Beer by name and by nature…

This year Sue’s birthday coincided with the annual Albury Morris weekend adventure of traditional dance, music and of drink.

We drove down to Beer in Dorset with my Aunt and Uncle, stopping midway for a sandwich a pint and a then at the National Trust property of Lytes Cary Manor (misheard by me as Light Scary Manor) before arriving in time to meet up with the others for another drink before dinner (you can see a theme starting to emerge).

The village of Beer is quaint and retains much of the feel of the original fishing village, albeit sanitised and more affluent than when it relied on that trade. The proximity to the sea did mean that the restaurant we had our evening meal in had a great fish menu that was enjoyed by all. A local pub was selected for the ritual occupation as the massed Morris brought out their musical instruments and sang and drank into the night.

The weekend was superbly organised by Pete and included a tram ride between Seaton and Colyton down beside the bird spotter’s paradise of the Axe valley. We watched the Morris side dance and joined them in some cold refreshments at their allotted venues. A coach took the merry group on to Sidmouth where the dancing outside was put off by the increasingly inclement weather and the group again selected pubs at random to occupy. As alcohol levels increased the side became bolder and soon the regulars were in awe of the sight of several beery and unusually clad older men prancing around the bar alternatively waving hankies and bashing sticks together (having more members than is required for each dance means that the performers can alternate as they tire or require additional refreshment such that a constant barrage of concussive stick dances and percussive bells tied to the legs that accompanies the more musical concertinas, accordions and boron drives the landlord and any potential opposition into submission). Later it was back to Beer where we had some time to freshen up and relax before continuing on with the festivities. I came down to the dinner fashionable late blaming the headaches (I actually was watching the final Dr Who of the series – brilliant it has been too) where we ate some more, drank some more and, after the tables and chairs were pushed to side of the room, singing and traditional dancing ensued.

The following day we checked out and the group decamped arranging to meet at Lyme Regis where they danced on the Cobb as the sea spray plumed over the wall and then retired to a lovely pub at Axemouth for lunch and another dance before finally disbanding and dispersing quietly into the countryside from whence they came like the crack commando dance team they are.