Facing extinction, the world’s oldest morris dancing group voted to admit women to their ranks. A welcome step forward – or a slight to a harmless expression of masculinity?
My mouth was dry, my heart pounded furiously. I had two silk sashes crossed over my chest and was being led towards my first public morris dance by a bunch of elderly men who jangled like a herd of exotic cows.
On a drizzle-soaked pavement outside the Church Inn in Mossley, Greater Manchester, we took our places like Lancastrian matadors, brandishing wooden sticks instead of swords. I had been building up to this moment for six months.
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