Saturday, 12 June 2010

A dancer called morris.

This morning me, Mrs D and the boy all trotted off to a local folk festival, firstly to get out and about and secondly to see folk being festive. We saw very little of what I would call folk and a tremendous amount of what I would refer to as odd balls. Don't get me wrong, I felt right at home, but Jesus these people were strange.

I don't think I've ever seen so many people called Morris dancing in one place before in my life. Every corner seemed to lead into another road blocked by a band of merry dancers slicing sticks, clubs and handkerchiefs through the air with equal gusto. Bells jingled and jangled like the gates of hell being opened as an array of various morris folk pounced gazelle like from one spot to another, at times it really was quite unnerving.

I'm not sure how much attention I've paid to Morris dancers in the past, but today I became very aware that they are nothing like I thought they were. Some (not many) seemed close to my memories, dressed in white with little sticks and a bell or two strategicly placed for good effect. The rest seemed some how dark.

I'm not sure what goes on in the closed world of morris dancers (if anything) but I'm happy enough to let my imagination run wild for a while. I'd give you an insight but wouldn't want to spoil your own perception of the wonderfully strange folk who go by the name of morris and love to dance. As I left the Wimbourne folk festival this afternoon I couldn't help feeling just a little bit relieved that at no point have I ever thought a future in morris dancing would be the life for me. Good to watch though.