Wearing Purple

People are drawn to the Morris in various ways. Some are born to it, with fathers or uncles, or in these more enlightened times, mothers or aunties already in a side. Some may come to it as part of a community payback programme. Actually, that's not true. Some though, see a side dancing out, and think "I want some of that". With my wife and I, it was the Witchmen, at Southwell Folk Festival. With Angie, it was Beltane Border Morris, at Upton.
We've danced with some great sides, Seven Champions, Boggarts Breakfast, Ironmen and Severn Gilders, Rivington Morris. Now at Teignmouth Festival, we were going to be dancing with Beltane.

For us, up in the West Midlands, Teignmouth is a bit of a trek, it's fair to say. On a Friday evening, starting out around 4ish, we were expecting the worst, especially when we saw the ominous signs on the M5 warning of delays around Bristol. Nevertheless, we made the trip in about three and a half hours. The M5 takes you almost all the way. By 830pm we were ready to hit the town. It's compulsory to eat fish and chips the moment you arrive in a seaside town, so we had a look round and found a decent chippy, Finn McCools. Suitably fed, the next thing was a watering hole. It all seemed to be happening at the Riviera Cafe Bar, a large imposing pub on the seafront, so we went in. Doom Bar was on offer, as was Aspall's Suffolk cider. The session upstairs was in full flow, with some excellent singers and musicians. We had a few, a chat with Lizzie, Sarah, Stuart, Alf and Liz from AngleTwitch, Angie and Doug, and wended our merry way back up to the campsite, at the Teignmouth Community School, conveniently situated at the top of a steep hill. And so to bed.

The next day, it was all looking a bit grim. The wind was howling, well, it had been all night. The clouds had gathered, and a marquee which had been erected by members of Beltane was listing somewhat.I got dressed and washed, and wandered down to the school for some breakfast. An excellent bacon, sausage and egg bap and plenty of tea later, we were ready to go. We were all to meet down at the East Cliff Cafe for the procession. See my last blog for my opinion on processions. Just add to it a roaring wind off the sea, blowing my drum all over the place, a pipe band (though I think I may have mentioned that before) and drizzle. Least said, soonest mended. After about 1/2 an hour of absolute purgatory, we were at the Triangle and ready to be introduced to a rapturous crowd. Despite the weather, which was breezy, chilly for June, and a bit drizzly, there were quite a few people assembled on plastic chairs in the Triangle. The Lady Mayor was there, and she opened the festival with a suitable flourish. Everybody in the procession had to do a dance. We started with an Ockington, and it got a cheer. That was good enough for a start. And the good news was, we didn't have to move, because we were dancing with Old Speckled Hen and Plymouth Maids in the same spot. It's always good dancing with clog sides because their dances last for about four minutes and you get a good break! A Brimfield, a Titterstone Clee and a Manning Tree followed in succession until just before noon, when it was time to move on. Our next spot was on the promenade, along with Gasket Rats and Grimspound, both accomplished border sides. We enjoyed a good thirty minutes or so with them to a fair audience, and then it was time for our lunch.

 I was getting desperate by then, it being half an hour past drinking time, so we adjourned to the Riviera Bar. Ian, our disabled musician, was so desperate for a drink, he tripped on the ramp and went flying into the dining area. The barmaid was great. We helped him up, and she cleared the kitchen and let Ian alone whilst he sorted himself out. Job done, she came back with an accident form and lots of sympathy. We enjoyed an excellent lunch, I had a couple of pints of Aspalls and I went upstairs to the gents. In my haste, I tripped up the stairs, cutting my hand. The barmaid looked concerned. I came back down a few minutes later to find everyone on their way out. The barmaid smiled at me. "we're out of here" I said, "place is a bloody death-trap!"

What a great barmaid! Mr P, you should be proud of her!

