Hooden Horses here: dancing at The Pavilion on the Sand in Broadstairs during the Folk Week. Minimalist horses, these – a rectangular head with a clacking jaw; button eyes; vestigial leather ears. Less obviously dramatic than yer Mari Lwyd, but somehow more ‘other’. Still amenable to a stroke on the snout, however. And they have an appetite for unguarded hats.
Read Richard Lewis’ account of being a horsey in The Magic Spring. Subtitled my year learning to be English, it’s a highly entertaining account of his exploration of those English ways partially buried ‘under a veneer of sherry and industry’. Amongst other things, it’s an affectionate look at the folk scene. Richard’s an adventurous bloke: he took it upon himself to tackle three instruments normally regarded with deep suspicion – the hurdy gurdy, the banjo and the accordion – and makes a fine sound. We had a grand time last year musicking in the bars of the rue de la Grange-aux-Belles…
