Sunday 22 July 2012

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.

Monday 16 July 2012

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.

Saturday 7 July 2012

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.