My first contact with the Morris was at school. I was seventeen and my then drama teacher was the Squire of Green Oak Morris, Paul Davenport. As an exercise in teaching dance steps, he took a small group of volunteers to teach 'The Lollipop Man' to. Afterwards three of us remained interested in the Morris to such a degree that, after a while, we were invited to join Green Oak as apprentices.

As is often the case the role of Man-Animal was unpopular among the dancers and the task usually went to the most inexperienced. So we three, Neil Bugdol, Steve Allen and I shared the task. After a while we each gravitated to either dancing or, in my case, full time Man-Animal for the next six years.

All this happened many years ago so I apologise in advance for any inaccuracies or tricks of memory.

For a rather insecure teenager Erik the dragon was perfect, or so it might have seemed. All too often actors feel able to do things in character they are uncomfortable with themselves. Except that I had no experience of method acting and Erik, as I was to discover, wasn't a role. At my first dance out in Askern near Doncaster I felt extremely self-conscious until the Fool, Dik Pennycate took me under his wing and showed me what Erik and the Fool could get away with. After a while I began to get the feeling that there was definitely more to this than I had thought at which point my Squire decided to share something with me which I would have found hard to believe up until then. I was told, quite matter-of-factly "that's because he's alive". And the more I worked with the dragon the more sense it made.

Let's have a sit down for a minute and go over this one then. The believers can talk amongst yourselves. Don't think I haven't given this a lot of thought over the years but I haven't changed my opinion and I'm not likely to now.

The origins of the Morris are, as we all know, lost in the mists of time (though we know where some of the pieces came from: The Lord of Misrule originally being a Roman import to occupied Albion). The Man-Animal is slightly luckier to have his picture on a few cave walls here and there, usually horned. We can interpret this as sympathetic magic before a hunt to ensure success but whatever we might suppose, it's pretty certain he didn't have an Equity card. The point being this; to define a Man-Animal as an actor, even a method actor who submerges himself in a character role to a sometimes dangerous degree is to tie ourselves to a definition which can be misleading. This is easier to see for those of us who have been beneath the smock because we are used to existing, for a time, in a world without spoken language and that gives a tremendously simple and clear outlook at how things are, rather than settling for verbal substitutes and the ambiguities they can cause. It may be a quantum leap to connect the cave painting with the Morris Man-Animal but, given the primitive nature and purpose of each, I don't honestly think it's unreasonable to draw a connection, however direct or circumspect it may be. The modern day actor, after many twists and turns down the ages (including the bull man-animal used by the Romans in the Mithras rituals) almost certainly owes something to the concept of one creature being assumed another by mutual consent though what we usually see in 21st century entertainment is a much watered down version where a character is invented and assumed by the person, rather than the other way around.

So, are we talking about possession here? It certainly sounds like it but if so then I consider it benign and that's always been my experience. As soon as the smock came down the dragon took over. I would liken it to moving into the back seat of the car while a friend does the driving for a while, with the animal taking as much notice of the man as anyone would of a back seat driver. (The Beastkeeper's job at that time is watch for the blue lights, enjoy the ride and make sure the wheels stay on!) It takes a great deal of trust to allow that to happen but, perhaps because there were people around in the side then who had seen it happen before and would know if anything went wrong and what to do about it (most notably the Fool and Squire, of course), I felt I had a safety net of sorts.

From the outset three things were set in stone; the Man-Animal never talks. Secondly, the transformation never takes place in public. Thirdly, there are no exceptions whatsoever. As many of you know this can make for some pretty unpleasant experiences, especially if you're in a two mile parade on a hot summer's day with nowhere to let the man out!

Three years in I learned to my considerable cost why he never speaks. At one dance-out Erik became a little separated from the dancing after being adopted by two small children. They were so over-awed that he warmed to them (their behaviour being like his own). They started to ask questions that required specific answers, things he couldn't get across with body language and so I decided to 'loan' him my voice. After what must have been only seconds but which seemed much longer they went away satisfied but I was shaking horribly from head to foot and feeling chilled right down my back. Something was obviously very wrong. I got us to one of the Dancers and, breaking the rule again in desperation, quietly begged him to get me out. When he'd overcome his surprise he realised something was awry, formed a huddle and extracted me. Normally, of course, the smock comes off, a blink, a shake and you're back. It must have taken five or ten minutes before I could pull myself together enough to explain what had happened. A salutary lesson indeed.

The Man-Animal seems to strike a chord with most people which evokes a simple and primitive response which is instant acceptance. Most are willing to accept that whatever this strange conglomeration might be, it's somehow not human. In that moment it is exempt from all human restrictions and mores. This might be explained as adults momentarily responding like children to a Faery story (my apologies to elementals everywhere) in the excitement of the moment. Or is it that children generally behave in a more simple and direct way? A more primitive way and maybe this is what adults are suddenly being forced to grasp at? For a modern day adult encountering a Man-Animal there is simply no accepted mode of behaviour they can call on, no standby at all, and so they are left having to simply accept what is before them, much as a child would. Adults do not appear to accept this creature as a result of crowd behaviour either (and we have often encountered single people away from the crowd and the dance who respond in exactly the same away, have we not?)

