Irish
Set Dancing
© 1999 Doug Plummer
I'm at one of these weekend set dance ceilis that occur virtually every weekend of the year somewhere in Ireland. This January event in Tralee ("The Shindig by the Windmill,", referring to the landmark windmill of nearby Blennerville.) is one of the larger ceilis.
From being nearly extinguished by the Catholic church and the government in the 40's and 50's, the indigenous social dance of Ireland is experiencing a remarkable resurgence. It seems every village has its dance teacher, the cities have classes overflowing, and it's full employment for the musicians who rotate through these events. There are set dance cruises to the Aegean and beach holiday set dance weekends on the coast of Spain and tours of America even. It's the next dance craze waiting to take over the states.
But I barely know what I'm doing here. I've had a few lessons in Seattle, but we have a tepid set dance scene where there's 5 people who know what they're doing and the rest of us follow the gross outlines. And after Bridie's dance class in Galway I'm worried that I'm going to flounder as though someone dumped me into the Irish Sea without a life jacket.
But I quickly find there's nothing to worry about. At an eclectic weekend such as this where people have come from all across the country, they dance whatever which way and don't care if I know nothing more than a left-right-left-pause reel step. I just make sure my partner knows my experience level and that I am always a side. I had moments where I forgot completely what I was doing, when my body just did it, and I fell into my dance bliss. Moments, mind you. I'm usually studying the top couples, memorizing what's to come, remembering where in the beat my feet are, regarding where my partner is headed and which way her body is driving the dance.
And can these people dance. For hours. It's Ireland and nothing begins until half ten at the earliest and this didn't begin in earnest until close to 11. But we dance for hours and hours. We do the Plain Set, the Cashel set, Corofin Plain Set, West Kerry Set. They announce that the next dance is the Caledonia Set. Mary Doorty, my first ever dance partner back in Kilfenora, is somewhere in the room, and we had arranged to dance this one. I circumnavigate the room in widening spirals looking for her, without success. The dance begins before I finally find her at a table. She says she's been watching me dance tonight, amazed at what I've learned. "You have the musical gift, you do," she says to me. "You're a fine dancer, you are."
Which would come only from the Irish. I did the Televara Set with Ursula from Manchester, a hard, unforgiving partner. I felt nervous in her arms and made more than my usual mistakes. The English seem easily miffed and don't forgive, the Americans at this weekend (there's a clutch of them from Madison. The only man wearing shorts and a t-shirt was, of course American. No local would dress so silly.) they're vocal about their desire for precision and accuracy. The Irish are here to have fun. They forgive and encourage and complement me. They return my earnestness with almost surprise that I get it. And they never fail to greet me in passing the remainder of the weekend.
The last dance is the Caledonia Set without breaks between figures, just straight through, full on, fast. I joined with a partner and two other couples for a 3/4 set, improvising as we went. A furious finish. Then everyone faced the stage, stood ramrod straight, for the Irish national anthem. You could almost dance to it.