serve dozens of coffees (no tea) from a broken espresso machine. I kid you not. In the corner of the bar sat two bemused men in blue work shirts. I don't know whether they were delivery men or gas fitters or whatever, but they were sat there at 1030am with a pint of bitter each. "Good lads!" said I. They grinned.

Having got my coffees I went back outside to find that Aelfgythe had done a dance and we were all dispersing to our first slots. We were back down in the village. My wife started walking back down the hill with her friend and the dogs. I threw my drums in the back of our guitarist's station wagon and jumped in. Our first spot was outside the lovely Joshua Tree shop in the village centre. We were dancing with Black Adder. We danced turn and turn about in front of an small audience. Variously there were: two women, a man and his dog, a young woman from a shop over the road, who stood on the opposite corner throughout the whole hour, two women with two young kids, the woman from the Joshua Tree. Throughout the whole hour a few people rushed past and I'm sure one man actually crossed the road to the other side and then crossed back again at a safe distance. On the whole though, I think it's fairly safe to say that nothing much happens in Alvechurch on a Saturday morning. The woman from the Joshua Tree was lovely though, and didn't mind at all us setting up in front of her shop.

After a happy session with Black Adder, we realised that it was 1145 and we had to be back near the canal, at another pub called the Weighbridge. We started walking....... We arrived at about ten past twelve, and were thrown straight into a dance. I had to sing John Barleycorn and they wouldn't even wait for me to go and get one in! Life is so unfair sometimes. The dance over, I strode purposefully up to the bar, tankard in hand. What a choice! Enville's best, a few guests and a very tempting Tardebigge cider! Discretion was the better part of valour, and I had an excellent pint of Chainmaker Mild, only 3.6%. Which generally means you can have more. I had a couple there, whilst we danced through a nice set with Alvechurch, Black Adder again, and Step On Board Appalachian dancers. A nice mix. We finished with a shared Jane's Dance with Black Adder. We now had an hour for lunch! My wife wanted a ham and cheese roll, I fancied a pork pie, but there was a huge queue at the bar by now, so we walked back down to the village where we'd seen a fish and chip shop. The Tudor Rose fish and chip shop, set in a great little Tudor building, do great chips and a mean chicken tandoori pie! Of course, I needed something to wash it down, and whilst we were getting ready outside the Joshua Tree again, I nipped down to the  Swan to refill my tankard.

Oh, I nearly forgot! We did a belly dance! Yes, again. With the most excellent Bellyfusion, who have swapped their piratey stuff for a really entertaining and amusing circus style show. Catch them somewhere soon! The afternoon outside the Joshua Tree was slightly better audience wise, and we had a pleasant hour there with our hosts Aelfgythe. They put loads of energy in and are really great fun! Last session of the day was a sort of free for all at the Red Lion, where, if you remember, we had parked at the start of the day. A relatively short and flat walk then, to the said pub, where I was delighted to find they were serving Banks Original. Since moving to the West Midlands I've been quite taken with the lighter style of mild, of which Banks Original is a good example. I had one, and another one to make sure. Besides, Alvechurch Morris Men were there again, and they don't hold back the drinking! I was chatting to our foreman, who is not over fond of us drinking whilst performing.
Foreman: "I thought Alvechurch were on before us"
Me: "Well, they should be, but you can't really rely on them can you?"
Foreman: "Not really, no."
Me: "They are worse than me, aren't they?"
Foreman: "Yes, and that's saying something!"

They enjoy themselves though, and I suppose we none of us would do it if that weren't the case. The dancing gradually came to an end and it only remained for the Aelfgythe Squire to thank us all for coming. All in all, a great day, but a lot of exercise walking up and down those hills.
Lesson learned: I really MUST get a trolley for my drums.

Better and Better

Another Saturday, another day of dance; this time Lincoln. A good gig for me, as it's only 16 miles from where I come from, and hence my old stamping ground.Way back in April, when we first found out about this, my distinctly non-folky family had all agreed to come and watch. So not much pressure there then. We were missing half the band, as Ian and Dave couldn't make it.So just Clive, the guitarist and me. It was going to be a long day.