We then had our own special spot in the Triangle between 1.30pm and 2pm. I spoke to a couple of Welsh lads who were amused by it all. We did a few dances, basked in some quite ecstatic applause, and moved on to our 2 o'clock date with Imbolc Bedlam and Plymouth Maids. We were dancing in Bank Street, and as we arrived I asked Derek, of Imbolc, "where can I get a drink then?" "Well, we're supposed to be dancing here, but there's a pub at the other end so I suggest we all move up there"
"Oh I like you, you can join our side if you like!" It turned out to be a weekend of that sort of comment. I nipped into Molloys for a bottle of Bulmer's and came out in time for a Pershore Hanky.
We had a great hour there, with Imbolc and the Maids, and when it was time to choose what to do next, we just carried on. We ended up with a Tinner's Rabbit and even I had a dance with two young ladies who didn't seem to mind me kicking their shins.

Back to the Triangle for the last waltz, and our first glimpse of Beltane. They did an excellent White Ladies Aston, with far more gusto and energy than I have ever seen. We clapped and cheered as befitting a great dance by a great side. We did a Pershore Hanky, which got great applause, and finished proceedings with a Twiglet.

We'd been invited to Beltane's party on the Saturday night, so after a shower, and a change of clothes we headed over for a burger at the Ceilidh in the school. We watched Boekka's dance spot, an interesting mix of Gothy Morris and movement. About nineish we went over to the marquee and joined the proceedings. What a party those Beltane people throw! Music, singing, beer, food and friendship. Possibly the best session I've ever been to. And I suppose really, after their enthusiastic cheering of us in the Triangle, we should have guessed. But it turns out that Beltane, one of the best Morris sides in the country, think that we're pretty good too. Highlights of the evening? Well, a sublime performance by Seamo of the classic Gogol Bordello song "Start Wearing Purple" on guitar with kazoo accompaniment by Keith and Joe. A beautifully rendered "They Don't Write Them Like That Any More" by Spike and just about everyone else. An amazing free-form dance display by Arwen to  "American Pie". Oh, and a rousing rendition of the Disney classic "I Wanna Be Like You."
Wonderful, wonderful stuff. Around 2am, my wife and I left, to hugs and handshakes all round. As I was leaving, a pretty girl with red hair gave me a hug. "We're so excited about dancing with you tomorrow" she said. I nearly cried.

After a few hours sleep, we were up and ready to go. Another breakfast bap, and down to the seafront for dancing with Boekka and Newton Bushel, a fun Cotswold side with a great Fool. We danced turn and turn about as usual, and had a good time on the seafront, as we did in the next spot, at the Triangle, with Newton Bushel (again) and Old Speckled Hen. Another lunch in the Riviera Bar, and it was over to the promenade for our spot with Beltane.

A few months ago, Richard Ingrams had written a small article in The Oldie magazine, moaning about Morris dancers clogging up his pub. "A rabble of young men and women in drab green costumes and black masks, many of them unsteady on their feet, as they struggled to keep in time with the monotonous diddly-diddly-dee tune of a squeeze-box....." he called them. Well, all I can say is, that in his haste to get a few cheap laughs, he failed to do his research. He's obviously never seen two bloody good sides pulling out all the stops to impress one another as we did that Sunday afternoon. They did a Beltane Fire Dance, we countered with a Manning Tree. They did a Haccombe, we came back with a Sorting Hat. At the end of about an hour and ten minutes, the audience knew they had seen a show of epic proportions.  Monotonous? Ingrams, you know nothing! Of all their dances, I love Jolly Roger. Not taking anything away from all their other dances. Beltane are a wonderful exciting side to watch. The music! The shouting! The dancing! The fishnets! If you watch no other Morris side this year, then try to see Beltane. Or us, obviously! You won't regret it.

I can honestly say that in five years of dancing, never has a weekend gone by so quickly. Never has a weekend been so full of fun. Never have I thought so much "What a great side! And what lovely people!" So thank you Keith, and Joe, Will, and Sue, and Seamo, and Benji, and Ant, Spike, Arwen and Jackie, and anyone else I apologise I've missed off. Thanks for a smashing weekend. And a special thanks to Amy for reminding me what a sentimental old softy I can be when someone says something nice. Especially when I've had a few.

PS If a spare liver was found in the marquee on Sunday afternoon, it'll belong to Dougie, our Glaswegian photographer. They all think they can drink up there.