Watching Morris Dancers, wondering what their dance portends

Last June, I went to Wimborne Folk Festival - young people lounged on the Minster Green - oldsters thronged the pavements - toddlers wriggled in their bright buggies - you could smell potent ales from the crowded pubs -

I have always enjoyed visiting Wimborne Minster - once every two weeks, I meet up with Len in Costas there - Len tells me about his adventures as a volunteer on the Swanage Steam Railway - being a fireman, I've learned, requires nerve and skill -

Inside the Minster, there are splendid memorial tablets - I especially like Sir Edmund Uvedale's tomb - there he is, lounging elegantly in his armour - resting his neatly bearded chin against his palm - the blue ceiling of the tower roof is decorated with stars -

I stood watching the musicians and the dancers in procession down the street to the Green - ever since watching The Wicker Man, I've thought that there was something sinister about Morris Dancing - what do those intricate prancing steps portend? - what ancient ritual is hidden in the dance?

There were some dancers clad in long black rags - I wondered if their mild faces might change, any moment, into masks of desire - archaic, terrible, beautiful shapes -