We were camping the weekend, at a nice little site between Newark and Lincoln. We all arrived at various times during Friday evening, and had a pleasant gathering with wine and nibbles. The weather was kind. The birds were singing, everything was right with the world, and we had a relatively early night in order to be ready for the morning.

Arriving at Lincoln bright and early, we met up with Clive who had forsaken the camping for the lure of a b&b. The first dance spot was at the Museum of Lincolnshire Life, quite out of the way really, and hopefully a good place to limber up. There was a small crowd watching the Poachers Morris as we arrived, and began to set up. We were dancing with two other sides, Maids of the Mill, and Slapdash Appalachian. Maids of the Mill are a Dutch ladies side from from Utrecht and their squire asked me "which of these sides is Slapdash?" I couldn't resist it. "I think they probably all are."

Anyway, we started off, and we were probably as slapdash as we have ever been. The music was difficult with just guitar and drums, and during Manning Tree, I just couldn't hear Clive at all from my position at the bottom of the set. The dancing was okay, but everything felt a bit flat really. We were watched by a small crowd, which was probably just as well.

We finished that set and moved down to the cathedral area, St Pauls Yard in fact, where Grimsby Morris and Dukes Dandy were waiting, along with a fairly large crowd. We followed Dukes Dandy on, and did some quite reasonable dances in fairly quick succession; there was quite a bit of clapping and cheering and we seemed to be doing okay. It turned midday, and I started looking round for my first pint, spurred on by my rendition of John Barleycorn. I spotted The Cloud Bar, the sort of trendy sports bar place I wouldn't usually go in, but needs must. A very pleasant barmaid served me a pint of Addlestone's Cider and chatted about the dancing.

Suitably refreshed, I took my tankard out and carried on.
We did a few more dances.
I had another pint.
Suddenly I was really enjoying myself. And so were the crowd.
When we finished the set, a young couple came over and asked if we could teach them a dance. Apparently they were media studies students making some sort of travelogue.
We taught the young man an Upton Snodsbury  during which he managed to bash my wife's finger with his stick.
Thanks again to the staff of the Cloud Bar, who came to the rescue with an ice pack. They really are nice people!

After a well deserved lunch then, on to the cathedral, where we met my family. My Dear Old Mum, eighty years young, had walked up Steep Hill, and was all in. They watched us for the next set though, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Our squire even dedicated a dance to my mum, who was quite embarrassed by it all! We had the biggest crowd of the day too, I reckon upwards of two hundred towards the end. We did a Brimfield and a Twiglet. Both went down a storm. By the time of the massed dance at the end, we were rockin'.

All the sides met at the end of the day for one last dance each. At the cathedral, where, conveniently, we were already. It was done in reverse alphabetical order. I knew there was some reason why we chose the name Wytchwood. On first then. Jane's Dance. The crowd went mad. We sat down and watched the other sides. There is some photographic evidence of me watching the Raving Maes, apparently. And drinking more beer. Obviously.
What a great day it was! After a fairly flat start, it just got better and better. And so did we.

Later on, we spent a very pleasant evening in the Strugglers, an old local pub under the castle walls, and probably the best pub in Lincoln. I had several pints of Bateman's. It was excellent. As was the company. What a great end to a very pleasant day of dance. Roll on the next one!

What We Did On Our Holidays

Some of you may have been wondering where I’ve been. Well, okay, even if you haven’t, I’m going to tell you anyway. I’ve been on holiday, a belated honeymoon, to Australia. Queensland to be precise, Cairns, The Daintree, Port Douglas, Heron Island and Brisbane to be even more precise. And although this is really a blog about the Morris, I thought I’d tell you a bit about it, from the Wytchwood Drummer’s point of view.

After a day of travelling, via Singapore and Darwin, we spent the first five nights in an apartment at Trinity Beach, just north of Cairns. We managed to fit in a couple of days in Cairns, a trip to the “hippy village” Kuranda  on a cable car and  back on the rainforest train. A great trip, and an added bonus was the Tjapukai aboriginal culture centre, where I had a bit of a jam with an old aborigine rock fan, him on the didge, me on the clapsticks. Great fun!

