The featured photo shows the Vikings as we always seem to think of them: a bellicose lot of marauders and fighters. In fact they were much like the rest of us – seeking a simple life of home, work and family. A trip to York, the Jorvik Viking Centre and the Viking Festival showed us an everyday story of country folk.
They must have been doing something right. They even had a willing slave in the form of my eight year old grandson cheerfully wielding his broom for his temporary Viking master.
La Sardana is the traditional dance of Catalonia. It’s been around in one way or another since the 1600s, but really came into its own in the 19th century. Back in the fascist era, Franco did his best to ban it, as he tried to ban all forms of regionalism, or worse, independence. He suppressed the distinct languages within Spain: Catalan, Basque, Galician, with the result that they have now sprung back stronger than before.
Anyway, la Sardana. It’s a circle dance, with men and women, neighbours, friends, strangers joining hands, moving slowly in a circle following the fairly complex foot moves of the leader. When the circle starts getting too big, a second circle starts, then a third ..
On Sunday morning, we took ourselves down into town to watch the mini-Sardana festival. We immediately noticed that I fitted the age-profile the best. Every single dancer was over 60. Anaïs’ friend’s granny immediately wanted to put that right, and appointed herself Anaïs’ personal Dance Mistress. With not much success.
A few younger citizens took themselves off to practice in a quiet corner …
And after a slow start, the event got going. Not having a single dance gene in my body, I wasn’t tempted to get involved, despite being The Right Age. But it’s rather sad that this seems to be the general view among the young. Would Franco get his wish after all, and see the Sardana vanish a hundred years after he tried to banish it?
Blogging pal Peter of Peter’s Pondering told me that after he’d read my last post, he’d enjoyed ten minutes with YouTube watching 400 Roses performing . I’ve missed a trick. I should have shown you myself. Here you are:
When I showed you all the fun to be had at Masham Sheep Fair in Monday’s post, I included a couple of shots of dancers. Dancers who really didn’t give of their best in black and white. These are the 400 Roses.
They’re a group of women dancers from West Yorkshire. They’re folk dancers. But it’s not as simple as that. They combine Morris dancing with – yes – belly dancing, with a nod perhaps to steampunk. Their gloriously extravagant red, black and white costumes feature – among other things – red and white roses to celebrate their Yorkshire and Lancashire origins . Those of you who are not from these parts may not know that the red rose is the symbol for Lancashire, the white rose, that of Yorkshire. The Red Roses are accompanied by their energetically engaging band t’Thorns. Come and have a look.
And a close-up of the skirts of their dresses, every one different.
I couldn’t resist two black and white portraits though: one of a dancer, one of a bandsman.
And even one of the cheerful bags that accompanied them to where they were dancing.
Thank you, 400 Roses. We’ll come and watch you now whenever we can. I think you enjoyed yourselves as much as we your audience did.
An optional extra for Ann-Christine’s Lens-Artists Challenge: On Display.
Townie Toddler has gone back to Spain. The house suddenly seems unwontedly calm and quiet. Rather dull really. This is probably because the two old fogies who live here have no remaining energy – for a day or two at least.
Townie Toddler’s mum wanted her daughter to spend time being a child of the countryside – spending time with its animals, plants and wide open spaces. So off we went on Saturday to Borrowby Show. Horses from shire horses to the tiniest of ponies, sheep, dogs and small animals were all Being displayed to best advantage. Oddly, the only cattle were two charming Jersey calves. One of the set pieces in the afternoon was of The Hunt. Definitely NOT our thing. But Anaïs enjoyed the chance to meet the docile and well-behaved beagles who later tore round the show ring in pursuit of – luckily – a less than realistic hare, who doubtless smelt right.
Here’s our day:
Then the next day, on our way to the airport, it was Meanwood Valley Urban Farm. It was somewhere we often went when we lived in Leeds, and the children were smaller. We loved it then. Now it’s re-invented itself. It’s larger. It has peaceful walks where you can lose yourself in dense copses and apparently distant views. It has all the farmyard animals you’d expect. Yet it’s within walking distance of Leeds City Centre. It has a vegi-box scheme. A bike workshop. It works with volunteers, those with learning disabilities, disengaged young people, and is a welcoming and environmentally focussed part of its local community. It also has a really great café. We spoke to staff and volunteers who talked with pride and enthusiasm about this special place. Almost worth moving back to Leeds for. It was a wonderful finish to Anaïs’ and Emily’s English break.
