With their long socks, hats, white handkerchiefs and bells tied to their shins, Morris dancers have long been figures of fun in England — but a new generation is fighting back.
England’s traditional folk dancing is thought to date back to at least the 14th century, although nobody quite knows where it originated, other than that it has been danced for hundreds of years by working men trying to earn a bit of extra cash.
The future of Morris was cast into doubt earlier this year when one of its senior officials warned it risks becoming “extinct” within 20 years because young people are too embarrassed to take part.
“There is no doubt some sides will die, and have died, because the youngsters haven’t been encouraged to come in,” Charlie Corcoran, the bagman (secretary) of the Morris Ring dance association, said.
But at a Morris festival in Nottingham, central England, last month, most dancers rejected this, arguing that while young people may not be dancing the traditional styles, they are reinterpreting Morris for the 21st century.
The Boggart’s Breakfast troupe, from Sheffield in northern England, are far from the stereotype of the bearded, middle-age men in white socks, both in appearance and the way they add modern twists and turns to the usual set-piece dances with sticks.
Although they wear the rag jackets of the Border dance style, which hails from the counties bordering Wales, these are black with blue and silver sequins, topped off with black trousers and top hats and bright blue painted faces.
“We formed with the intention of pushing the boundaries a little — we do a lot of fusion stuff, we use a lot of non-traditional tunes,” says Grace Jackson, 34, who is originally from the US state of Vermont.
She said there was “not a chance” Morris was dying out, but admitted that dances with handkerchiefs were “a bit girly” and said it was vital to have groups who were “making it new and making it something for this generation.”
Morris, usually danced by sets of four or six people, has long been a part of rural life across England, taking on regional variations.
Mill workers in the northwest danced in their work clogs, while coal miners in the northeast took the swords they used to scrape the mud off pit ponies to create intricate woven patterns in “Rapper” or “long sword” dances.
Many of the dances were written down for the first time in the early 20th century by music teacher Cecil Sharp, sparking a revival.
Nowadays, most of England’s estimated 14,000 Morris dancers perform more than one style, to the music of either a single melodeon, a fiddle or a band.
It is no longer a male-only culture, and mixed sides are a common sight.
The Lord Conyers Morris Men have been dancing for 35 years, but member John Ledbury admits the all-male side once looked as if they were dying out.
“We went through a stage where our average age went up by one each year,” said the 62-year-old, whose troupe wear all white with brown and green baldricks (chest straps) and straw hats.
“Then there were various new generation people joining us and it brought it down with a bump, and it seems to have revitalized the dancing quite a bit.”
Many Morris officials say there are young people dancing but many are embarrassed to perform anywhere that their friends may see them.
This is less of a problem with Rapper dancing, a highly-energetic sword dance performed by five people. It involves weaving flexible swords held at each end into intricate patterns, while deploying some deft footwork.
In the 13th-century Ye Old Salutation Inn in central Nottingham, Katherine Hurdley’s troupe is young and slick. They wear dark red long shorts and shirts with black socks and belts, and dance quickly.
“It’s fun, its fast and there’s a lot of team friendships,” the 20-year-old said. Her group Triskele, from Sheffield, perform set dances but she adds: “There’s always new things you can do with it, and everyone has an input.”
Across the city, Rebecca Kell, 25, insists the tradition and community spirit is an important part of the appeal — along with keeping active and of course the drinking, given that much of Morris dancing revolves around pubs.
“We want to be proud of it, it’s English culture, but mainly its fun and there’s a big folk family around the country,” she said.
In the city center, some of Morris’ youngest devotees from Ashley’s Rise in Bristol, southwest England, performed Border dances in colorful rag jackets, bells and sticks.
Tom, 15, says Morris dancing is “just brilliant,” while 10-year-old Courtenay admitted: “I really like banging sticks together.”
But skeptical teenage onlookers suggest Morris still has a serious image problem that it needs to overcome both to survive and to fulfill its hopes of taking part in the opening ceremony for the London 2012 Olympics.
“I’m quite an eclectic dresser but I think even that’s pushing it for me,” said Daniel Joss, 16, as he eyed up the rag jackets.
“Some things are just unacceptable for people my age.”
In the mainstream view, the Philippines should be worried that a conflict over Taiwan between the superpowers will drag in Manila. President Ferdinand Marcos Jr observed in an interview in The Wall Street Journal last year, “I learned an African saying: When elephants fight, the only one that loses is the grass. We are the grass in this situation. We don’t want to get trampled.” Such sentiments are widespread. Few seem to have imagined the opposite: that a gray zone incursion of People’s Republic of China (PRC) ships into the Philippines’ waters could trigger a conflict that drags in Taiwan. Fewer
March 18 to March 24 Yasushi Noro knew that it was not the right time to scale Hehuan Mountain (合歡). It was March 1913 and the weather was still bitingly cold at high altitudes. But he knew he couldn’t afford to wait, either. Launched in 1910, the Japanese colonial government’s “five year plan to govern the savages” was going well. After numerous bloody battles, they had subdued almost all of the indigenous peoples in northeastern Taiwan, save for the Truku who held strong to their territory around the Liwu River (立霧溪) and Mugua River (木瓜溪) basins in today’s Hualien County (花蓮). The Japanese
Pei-Ru Ko (柯沛如) says her Taipei upbringing was a little different from her peers. “We lived near the National Palace Museum [north of Taipei] and our neighbors had rice paddies. They were growing food right next to us. There was a mountain and a river so people would say, ‘you live in the mountains,’ and my friends wouldn’t want to come and visit.” While her school friends remained a bus ride away, Ko’s semi-rural upbringing schooled her in other things, including where food comes from. “Most people living in Taipei wouldn’t have a neighbor that was growing food,” she says. “So
Whether you’re interested in the history of ceramics, the production process itself, creating your own pottery, shopping for ceramic vessels, or simply admiring beautiful handmade items, the Zhunan Snake Kiln (竹南蛇窯) in Jhunan Township (竹南), Miaoli County, is definitely worth a visit. For centuries, kiln products were an integral part of daily life in Taiwan: bricks for walls, tiles for roofs, pottery for the kitchen, jugs for fermenting alcoholic drinks, as well as decorative elements on temples, all came from kilns, and Miaoli was a major hub for the production of these items. The Zhunan Snake Kiln has a large area dedicated