Food was good quality, if slightly more expensive than Blighty, beer is, of course, not so good.  Although no Fosters was to be seen anywhere, they do seem to tend towards the fizzy lager, and what’s more, lull you into a false sense of security with names like Victoria Bitter, which is nothing of the sort.

We had three nights in the Daintree, the bit of rainforest in the far north, near the coast.  Went to sleep with the sound of cicadas and rainforest birds just outside the cabin. Great! Had a lovely meal at the Whet restaurant on the last evening. Superb food (crocodile, which, incidentally, I really recommend), nice white wine. Outside on the terrace, overlooking the rainforest. Really special.

So on to Port Douglas, where we stayed  two nights in the really swish Peninsula Boutique Hotel. Nightlife in Port Douglas seems to be centred on Macrossan Street, and I’ll describe the best bar, in my opinion. The Iron Bar looks like a great big tin shack, halfway along. The tables and chairs are made from old driftwood and potato sacks. The staff are hardworking and friendly, and they serve cider! Mercury cider from Tasmania to be precise, and apparently it’s growing in popularity. All is not lost then. A good pint of cider it was too. I had several. The main attraction in the Iron Bar though, is the cane toad racing. Seven cane toads on a table, seven “jockeys”, armed with party blowers, and the first toad to jump off the table is the winner. It has to be seen to be believed really. The toads have non-PC names like Fat B@%$^&d, Aussie Aussie Aussie and the ever popular Camel Toad. (Think about. No, don’t!) It was great fun anyway, and takes place every night, apparently. See the Iron Bar on my pub guide on the main Wytchwood site.

The highlight of our holiday then, was four nights on Heron Island, a coral cay right on the barrier reef. Absolutely superb. I could go on for hours describing cocktail hour as the sun goes down over the Coral Sea, walking along the seashore alongside huge ray fish, stargazing in the pitch black night sky, snorkelling amongst the fishes and corals. It was wonderful. Everybody should do it sometime.

Final two nights in Brisbane, a lovely modern city with a great night life. I drank some more cider in the Plough, and finally found a pint of Old Speckled Hen in the Pig and Whistle, an “authentic English pub” and home to the Brisbane Man City supporters club. I kid you not, they were showing the FA Charity Shield. English pub? Nah, more a pub designed by someone who’s never been in an English pub. But Old Speckled Hen though! Tasted okay too. 

So to sum up:

Food      8/10    Excellent if a little pricy compared to dining out in England

Beer      3/10       The cider was okay but otherwise my advice is to drink wine and spirits

Music    6/10       Some folky pub acts in Brisbane, and being a bit of a world music fan I enjoyed the aborigine culture centre. Other than that, Aussie folk music seems to be either C&W or Rolf.

Morris Dancing  0/10       Didn’t see any, although there are apparently a few sides about, mainly further south than we ventured.

All in all though, the holiday of a lifetime, which it needs to be really because we probably won’t be able to afford to do it again for some time.

Who Spilt My Beer?

Ah, Days of Dance! Ranking alongside folk festivals as the real red letter days in the Morris calendar. We had been lucky enough to be invited to the Buxton Day of Dance by Chapel-en-le-Frith Morris Men, and 930am saw us, along with others, in the Buckingham Hotel for tea and coffee. I did see a couple of these Cotswold old-timers supping ale, and hats off to them! I have to admit I struggle before about 11ish.

Suitably refreshed, we made our way to the first dance spot, and at around 1030, kicked off proceedings. The dance spots were really well organised, with a great mix of sides, and we found ourselves with sword dancers, cloggies, and Chapel themselves. What a splendid start to the day; great dancing, good weather, and a fair crowd outside the Pavilion. We did a John Barleycorn, a Titterstone Clee and an Upton Hanky before moving on. 

It was a short walk to the next spot, outside Buxton Opera House. Good to see some old friends, the Powderkegs waiting for us!  Even better, the Old Clubhouse over the road was serving an excellent pint of Thwaites Wainwright golden ale.  Your drummer filled his tankard and hurried back to join in with a Bermuda Triangle. I found myself musing over a plaque on the opera house provided by the Frank Matcham Society, celebrating the illustrious architect. I was wondering how many members this worthy group must have. I’ve since found out that there are hundreds, including Timothy West and Prunella Scales, so that’s me told. You can get a good education from Morris Dancing!

