Sue and I have just come back from the Green Man festival in the nearby town of Bovey Tracey, and I have questions. Principally, who came up with morris dancing, and what did they think they were doing at the time?1

Intentionally blurred for artistic effect - honest.

I like to imagine a fight between neighbouring tribes, each warrior armed with a stout stick. Face to face, the opposing sides squared up to each other, their faces painted, their ragged clothes streaming out on the breeze. Tensions rose, and some enterprising type began thumping on a crude drum, beating out a steady rhythm guaranteed to stir the blood and steel the nerves of everyone within hearing range.

A chieftain, or perhaps his idiot nephew who never knew when to keep his mouth shut, let rip with a guttural yell to begin the battle.

“Hang on,” somebody said, “I’m trying to get these bells off my legs.” But it was too late. The warriors surged toward each other, arms raised and sticks at the ready, filling their lungs to bellow dire imprecations such as “Ha!” and “Ho!”

They struck out with their weapons, only for their sticks to be parried by their opponents, wood crashing against wood in a staccato rhythm of hollow thuds. Now it was the turn of their enemies to counterattack, but their blows were parried too. The fighters shifted their feet, each adopting a new stance, vying for a position that would give them the advantage they so sorely needed.

And so it went on. Shout, crack, jump, crack, crack.

“It’s no good,” someone shouted out. “We’re too evenly matched.”

“Yes,” came the reply. “But anyway, it’s not in our interests to actually kill each other. We might need to help each other come harvest time.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. But what shall we do? And who the hell keeps jingling those bells?”

“Sorry! I… never mind.”

Crack, shout, jingle and jump, shout, crack, jingle and jump.

“You know what?” someone asked as he deftly sidestepped his opponent. “This doesn't sound all that bad.”

“What? Are you taking the mickey?”

“Not at all. Listen.”

Jump, jingle, crack, crack, crack.

The warring parties whirled around each other in a wild melee, a free for all of jumping and shouting and lashing out.

“Okay, I kind of see where you’re coming from,” came the reluctant response. “But we’re not meant to be, you know, enjoying ourselves.”

Crack, jingle, jump, jump, jump.

“Why not? Life is short. Hey, I have an idea. Try this.”

Shout, crack, jingling sidestep, crack, crack, shout, jump, crackity, crack crack.

“Hey, that is good. Let’s do it again. Only this time, we’ll throw the sticks in the air.”

“Nice try, pal. I’m not setting down my weapon for anybody.”

Jump, jingle, crack, jingly jump.

”It’s not a trick. We’ll swap sticks, jump about, turn around and swap them back.”

“Uh, okay. Like this?”

Shout, crack, jingling sidestep, crack, throw, shout, jump, crack, throw, crack.

“Yeah! We did it! That was awesome.”

“It was. And it must’ve looked very cool.”

Jump, jump, crack, shout, crack.

“How about, when we’re done, we all go for a drink together? We have cider.”

“We shouldn’t. We’re sworn enemies. But… what kind of cider?”

“The best. We left the apple pulp in a lead trough, and it made the trough all lovely and shiny. That has to be good.”

“Yeah. Anything that can polish metal has to be good for you.”

Crack, crack, crack, jump, jump, crack, crack, shout.

“Only one problem. What do we do about the battle? I mean, who shall we say has won?”

“Erm, call it a draw and carry on another day? Same time next week?”

“Cool. Maybe I could bring my cousin. He plays a little sort of pipe he made. And you have that guy with the drum, so…”

Jump, crack, jingle, jingle, shout.

“Yeah, bring your pipe player. It’s only fair.”

“Right. It’s a deal. But how do we stop?”

“I dunno. Okay, okay, listen everybody. On the count of three, everybody jump and we’ll bash the sticks together and shout at the same time. Yeah? Okay. Here we go, 1,2,3!”

Jump, crack, Ha!

*That’s enough of that - Ed.

I hope you enjoyed that piece from the new In No Particular Order section - I call it INPO for brevity.

If you want to know what the Green Man is, and why they should have a festival in his honour, I commend you to the arcane art of the online search.

In Bovey Tracey that day, they may have had someone in an appropriate Green Man mask and outfit parading about, but if that happened, we missed it.

That’s all from me for now. I hope you have a great weekend - and that nobody comes at you with a stick.

Here’s a video in case you need to see a morris dance today. There were at least four troupes of dancers. Some were more vigorous, some were more sedate, but they all seemed to be having fun.

It’s a hobby.

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Take care and happy reading,

Mikey

1

I stole part of that line from a Billy Connolly joke, but I always say that if you’re going to pinch material, steal from the best. Billy’s joke went something like: Who discovered you can get milk from cows, and what did they think they were doing at the time?

And yes, his version is funnier than mine.

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Author Michael Campling

Big Green Men and Whacking with Sticks