The Chalk Hill Morris Men: Bells, Sticks, and a Disagreement About Hats

Every May Day, at around six in the morning, a group of men and women in white shirts and bell-pads gather on the green outside the village hall and start hitting sticks together. It's a tradition that goes back further than anyone can prove, and it has survived wars, recessions, the decline of the pub, and at least three arguments about whether the side should wear top hats or straw boaters. The hats question remains unresolved.
The Chalk Hill Morris Men — the name is traditional, though the side has included women since the 1990s — are one of the oldest continuously running morris sides in the region. The earliest written record of them dancing is from 1902, when a local newspaper reported a performance at the village fete, but the side's own minute book, which survives from 1911 onwards, suggests they were already well established by then. The minute book is a wonderful document, full of complaints about the weather, the quality of the ale at the pub they practised in, and the perennial problem of finding someone who could play the accordion.
What Morris Dancing Actually Is
For the uninitiated, morris dancing is a form of English folk dance, usually performed outdoors, with bells attached to the dancers' legs and sticks or handkerchiefs waved in complicated patterns. It looks, to modern eyes, slightly absurd, and the dancers know it. That's part of the point. Morris is a tradition that doesn't take itself too seriously, even as it takes the dancing seriously indeed.
There are several different regional styles, and Chalk Hill dances a variant of the Cotswold tradition, which is the most common form in this part of the country. The dances have names like 'Bean Setting', 'Trunkles', and 'Old Woman Tossed Up in a Blanket', and they're performed to tunes played on a melodeon, a fiddle, or, if neither is available, a mouth organ. The side practises weekly in the back room of the pub, from September through to April, and performs at village events, pubs, and the occasional wedding through the summer.
The Side Today
Like many traditional sides, Chalk Hill's morris men have struggled to recruit in recent years. The average age is creeping up, and the younger villagers tend to be commuting to jobs in town rather than working locally. But the side is still going, and there's been a small influx of new members in the last couple of years, drawn in by a combination of curiosity and the realisation that morris dancing is a good way to spend a Tuesday evening in winter.
They're a friendly bunch, and they're always looking for new dancers and musicians. You don't need any experience — most people start knowing nothing and learn as they go. You do need a sense of humour and a willingness to look a bit silly in public, which, as one longstanding member put it, 'is a useful skill in life generally'. If you're interested, turn up at the pub on a Tuesday evening in September. Bring a pair of stout shoes and a willingness to learn. The hats question will be resolved eventually, or it won't, and either way the dancing will carry on.








The village's morris side has been dancing for over a century, and its members remain cheerfully divided on almost everything except the dancing itself.
A ramble around the disused chalk quarry reveals how industry and wildness have quietly learned to share the same ground.
The old wakes tradition blended grief, harvest, and mischief in a way that tells us a great deal about how our ancestors lived.
A slow walk along the chalk stream that feeds the valley reveals one of the most fragile and beautiful habitats in the region.
Three generations of shepherds on the chalk downs share what the old ways of grazing still teach us about the land.