We finished our spot at the Opera House with a Brimfield, two sets, one of us and one of Powderkegs. Chiefly to “break-in” our newest dancer, who has been champing at the bit for a while now. She stepped up to the mark with gusto and took a bow at the end. Well done Ange, on your first dance-out!

Anyway, the spot over, it was time for lunch, and a long haul up the hill to the market place. I must say, I was a bit disappointed with Buxton Market, a lot of it now turned over to car parking, and not too many stalls. I think I’d expected it to be a bustling place, full of cheerful costermongers and barrow boys. A man walked by with a dog. A pigeon landed, hopefully near the pub tables. I was wondering where our audience was going to come from. The King’s Head though, was quite full, and did a passable pint of Jennings Cumberland Ale, and a decent ham sandwich. 

Lunch however, was ruined by an unfortunate incident involving my wife and a pint of beer. I’d just come out of the pub, full tankard in hand, when she came over and hugged me. I can’t have had a very good grip on said tankard, because next thing I knew, it was all over the floor. (see photographic evidence)

I was inconsolable. “THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT’S HAPPENED TO ME THIS YEAR!” I ranted. “Yes, but I didn’t……” began wife. “I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT” I said. Needless to say, I have talked about it since. Endlessly.  I’m still going on about it now.

After lunch, we were dancing with the excellent Boggart’s Breakfast, Harthill, and St Katherine’s. Some impressive dancing was enjoyed by a small audience which grew throughout the hour. We did a Jane’s Dance and a Twiglet, after which the Boggart’s Squire was gracious enough to announce, “well, how do we follow that?” Follow it they did. Boggarts have a quite different style, slowish, very precise complicated dances backed up by lovely almost French sounding tunes and some quite sublime drumming! Well, I would say that. I tend to get quite excited about good drumming. Hells Bells is particularly good. Have a look some time soon.

Peter Halfpenny, the illustrious squire of the Morris Ring, and member of Harthill Morris was impressed with our side. The Morris Ring is a very traditional organisation of men’s morris sides. They tend towards men’s border sides because of the extra aggression and gusto put into the sticking and the shouting. “Having seen your side,” he admitted, “I am forced to change my opinion”. Well done to all of our dancers, for putting on such a great display!

Last spot of the day then, down at the pavilion again. We did a Jane’s Dance by the bandstand; this went down really well, and was greeted by applause and cheers from public and other dancers alike. We then went back up to the pavilion to watch Rumworth dancing whilst a wedding car came through.  Graham, our host from Chapel, asked if we’d care to do another dance at the bandstand, and we ended the day with a Manning Tree, one of my favourites. 

The day done, we said a few goodbyes, and headed home. I said at the start of this blog that Days of Dance are about the most enjoyable events in the calendar. Buxton Day of Dance surpassed all of that. A wonderful setting, some fantastic sides, good crowds and fine weather. Thanks to Chapel for the organisation and allowing us to be part of it.

Even the beer incident had a happy ending. I simply bought another pint.

Down By The River

Another week, another evening dance out. It's easy to get a bit blasé about evening dance outs, I suppose. Most sides, during the summer, tend to dance out at pubs rather than practice, and around May to June time there is usually frantic ringing round pubs and other sides arranging it all.
This week, we were dancing with Crooked Steeple, a North-West side from Cleobury Mortimer, at The Mughouse, a pub in Bewdley on (and sometimes in!) the River Severn. The phenomenal amount of rain we've had this summer means that we can take nothing for granted, and the weather wasn't looking good all day. The Severn is up at Bewdley, although since they installed the flood barriers the buildings along Severnside are relatively safe.
So with an eye on the skies, we drove the three miles or so to Bewdley and parked up. Having blacked up, dressed in tatters, strapped on the bells, I lugged my three drums around to the pub. I really need a trolley of some sort. Crooked Steeple were already there and ready to go, as were most of our crew. Just time for a pint then. The Mughouse is a cracking pub, serving Bewdley's Worcestershire Way and Wye Valley's Hereford Pale, among others. I chose the Pale and went outside to sing about it. In fact we started with "John Barleycorn" a dance closely following the traditional song about ale, and written by my wife. I sing the first verse to start us off, and the last verse to finish it. Not always in the same key. Anyway, it seemed to go down almost as well as my pint, so a good job done.
We had a great crowd for a Monday evening, a few dozen people watching us over the course of the evening, which is actually quite encouraging. They were appreciative too, and loudly clapped and cheered at the end of the dances. Crooked Steeple are a great North West side with a good band and a new drummer, with whom I compared notes a bit. Well, other musicians don't tend to talk to drummers much ;-) One of the good things about dancing with a North West side is that their dances are all over five minutes long, so you get a good break in between. Plenty of time for topping up the Pale then! I managed four by the end of the evening. And the rain? Well, it kept off yet again.
Standing outside a pub, pint of honest English Ale in your tankard, gazing over the River Severn as it flows by in spate. Good dancing, good music, good company.
Blasé about it all? Actually, I can't think of anywhere else in the world I'd rather be. Evenings like this are really rather sublime.

