Battle of the Bandanas

Recent reporting about face-coverings and bandanas reminded me about this blog, written when I was bagman of TyneBridge Morris, which was first posted in another place in July 2009.

A few weeks ago I received an email from a lady who had recently moved up from Kent, where she and her son had been involved in morris dancing.  The lad wanted to carry on playing the fiddle with a morris team.  Could they come along to Tyne Bridge’s practice?  They were both, of course, more than welcome and have come to almost every practice since.  Kentishlad made his debut with the band when we danced out recently at the Cumberland Arms.

Banjoman, Squeezeboxboy and Little Miss Fiddle have all been most encouraging of the Kentishlad’s playing.  I fear, however, that the rest of the band are determined to lead him astray.  At least as far as headwear is concerned …

When I first joined Tyne Bridge Morris back in 1999 the male members of the band wore black bowlers sometimes decorated with thin red and blue ribbons.  They looked very English, very traditional and sufficiently folkloric.  

As the bowlers wore out some of the band took to wearing straw fedoras. They looked very English, very traditional, sufficiently folkloric and summery, evoking Hardyesque images of haymaking and village cricket.

Then in 2004 the team went on their first visit to Broadstairs Folk Week and the rot set in.  Bazoukiboy joined the band for the week and introduced them to bandanas.  I’m not sure how it happened as I wasn’t there (family commitments).                 But I have been campaigning against them ever since.

Bandanas are not English, not traditional and only folkloric if your roots are Hispanic or Caribbean.  They invoke images of bikers, surfers and pirates; certainly not morris dancers.  They belong on muscular swarthy skinned young men with high cheekbones, gold teeth, possibly a scar or tattoo or two, and a dangerous glint in the eye.  The male members of the band are mostly middle-aged professionals, pale and balding with good teeth and no visible scars or tattoos.

But no matter what complaints I make or insults I throw they still persist in wearing those damn bandanas.  Bazoukiboy looks like a Russian peasant matriarch about to mount her tractor and bring in the rye harvest.     Banjoman only needs an appropriate earring, scarf and a ‘cross my palm with silver’ to become Gipsy Rose Lee.   Drummerman looks as if he takes in washing.            Bodrhanman just looks daft.

They say bowlers are hot, straw hats scratchy and they need something to keep the sun off their balding pates.        I say they should get a decent straw Fedora with a proper lining, but it falls on deaf ears.  Proper hats also shade the eyes.  On sunny days the band wear sunglasses with the damn bandanas making them look even more like something from the Muppet Show.

As I mentioned earlier Kentishlad made his debut with the band when we danced out at the Cumberland.  He wore the band outfit of dark trousers and waistcoat and white shirt.  We had just set up for Pipers Ash when I heard Drummerman call my name.  Looking over I saw them putting a bandana on the innocent lad’s head.

All I could do was shout futilely “He’s young and pretty enough to carry it off!  And at least he’s got hair.”