It’s as English as scones and cream, but Morris dancing was at risk of becoming marginalised. Now, as the folk tradition experiences a rural revival among the young, radical and stylish, photographer Rachel Adams meets those bringing Morris out of the past
PHOTOGRAPHY SPECIAL: PEOPLE
It’s 4.30am and I’m circling a hairpin bend, looking for somewhere to park. I’m in deepest Gloucestershire, awake much earlier than usual in search of an event I hope is worthwhile. As I pull into a pitch-black car park, so does another car. Two men get out. I can’t see them, but I hear bells jingling, quiet voices and a dog barking in a nearby campervan. I realise the film I’ve brought will be useless if the sun doesn’t cut through the heavy mist in time for the event I’ve driven from London to photograph.
I’ve come to watch a new iteration of an old tradition – Morris dancers welcoming in the summer at dawn on 1 May. As more people arrive, including conservationists eager to point out the ground-nesting skylarks and yellow cowslips, it’s clear the turn-out will be far larger than expected. By daybreak, 400 people have made their way through the half-light to watch two local sides, Boss Morris and Miserden Morris, dance their way across Rodborough Common near Stroud.
Although Morris has been part of May Day festivities for centuries, it’s the first time these sides (the name for a Morris group) have invited their social media followers to join them in celebrating the English countryside’s magical transformation from wintry grey to vibrant green.
A PHOTOGRAPHER’S EYE
As a photographer, I’m endlessly fascinated by people – what we do, why we do it, and in particular how creativity thrives when cultures are pushed to the margins and collide. I’ve always loved the idea of Morris dancing, seeing the dancers as keepers of some ancient rite, indifferent to modern fads and fashion, and relishing, just as much as I do, the changing seasons and any excuse to spend the long summer evenings outdoors. When I moved to Dorset in 2014, I enjoyed finding that mixture of ancient and modern, rural and urban in the myriad folk festivals in towns and villages, with pubs and streets that buzz with trad music sessions, cider louts, ‘rural disco’, and of course, doz