The Rain, The Park and Other Things

Saturday 30th June, and the Olympic Torch comes to Birmingham. We’d been booked to do a little spot on Calthorpe Park. Not knowing what to expect, we gradually assembled on the car park to an inner city play centre. A fairly large group of black teenagers were already in attendance, listening to some really loud RnB on a car stereo. They were fascinated with our tatters, top hats and blackened faces, and Phil, who had arrived first, had been roped into a few photo opportunities. One of them had apparently called his mother who’d also had to come and look, and take a photo.

Everybody ready, we trudged across the grass to the park, and the stage which had been erected in one corner. There was a samba band strutting their stuff as we arrived. They were doing some sort of procession, around the park, accompanied by hordes of kids, parents and pushchairs. Most of the kids had shakers and rattles that they had apparently been making that afternoon. The dancers fell in at the back. The band were spared this extra walk, as we had to get all of our gear over to the stage, but the dancers came back full of enthusiasm anyway.

As the last strains of the samba band died away, we suddenly heard our name over the PA system and we were on! A crowd of about a hundred was there, mainly young ‘uns, mainly African-Caribbean and Asian origin, most I suspect had never watched the Morris before. The kids were so enthusiastic that they were crowding in, only inches from the dancers half the time. Some of the smaller ones found themselves little spaces on the grass and were shyly having a go. We started with a John Barleycorn, moved on to a Twiglet and went quickly through a repertoire of about seven or eight dances.  After nearly half an hour we finished to rousing applause, to make way for the local sports club prize giving. We even got a “three cheers” from the sports club guy.

Our spot over, we headed for the ice cream van for a well-earned break. As we were sitting there, a group of four teenaged girls came up and asked us if we could do another dance. So we did a Brimfield for them, and gathered another small crowd. It was great!

A nice afternoon, lovely to do a spot for a genuinely appreciative audience.  And the rain? Well, despite a shower in the daytime, and fairly overcast clouds most of the afternoon and evening, it kept off. We stayed dry. Such is the power of The Morris.

I've Got News For You

So Wednesday night’s practice then, a rather subdued affair, I think everyone was tired after the exertions of the previous two weekends. We practiced a few dances, took the newer members through a few more, and your drummer had his customary three pints of Symonds cider. The Spain-Portugal match was on in the bar, and a small crowd of locals were in attendance.

We had some discussion on amplified music. Our band consists of four main members, guitarist Clive, accordion and fiddle player Ian, melodeon and mouth organ player Dave, and myself on percussion. Since the start, we have used small battery amps in an attempt to balance the sound. The problem that we have is trying to enable the quieter instruments to be heard alongside the drums and boxes.

We’ve experimented extensively with this and are, we think, justifiably proud of our fairly unique sound. During one mad moment we were even asked if we do cds! The music we produce is not particularly loud in the scheme of things, I would even argue that it’s not as loud as a big band with three or four boxes and a couple of drums. So where’s the problem? The Licencing Act 2003 makes it illegal to  perform any music in public without there being an entertainments licence in force. There is a helpful exemption for Morris dancers regarding live unamplified music. So that leaves us out in the cold somewhat.

