In Abbots Bromley, you found yourself in a relatively
untouched village – a typical Staffordshire village at that – with not much
changed. Some of the buildings here still are certainly medieval. We were dropped
off at the Buttercross – a hexagonal shaped building near the green that was
used for market day over many centuries – I’ve seen one other like it in
Bungay. This one is more medieval looking, the Bungay one looks Georgian.
Someone there that day told me what a Buttercross was – at market, it was where
people bought butter, milk and eggs.
We visited a pagan art stall – a longhaired, bearded
attractive man named Chris Bell, selling his pagan art (mostly green men) in
the market and I bought a few as gifts for people back home. After that we had
our first pint at the Goat’s Head pub, and met some of Steve’s pagan friends
there. Great chats with people I’d just met, who had good stories to tell. Even
Steve had stories to tell about his annual jaunts to Abbots Bromley. As he’s
been coming since 1989, he had a few tales, and I think, could write a book
about the goings on that he had witnessed over the years – the pagan camps, the
large and small crowds, the popularity of the event, and how they’ve evolved. One
story he told was about how he and his pagan friends were sitting in the pub or
somewhere and a tradesman came along and asked them about runes – he had seen
some around the village – under the tiles of the old roofs and houses – dating
back centuries, probably even the middle ages. They had been scratched into the
architecture of the old buildings – some of these probably not repaired for
many centuries. Sketching the runes for the pagans, the tradesman was told they
may have been symbols of protection upon the house. Kind of reminds me of the
concealed shoes superstition. Now THAT would be good article.
After our pint, we went to the old Church House – that is
certainly medieval or even later, but definitely one of the oldest houses in
the village. They put on a great spread there – sandwiches and cakes to eat,
and endless tea – we had our lunch there – well, a small lunch, we also ate
more later on.
The Old Church House where we had lunch
Steve took me to the St Nicholas Parish Church to see where
the horns are kept. I could tell by looking at it, parts of it were Saxon, and
like all Saxon churches, had been added to over the years, especially in the
Norman times. Saxon and Norman buildings go together a lot here. This one was quite
a lovely church. The bars that hang the horns up are there, and even the old
hobby horse from years ago – I’ve seen old images from the 70’s of that hobby
horse being ridden about the place – it says that the horse is from the Middle Ages –
could it actually be that old? I often hold doubt of things like this – what looks
medieval, could have been made as recently as the nineteenth century. They
use a new one in the dance now. There were also glass cabinets holding the
regalia and costumes of horn dancers past.
There was also a story from Steve about the pagans who
actually came to church services in previous Horn dance weekends, in their velvet
robes and pentacles, and sat in the front row, much to the annoyance of the
vicar. The Christian locals preferred to sit up the back as far away from the
pagans as possible. Would have loved to have seen that.
In the churchyard, the ground surrounding the church was
raised, as if it was small pre-Christian mound. It makes us wonder if indeed a
Saxon church was here, maybe something before it existed. Steve also showed me
a headstone, belonging to a man that was once a leader of the horn dancers –
and it says that on his headstone. He belonged to the Fowell family, and they
are the official horn dancers – their family and another one are the only
members that are allowed to dance, and have been for many, many generations. Steve also told me about another friend of his
and a visitor to the Horn Dance day would spend the night in the graveyard
because he had nowhere else to sleep. And people and locals did not mind – he
was just the ‘guy who slept in the graveyard.’ Oh Boy! The characters you get
at these events.
We walked up the street to the Bagot Arms, passing some of
the places where Steve says the dancers stop for a pint, or food. In the Bagot
Arms, Steve and I had another pint and we chatted about many other things –
pagans in the UK and Australia, folk dancing, horse brasses, and many other
things that crossed our minds. I kept seeing more and more people walking past
the pub window, as I realised the tourists were arriving. It was probably about
3.00 - 3.30pm by now, and the dancers were due to arrive in the village. After
a toilet run, I went outside to find Steve standing there, prompting me along.
As I looked west down the road, I saw the dancers skipping along the road with
their horns. I got really excited here – this was it! I was finally going to
see this horn dance. It all dawned on me where I was when I saw them. I began
to not believe that I was here!
As they came along, they circled around each other, and I
saw my Staffordshire friend Shamus playing the accordion, who acknowledged me and gave me a head bow.
I began to take some short footage of the dance, and Angela, the leader of my
border morris team back in Yorkshire, was in the background. She saw me and
came around to give me a hug. After this dance the dancers went under an arch
and out into the backyard of one of their friends who had put on a bit of food.
Steve suggested we walk back into the village, and before we walked off, Ang
invited us out the back with the dancers to hang out with Shamus. The four of
us got some group photos together and then went further out the back to the
lawn to watch some of the dancers dance with some locals. They are a more open
folk dance than I thought. You think about Padstow and how only locals can go
to the May Day Festival because the tourists ‘clogged the village.’ And the
Morris Ring who have men-only sides who refuse to let women join, but here in
Abbots Bromley, they let locals dance and WOMEN too! What a nice bunch of
people! Not superstitious about a woman holding the horns let alone having a
dance!
 |
Me with Shamus and Angela, who is the
squire of my morris team |
After that, we followed the dancers out to the street again
and walked along as we watched them head to the Bagot Arms back towards the
village. At this car park, Shamus dragged me over to where the horns were laid
on the ground, and shoved a set of horns into my hands. I was holding the
lighter horns that were damaged in the mid 70’s and the broken bit was dated to
have been from around 1060s. I made sure veteran attendee Steve got to hold
them as well.
 |
| me with some horns |
 |
| Steven with the horns |
We headed back towards the Buttercross, running into more
pagan friends of Steve on the way and stopping for chats. At the Crown Pub, we
went inside to see the new décor of the renovated pub – all modern and new, and
saw the Horn Dance paintings done in the 1940s. Then we went round the back of
the pub and visited the pagan camp site up the back – I saw Nick from the Black
Pigs Border Morris and went to say hello to him by his hearse. Then we got a
hotdog outside the front of the Crown and then stood with more of Steve’s
friends, Cathy and Robin. It was now when the horn dancers had made their way
down into the village and arrived outside the Goat’s Head and held up the
traffic doing their road-hogging dance. Then they rested by the Goat’s Head and
let friends dance with them.
I
chatted to friends Ang, Fran, and Shamus, and Steve and his friends joined us.
I visited the stalls again and bought some Horn Dancer pins. Then the dancers
went out the back of the Goat’s Head and posed for photos. We stayed back there
in the large beer garden until about 6pm, then headed back to the Crown. It was
time for Steve and I to get back to the station, so we looked for our cab. I
could not find Ang or Shamus at all, so never got to say goodbye. It was the
last time I saw Shamus too. Our cab was waiting when it started to rain again.
We got the train from Uttoxeter to Derby and then caught one home to Leeds - finally on our separate ways home, and with a few train cancellation issues, Steve and I made it safely home.
I had an awesome and memorable day at Abbots Bromley and am
very glad I got to go. It was magic! And brilliant to witness such an old dance
and finally see how it was conducted, especially since I have been going to
folk dances all year. Getting to know so many people apart from Steve in
England has been wonderful, meeting Shamus in March and becoming friends with
him, and then learning that he was the accordion player for the Horn Dancers
absolutely blew my mind! What are the chances of such a meeting! I had such a
wonderful day!
Even now, after six months, I am still reeling from the experience. I had always dreamed of going, and never thought I actually would! Thanks to Steve Jones, Shamus O'Blivion, and Angela Boycott-Garnett.