It could be argued that we are talking of illusion here and that a mime, behaving in a similar way provokes a similar response but I believe this is to confuse cause and effect. The mime uses the symptoms, as it were, the visible part of that interaction to weave an empty shell and to convince people that something invisible is, nevertheless taking place. That contradiction is, of course, the whole point of his performance and where the entertainment is derived from. The Man-Animal uses none of those devices but behaves simply as it is in its nature to do without contrivance. People are perhaps convinced because part of them sees not a performance; not a pretence, but rather, the core of the thing. They feel rather than see. The Man-Animal is, in fact, a complete opposite of what an actor is. But what an actor, in his heart, might like to know.

Right then that's that I hope. Having accepted the magic of the Morris it really wasn't so strange as I might have imagined to have this curious relationship and the depth of my conviction led some people within or close to the Morris to voice real concerns for my mental wellbeing! But all was well. (It was only after another three years when I began to wonder if it was perhaps time to look for an apprentice and give Erik some fresh blood, so to speak, when I started having significant memory blanks about the things Erik did while I was under the smock, but I leap ahead).

Physically Erik was the classic hooden variety, his head carved by Paul Davenport from a single block of oak cut from a beam following a brewery demolition (must have been a hell of a party!). This made him both traditional, tremendously robust and a perfect home for Erik himself (which is why I believe only natural materials can host a real living Animal. I did build a fibreglass creature years after and the experiment, to my mind, proved it beyond doubt!). In appearance Erik looked like the prow of a Viking ship; a crocodile-like head with high nostrils. I think this simplicity of appearance allowed his character to express itself so much better than a more detailed surface would have. A temptation I fought hard against!

Reading up on Man-Animals at that time I found that one of their historical functions was crowd control! Some could be extremely aggressive and one hooden horse (which one memory fails me) of antiquity, having nails for teeth in a skull-based head, is documented as chasing the apprentices into the river! (�Tell young folk today you'd been mutilated by t�obby and they�d laugh at yer!�) Quite. Although Erik was not violent by nature, he could hold his own (there's a Man-Animal joke in there somewhere if you work on it) and on one occasion was attacked (completely unprovoked Yeronner!) by a tourney at a massed dance. You would think the tourney would have had the advantage but when it wouldn't leave Erik alone he broke it's jaw (much to the delight of the crowd!). Never have a jaw that depends on a string. Erik's 'skeleton' used a series of rigid jointed levers that could be pulled and pushed but held under tension the whole time, usually by the thumbs, and the jaw control alone could hold and move the whole weight of the carefully balanced solid oak head with great control which allowed him to express himself much better. When he came to me his head was rigidly mounted which meant he kept spilling money if he had to bend forward to feed. Very embarrassing! And so his mechanism sort of evolved over time. His original teeth were two sets of stylised fangs; three triangular pieces of wood on each side of the upper jaw. After reading up I decided it was perfectly proper to lose these 'milk teeth' and go for something a little more useful in a corner and so he acquired six inch nails made over with 'plastic padding ' (large in the upper jaw, smaller in the lower) which sank into holes the opposite jaw, much as a snake's would, so they would only appear when needed though the kiddies loved the scare when they fed him! (I think that's when he started to put weight on). His top spine too er, grew a little and went from wood to mild steel. The point of all this was that he could evolve, acquire traits which were traditional, which were all but invisible and so not threatening but which were very strong and as useful as they looked. If you're still having to do running repairs on your Animal then you really need to think about this.

Which brings me to the Fools Union. How come Man-Animals are in the Fools Union, eh? I understood at the time that the Union was founded that my Squire argued the case for Erik to be accepted into it as he only had one keeper and was, at that time, uncommon because of it (of course most of us know that this applies at least to the Westminster Unicorn as well). The proposal was that the Animal, not the man, would hold the badge and office. In the event, both man and Animal received a badge of office. Which is how I came to have mine. For people who collect such trivia, Erik was the first Man-Animal to be accepted into the Fools Union.  Something I can still be proud of whether anybody else cares or not. And they probably don't. So there :).