A chance conversation with my nephew, a guitarist in a band, however, brought some good news. The Live Music Act 2012 was a private members bill which sought to  change some of the act, negating the requirement for a licence for venues with an audience under 200. The Morris exemption rewords to “live accompaniment”.  This comes into force in October, and is the work of tireless campaigning from, among others, Feargal Sharkey and Hamish Birchall. The peer responsible is Tim Clement-Jones, who tabled the private members bill.

So if you are out this weekend, in a pub somewhere, and happen across a fiddle player and an accordionist in the corner, raise a glass to Feargal, and Hamish, and Tim.  Young bands and musicians need the smaller venues to learn their trade. The Licencing Act 2003 was slowly killing off grass roots music in the UK.

As for ourselves, well we’ll just ensure that all our venues have a licence until October, when they will no longer be necessary. Hurrah for a happy ending!

Dancing at the Gates of Dawn, and beyond.

"So why exactly do we do it then?"  That's not your question to me, by the way. It's my question to my wife, as I searched for a sock under the dog's bed in the camper van at 3.45am. We had been camped up, since about 11pm the previous evening on a small dirt track with no toilet facilities, no anything really, close to a busy road, somewhere near Stonehenge. It was still dark, but only just; on the Eastern horizon a faint glimmer could be seen. We, Wytchwood Morris, some pagans from Birmingham, and a Side-With-No-Name had gathered two days after the official solstice for a little ceremony of our own. Hopefully we might even see the sun this year.......
The pagans were late, arriving in a minbus just minutes before sunrise, which occurred, we think, at around 4.40am behind a bank of cloud. To be fair, when we could finally see the sun, it was quite a lovely sunrise; Stonehenge is certainly a great place to be at this time of year, at that time of day.
The ceremony over, the drummer's arms already aching from having to drum seemingly for about twenty minutes, we got down to some serious dancing. Thanks must go to Tony, from the Side-With-No-Name, for helping me out singing all the way through John Barleycorn. His gruff baritone contrasted with my rather unique tenor beautifully. Imagine if you will, a coming together of Luciano Pavarotti and Bryn Terfel. Well it was nothing like that. The dancers, although absolutely knackered, performed as well as ever. A nice fairly genteel Grenadiers from the Side-With-No-Name (henceforth SWNN) followed the John Barleycorn, then we countered with a Brimfield. A Much Wenlock by SWNN was followed by a Manning Tree and then we all had a rest and a wander round the stones. A bit of a photo opportunity, it's not everyday you get to walk around Stonehenge these days, it's quite a privilege really.
You can see some of the photos on our website.
Having done the Stonehenge thing, we had then decided to carry on dancing at Avebury, the village inside a stone circle about thirty miles to the north, and thus on the way home. After breaking fast at the Little Chef Amesbury (the other Steve and I, true to form, had an Olympic Breakfast, only £7.49), we drove off to Avebury to find the car park locked and bolted against us. Perhaps they'd had a tip off we were coming. We drove into the village and spoke to a nice lady at the visitor centre, who told us that the car park didn't open until 10am, but if we weren't staying all day and were dancing at the visitor centre we could use the residents car park instead.
We parked up, sat about for a bit, waiting for Phil and the SWNN. A gathering of various onlookers, including a fair few Americans, a couple of nice ladies from Old Sarum Morris, and a few Europeans spurred us into action, and after a yawn and a stretch we launched into a few dances. Phil finally turned up some time after 11, SWNN didn't turn up at all, but it later transpired that they had been dancing near the stone circle and also at the Red Lion. I never got to see the Red Lion. I'd taken my tankard to no avail. I did get to sing about John Barleycorn again. It's not really the same as drinking it though is it?
We had a fairly large appreciative audience for most of the morning, and were cheered by the Circle Cafe staff, who brought us out some free tea. That picture on their website, by the way. That's not real morris dancing. It's something called Cotswold ;-)
We even persuaded quite a few members of the audience to "have a go", audience participation usually being the best way to turn a hundred strong crowd into one man and a dog. Well done to all those who took part!
Around 1230ish, we finally decided we'd had enough, and packed in. All in all, an enjoyable, if rather long, day.
So to my question, "why exactly do we do it?"
I'm buggered if I know, but hopefully, through the coming weeks, I can give a little insight into the strange world that is THE MORRIS.