May Day weekend. The streets of Rochester. Fifty teams of morris dancers cavorting with big sticks and hankies. What's not to love?
The event has its roots many centuries back. A springtime celebration by local chimney sweeps, now echoed in modern revival. These days it's a three day-er, the better to make merry. A celebration of music and dance, the folk tradition come alive. They come from all over to twirl, to play or to admire. The Mayor of Medway launches the event outside the Guildhall, the shorter her speech the better. Follow the crowds, squeeze by if you can. With permission given the bottle is uncorked, the music strikes up and the feathered men launch. They gather in primary-coloured pairs and spin and beat and flap. The 41st Rochester Sweeps Festival is underway.
The entire High Street becomes a field of dance. Every fifty yards another troupe lines up in the middle of the road, ready to perform. The musicians kick in with fiddles, drums and/or accordions. Twitching feet spring to life. Silver bells ring and tassels fly. Pairs advance and retreat. Wooden batons swish together with a rhythmic click. Arms interlock and bodies turn. Forwards, backwards, smash, repeat. Some sing, some yelp, most grin. Some will be knackered by the end of it, others not even out of breath. Each performance so very different, yet underneath so very similar.
Many dancers black their faces as if speckled by soot. It's facepaint, it's disguise, it's Goth meets Dick Van Dyke. Some go the whole hog and wear black from plumed hat to hobnail boots. Others choose green, the earthier option and less potentially problematic. But most go undaubed, eschewing black altogether for their usual Morris costume of purple, blue, gold, green or red. A lot of sewing machines have been very busy of late. Ribbons dangle, patchwork shimmers, floral garlands shine. Hats with badges, tunics with patches, headbands with posies. Traditional fancy dress rules.
Invicta Morris, Bishop Gundulfs Novices, Cockleshell Clog, Widdershin Witches - they've come from far and wide to perform here today. A motley collection of Englishfolk plucked from the everyday. Hearty men, beardy men, gawky men, men who could easily be someone's art teacher. Fierce ladies, flowery ladies, mischievous ladies, ladies who are probably retired librarians. Some of the groups are elderly, others fired up by exuberant youth. There's no maximum age for a May maiden, no minimum age for playing the fool. Everyone's an extrovert, even if only for the day. Anyone can Morris.
There's often a quirk. Royal Liberty Morris thwack scaffolding poles, not wood. They're from Hornchurch, they're in blue, they practice every Thursday. Their prime mover has a vibrant mohawk. Their molly has a thick white beard and wears a pink petticoat. This all feels perfectly normal once you've stood in Rochester for long enough. When each team's dance is over another swiftly takes its place in the street. There's time aplenty between performances to drink, and eat, and drink again. Pewter tankards and plastic tumblers froth with ale or cider. Old friends quaff together, new friends swap tales over a pint.
The fair has turned up in the grounds of the castle. The cathedral welcomes a stream of plainly pagan visitors. Multiple music stages around the town showcase all shades of folk. Settle back with a beer and burger and enjoy trad or contemporary, Celtic or indie, bluegrass or roots. Lyrics may be traditional, may be witty or may be a paean to the working man. Next up might be Tangled Elbow, The Beard Conspiracy or the Washed Up Jug Band. And the High Street keenly embraces the footfall the spectacle brings, not least the hangers-on dragged here by their parents and the old legs in need of a sit down.
As the day goes on the atmosphere gets noticeably merrier. The centre of town has become a hedonistic pseudo-heathen social club, and still they play, and still they dance. And they'll do it all again on Sunday, and again on Monday, as Rochester's Maytide mayhem continues. The first of the month will kick off at dawn on Blue Bell Hill with a gathering to awaken the Jack-in-the Green. This cloak of leaves, topped off with a flowery ring, will then join the party in the town and eventually lead the closing parade to the castle gardens. It's always a fortuitous year when the Rochester Sweeps Festival peaks on Monday May 1st. And there's still time to join the merry throng.