Once Man-Animals were officially on the map, so to speak, there were going to be problems. Up until then people had used the Animal's name when referring to it's Keeper (as if the identity thing wasn't hard enough!) or would talk about "its legs" or "its minder". We were starting to feel like the poor so-and-so who stokes the engine but whose name no-one knows! So when the first Fools and Animals weekend was being slated for Wath-on-Dearne someone came up with the term 'Beastkeeper' ('Beastmaster' was proposed too, I seem to remember, but it sounded even more pompous and would have needed loin cloths, ferrets, eagle and the whole thing would have got far too silly). To our minds a Keeper was someone who cared for a creature rather than sought to control it. So we finally had a way of distinguishing one from the other and I was looking forward to meeting others of my ilk at a meeting where we could find out if we were, each of us, the only ones who felt the way we did. Well, some did and some didn't is the (probably predictable) answer and that's always going to be the way of it I suppose. Some Keepers like to delve deep while others cruise along on the surface.

As I'm doing this I'm trying to cast my mind back to memorable events and really it's one big jingling, thumping, multicoloured blur! The last event of our year was usually Alford and the beer garden with the smells of autumn starting to creep around the corner along with the wood smoke from the fire is one of the best memories I have. We often spoke of the fellowship of the Morris but it's strikingly obvious looking back. When I began to write out to sides about the first Fools and Animals weekend I found myself, at one point, on Jersey and was taken up and shown a marvellous time by their side. To my shame no names remain but the memory of their friendship is still as clear as ever and if they're reading this, thank you again. I hope you found a Keeper for your marvellous Cow. It seems wherever I found myself there were always Morris men ready to take care of us. Of course Father Kenneth features large in just about every flashback, still radiating peaceful benevolence as ever. Ivor Allsop! And Eric Presley! Eric was my partner in crime, an organiser of the weekend and dragon minder when I found myself in the weird position at the Fools and Animals weekend of having no Green Oak man to help me change. How could I have overlooked that! How stupid! And one of the good guys of Green Oak, Rob Gair! Hi Rob! And of course Breinton Morris and the one I always think of as the definitive Jack-in-the-Green. Oh yes. Maybe it was just me but I remember after a dance out with guests in Tickhill, waking up in the hall where we were staying and wondering what Mike Oldfield was doing wearing Black Cap Rapper kit. Well it was Ian of course and it was a relief to know I wasn't hallucinating after all (he told me his brother actually looks even more like Oldfield than Mike Oldfield does. I was a big fan. I suppose it shows.) Onward!

Ah another memory or two which we can file under the gross anatomical stuff. Our then musician, Geoff, had an amazing capacity for black pudding, onions and ale. An explosive combination under less expert control. But Geoff was a master! However, at a Benfleet Ring Meeting it seemed bits of Geoff were in revolt, so to speak! Picture this: a figure in repose silhouetted against the moonlight, the only evidence of the night's revels, the occasional gaseous grunt. Perhaps a nightingale sings somewhere. But all is not well. Without so much as a drum roll, Geoff's mighty innards contract and......"she blows!" a column of last night's vile repast launches itself like a scene from Cape Canaveral straight up on an expanding pillar of propellant. But all good things must end and cruel gravity cuts in at about eighteen (eighteen!) inches, spreads slightly and poor Geoffrey opens his bleary though astonished eyes just in time to shut them again. When the dust (and the cursing, though not the laughter) settles he looks just like the poor sod sitting in the back seat of the roller coaster. But with the seasoned fortitude of the true campaigner, he wipes the muck out of his eyes, rolls over and falls asleep again in a twinkling. Geoff's Evil Underpants however, were allegedly stuffed into a petrol tank and the car's anonymous owner drove back on the fumes. The Pants had been abandoned the previous night when, in confusion and alcohol, he forgot to drop both sets before taking his ease. Memories are made of this.

To finish then. At the F & A Weekend I demonstrated something I thought all Beasties would find useful. It's one thing to change in secret but you're then stuck with a big green bundle on a stick that wasn't there before and the bloke carrying it usually doesn't have a hat. Hmm. And there's always one smart kid too. One of the more onerous tasks for the apprentices in Green Oak was to carry the stick bag; an army surplus kit bag full of dance sticks slung over the shoulder. We had an old ruined set of sticks so I cut off irregular lengths four to five inches and screwed them, end-on, to a circular board. A bag full of sticks has ribs running up the sides. So, a piece of corrugated plastic cut to size was bent around and dropped into the bag where it sprung out to the sides, giving vertical support and those characteristic ridges against the canvas. It also gives a frilly top when tighten that will support the wooden disc when it's dropped onto it. Tighten the bag cord around the neck. Presto! And that's where your Animal can disappear to in the huddle. People see a stick carrier now and you'll go from nearly-conspicuous to completely invisible because you're suddenly the gopher, the pot-collector, the sweeper upper, the one nobody notices and, more importantly, you're carrying something that's been in plain view the whole time; the spare sticks. Watch the crowd when you do this because you'll be able to take the time to spot the ones trying to figure it out and if they do look at you for a split second they move on, completely discounting the possibility that it could have been you under there.