In 2016 I was living on the south coast, looking for interesting scenes to photograph. As I roamed the countryside on long summer evenings, I realised there was a scene right in front of my eyes. Even better, it required spending those evenings in real-ale pubs with a well-known but little-understood form of folk culture as free entertainment.
Oxfordshire side members young and old
Having always been drawn to subcultures rather than the mainstream, I started to photograph morris dancers. They weren’t always that easy to find. The more remote sides, as teams are called, aren’t too fussed about promotion. Many weren’t active on social media and used ye olde printed leaflet as their main marketing material. This made them all the more intriguing.
As I started to learn more about the genre, I wondered if a hipper, younger generation of dancers existed. Or would it die out completely, along with the hand-sewn outfits?
Lily Cheatham, a founding member of Boss Morris
Then a friend mentioned a group in Stroud, who were doing something called “prog morris”. Yes, as in rock. They were just what I had been looking for. Gold lamé costumes emblazoned with flashes of neon, electric blue lipstick and dancing to electronic music. Boss Morris not only had idyllic rural Gloucestershire as their natural backdrop, but they were taking inspiration from an eclectic and stylish mix of electronic culture, mystical symbolism and local heritage.
Dancers perform with Wet Leg at the 2023 Brit awards ceremony at the O2 arena in London
Fast forward to 2023, and this same all-female side wowed audiences at the Brits with a brilliant set as part of a performance by the award-winning band Wet Leg. Morris internet lit up in appreciation, and the press and public were intrigued by the giant dancing animal mascots and pagan-inspired costumes.
The energy on stage seemed a fitting celebration of the current groundswell around the morris scene.
Fool’s Gambit are a national youth side
Fool’s Gambit coming off stage after a performance, and below: relaxing backstage at a folk festival
Michael Heaney, whose book The Ancient English Morris Dance comes out this month, watched the performance. “I thought: this must have been the impression that people got in the 15th century, when morris was a spectacular courtly dance,” he told me.
Rhia Davenport, a founding member of Boss Morris, confirmed that the royal connection did indeed form part of the artist collective’s inspiration.
Rhia Davenport of Boss Morris
“The dancers would have been dressed in the finest glitzy garments, which we take pride in making a nod to, particularly in our gold costume,” she said. “We also take pride in using symbolism which ties to our local landscape, in the way that many other morris sides today will display a badge or emblem which represents their locality. Although our costumes don’t always appear traditional they do have strong links to place and history. It’s just that they mean something to us in a different way.”
Ewegenie, one of Boss Morris’s animal mascots, handmade by Alex Merry
People have often assumed that morris roots lie in pagan rituals, thanks largely to Cecil Sharp, the Edwardian folk revivalist. Sharp collected thousands of English songs and dances and published them. For many years, he was seen – and saw himself – as saving traditional English culture from the mists of time. But his ideas also promoted morris’s link with paganism.
Historical records actually show that English morris began as a high-status performance, brought from Europe to the royal courts. From there it spread through the parishes, was virtually suppressed during the Commonwealth, then survived without much notice during the 18th century. More recent revivals came about as reactions to industrialisation and thanks to the “open and embracing” nature of leftwing folk movements of the 1970s. But despite its rich history, morris is often seen as an English oddity that belongs outside the mainstream.
A Sheffield City morris man shows off his outfit and moves
Dancers watch and wait while others perform
One reason for its poor public image is the continued lack of state funding. Unlike in other countries, English folk dance has never been part of a state-sponsored drive to create a national identity, and the lack of investment means its survival depends on amateurs and hobbyists.
Owain Boorman is a self-confessed ‘morris tart’ and often belongs to several sides at any one time
Theresa Buckland, emeritus professor of dance history and ethnography at the University of Roehampton, says: “As we were an empire we didn’t feel we had to invent our tradition, the whole idea of romantic nationalism which lots of countries were trying to create.”
But there is also the preference for many sides to focus on the complex footwork that ranges in style from Border to Cotswold, rapper, molly, and clog, and incorporating swords, sticks, hankies, horns, rush-carts, garlands, ribbons, and giant beasts, rather than aesthetics.
Winchester morris men pose for a photo in a pub car park in Hampshire
Dancers perform in a pub car park in Oxfordshire
Dr Chloe Metcalfe, a dance researcher, says: “The only constant in costume throughout the centuries has been the use of bells. Until the arrival of Boss Morris many younger teams were more interested in playing with the collected dance form itself, creating visually complex choreography rather than re-imagining the dance through costumes.”
Reebok Classics, the footwear of choice for some dancers
The shift towards a more diverse morris culture may be slow, but it is happening. In 2020, there were 13,600 morris dancers in 800 sides around the UK. They include mixed and single-sex sides, and LGBTQ+ sides, based not only in rural England but in towns and cities as well.
It is still a predominantly white demographic, though. In 2020, fewer than 1% of dancers were non-white, and it was only in 2018 that the Morris Ring allowed women to join.
The ‘oss, or horse mascot belonging to Brixton Tatterjacks in action while dancers rehearse one winter’s morning to prepare for the summer season
New sides are putting their own stamp on the form. Jonny B, the squire of Brixton Tatterjacks, set up the team in 2017 because he was tired of the English being seen as the “bad guys”, the “colonisers and abusers” in folk culture.
Jonny B, the squire and founder of Brixton Tatterjacks
Rhia added: “Morris is a creature of its own … it’s such an enigmatic and sprawling mass of unknown. People are desperately trying to understand what it is.”