Brian? Do you see those pigs? That shot’s my Last on The Card in July.
It’s a mere 18 months or so since I reblogged my post about Beltane, but I’m doing so again because it fits so well with my last post celebrating Thornborough Henges.
May 1st 2016
Not much further than a mile from us as the crow flies lies Thornborough Henge. It’s a prehistoric monument consisting of three giant circular earthworks. Constructed 5000 years ago by the first Neolithic (New Stone Age) farmers, it was probably an enclosure for their ritual gatherings. The Henges became an important centre in Britain for pilgrimage and trade, although its exact purpose still remains a mystery.
It sends shivers down my spine to think that this ancient piece of our history lies just a short walk from our home.
We can visit it any time we choose, simply to tramp round and try to imagine it in its heyday, and we’ll have the place to ourselves. Not on May Day though. Today is the Gaelic feast of Beltane, half way between the spring and summer solstices. It’s a day to mark the beginning of summer. Sadly, today is very cold, rather windy and a bit wet.
Back in pre-historic times, rituals were held on this day to protect the cattle, crops and people, and to encourage growth. Bonfires, deemed to have protective powers, were lit. For many centuries these practices died out. But nowadays, at sites like Thornborough, pagans, Wiccans, New-Agers and lovers of history and tradition gather once more to celebrate the renewal of life and growth.
Today I was there too. For an hour at least, for the opening ceremony. Brrr! It was cold.
I was strangely moved. The Green Man, representing rebirth and the cycle of growth was our Master of Ceremonies. He invited us all to join hands, whether friends or strangers, in fellowship, and shout out three times the invocation to new life. We hailed Brigantia, Celtic goddess of Northern England. Then at his bidding and as he sounded his horn, we turned to the east and welcomed the summer rains. We turned south to welcome the sun (who was coyly absent today), to the west to welcome summer winds, and to the north where the wolves apparently are.
Then a man, naked from the waist upwards save for his covering of woad-coloured paint, leapt among us bearing the flaming torches which would offer us all protection over the coming months.
And that was the ceremony over. Dancers entertained us. They seemed to me to owe much to flamenco and to middle-eastern belly dancing traditions, but we all cheered them on with enthusiasm.
I shan’t be there this year for the closing ceremony. I’m still thawing out. But weather permitting, I’ll certainly go along next year. Will you come along too?
We haven’t been along since: cold May Days, Covid – all the usual tired excuses. But we definitely should make the effort this year.
For Fandango’s Flashback Friday
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love sent to me –
Twelve drummers drumming.
I bring you drummers from South Korea, which is appropriate. It’s September, and they’re celebrating Chuseok, which is a sort of secular Harvest Festival. But it fills the place in the calendar that Christmas does here. It’s a time to spend with family and friends, to exchange gifts, and generally to have a good time. Bring on the drummers and dancers!
There are moments when you have no fewer, and no more than twelve drummers before you. But you’ll have to keep your wits about you.
And that’s it. The end of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Tonight’s the time to take down the tree, tidy away cards and decorations … till next year. It’s all over unless you’re Spanish, or from a range of Latin American countries, in which case you’ll be celebrating El Dia de los Reyes, or Los Reyes Magos, when the Three Kings visited the infant Jesus. A great excuse for a party!
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love sent to me –
Eleven pipers piping.
So soon after Hogmanay, there’s only one kind of piper who will fit the bill.
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love sent to me –
Ten lords a-leaping.
They’ve brought their partners with them. I hope you don’t mind. But lords a-leaping do need their ladies dancing to keep them on their toes.
This is the same troupe of Catalan dancers whom you met yesterday, entertaining us and each other, with their leaping and dancing. I can’t be certain that they’re lords, but some of them look pretty fine to me.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love sent to me –
Nine ladies dancing …
We came upon a happy troupe of dancers one sunny day in Catalonia, dancing the afternoon away in the town square.
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
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