Square Dancers

Rosemary Lee

Square Dances

The squares of London are shared spaces where strangers come together. Some come to gather there, but though there is no expectation of privacy, some seek peace and escape.

Today there was something happening. The afternoon was grey and breezy, the world had remembered that it was October and the wind had picked up the smell of the leaves. A wide ring of people was forming in Brunswick Square; the expectant crowd drawing the attention of other passers by and growing. Then from amongst the circle a group of men walked forward into the space and raised their arms to the boughs of the chestnut tree they stood under. They were clothed inconspicuously in suits, jeans, jumpers and they stood there as though in silent worship. A bell tolled solemnly and they remained like statues, becoming part of the topography of the park: living people in living green space. And the bell tolled again. Leaves fluttered around their feet and pigeons walked between them, the grey of their feathers matching neatly with the tones of the dancers’ clothing. The bell continued to toll slowly and the men – their movement barely perceptible – sank slowly to the ground.

            As I watched the men sinking, growing old and dying in front of me, I became aware of the restlessness and movement of the other spectators around me. The whispered guessing of what it meant, what it was for, a passerby coming up to ask quietly what was happening.

After the men were gone I moved to Queens Square. This square had a different feel to the last: it was more groomed like a garden, and we were directed to one of the benches that lined its fence. The dancers walked out and positioned themselves one in front of each bench. The girl who stood in front of us put her bell on the floor, and took a step forward to introduce herself and tell us that she would be performing a short dance, dedicated to someone like the bench we rested on was dedicated. Who would you like to give it to? I said the name of someone I loved and she wrote it on her arm. Stepping back she rung her bell and began. She began to move like she had been given her body for the first time, like her limbs were surprising to her and she was learning for the first time what they were capable of. Each bench had their personal dance, and to look along the line to others was to spy on something I was not entitled to see. The dance ended with a chime of her bell, and she moved on and was replaced by another dancer – this time a timid young man who wrote another name for us on his arm. He sounded his bell and forgot his shy self; his movements were strong, slow and controlled and when he left a third dancer came. We were given three special dances each framed with a bell.

Woburn Square was different once again: a long thin park with a small playground at the end, so it was fitting that it should be ten little children who performed here. Unlike the other dances, the children were dressed in bright colours and they scampered through the dry leaves like the lost boys of Neverland, catching fairies from the air and holding them to their ears to hear their secrets. They each had satchels from which they each drew a little bell. They ran across the square like a little flock of swallows and the autumnal afternoon made them seem even more transient, like the wind would pick them up and carry them away.

Gordon Square was the final stage I went to see. It was the biggest of the squares used by the dances and another crowd began to gather around the edges, waiting for the dance to begin. I wondered if I skipped across from one side to the other, whipping my scarf around my head, whether the watchers would have believed I was part of the piece? But I was part of the dance; we all were, standing framing their outdoor theatre.

A large crowd of women performed this dance. Old and young, they appeared all dressed in blue, ringing bells. They raised their arms, just as the men had done in Brunswick Square, prayerful and pagan, and they swayed and moved, rushing back and forth like the tide, the sound of the bells like the sea against the shore. .

There was in all four dances a sense of grace. These were beings of the earth, something Elemental about the dances. It was an exploration of movement and of the interaction between the body and the space, and looked more like mime or tai chi than conventional dance.

It was the perfect day for the dances; the grey skies suited their clothing and the motion of the autumn air stirred them and moved them. Autumn is a season of constant change, everything must end and fade to bareness, and the leaves settled on the ground again.