Nicola chester

2 min read

Does the new folklore trend reveal a forgotten yearning for nature?

Illustration: Lynn Hatzius

OPINION

In these times of multi-crisis, a new interest in folklore, myth, or what tentatively might be called ‘spiritualism’ is rising. Moon names, borrowed from Native American, farming or rural culture, are referenced in weather reports (July’s moon is ‘the hay moon’) and the ancient foliate face of Green Man symbolism abounds, from a festival in Wales to King Charles’s coronation.

My young-adult children assure me of the rise of a creative and emotional reach towards nature. This is well illustrated by 2023’s Brit Award winners Wet Leg, performing at the O2 London Arena with Boss Morris, an all-female Morris dancing side, complete with dancing owl, cow, horse and a sheep called Ewegenie. Here is England’s oldest-surviving rural tradition updated with women, gold lamé, youth, neon brights and (often) electronic music.

But what does it mean? Is it modern shorthand to care for nature, or a distraction from our disastrous disconnect from nature and farming? And why does it unsettle some people?

There have been some interesting conversations around the ideas in the book Wild Service (edited by Nick Hayes and Jon Moses, in which I have a part) and its invitation to connect with the countryside in new-old ways. Nick Hayes’s striking, modern folkloric art nods to older icons and makes new ones too: Mackenzie Crook’s Worzel Gummidge for one.

But is this folky spirituality something to be wary of? Traditions can be uncomfortable – but interpretations are not set in stone. Robin Hood has always been updated for our times and we enjoy testing the science behind country lore.

The agricultural pageant of Hocktide still takes place in my hometown of Hungerford each spring. Tithing men carrying beribboned ‘tuttipoles’ collect kisses in exchange for oranges from commoners, and renew access rights – but tithing men now include women, and rents fund community projects such as a new wetland nature reserve. Folklore isn’t static. It can be given a new relevance.

It might be easy to scoff at rituals, especially if we are secure in our sense of belonging. But what might a spiritual, cultural or artistic connection with nature look like, to those who might not have easy acc

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