Acts of Union

Get Moving, Make Friends with Country Dancing

Writer Amy Ramos takes a swing at Scottish dancing | Photo: Ingrid Bostrom

The first thing I wanted to know when I was invited to try Scottish country dancing was, “Will there be bagpipes?” Although I’m generally eager to try any type of dance, that might have been a deal-killer.

My friend Rachel McDonald, who got me through the pandemic with her online Tabata and dance classes, had asked me if I wanted to try the Scottish country dance class she had just taken over teaching. Although the class is ostensibly for beginners, it has been going for decades and many of the students are veteran dancers. Assured there would be no bagpipes, I arrived at State Street Ballet Academy on a Thursday evening.

Most dance classes I’ve taken — Zumba, Nia, hip-hop, pole, flamenco — have been for exercise. Attendees don athletic clothes and try to get our heart rates up and strengthen our core. We move in unison (with any luck), but we’re each dancing solo. And the classes are always predominantly made up of women.

The Scottish country dance experience was quite different. The first person I saw was a man wearing a kilt. This was George, who would turn out to be a courtly partner who diligently counted measures. Other dancers generally dressed in more typical street clothes, some in a tartan pattern, like the beautiful skirt Mary wore to one class. The number of men and women was fairly evenly matched, and the dances all involved couples, with a traditional men’s and women’s side, and a lot of joining hands — with partners, neighbors, and sometimes with a group. The movement tended to be pretty gentle. Although McDonald called the steps for us, there were no exhortations to engage our abs or contract our glutes.

For the ambitious person who wants to practice beforehand, McDonald sends a list of dances and videos a couple of days prior to class. For my first class, I didn’t watch any of the videos beforehand. Fortunately — after an easy warm-up that consisted of walking laps around the studio for a few minutes — we walked through each dance before trying it with music. Some of the tunes had classic Scottish names like “Midlothian” and “The Braes of Tulliemet,” while others had French names like “Joie de Vivre.” The jigs and reels had a faster tempo, compared to the more stately pace of the strathspey.

As McDonald called the steps, I was introduced to a whole new dance vocabulary: set, cast, reel. Some terms were easier to pick up than others — “set” is basically a step-touch, while the “reel” involved a figure-eight movement around two other dancers that I never really mastered.

The dances involve groups of couples tracing progressive patterns, with each dance consisting of a sequence of figures. Many dances involve couples changing places and dancing different steps based on their position in the group. Several times, I found myself facing up instead of down, ready to be part of the wrong foursome. Other dances entail a couple working their way through a line of dancers, at which point you and your partner are “out” and you’re left standing around. It doesn’t do much to elevate the heart rate, but for a beginner, it provides a good opportunity to learn by watching.

The second time I went, I watched the videos McDonald sent before class. It was early May, so she went with seasonally appropriate dances — a jig called “Come What May” and a Star Wars–themed reel called “The Death Star” in honor of May the Fourth. I wouldn’t say I memorized the dances, but it was helpful to see the steps beforehand.

Scottish country dancing is only one class in a local culture of social dancing that includes English country dance, contra dancing, and square dancing, with many dancers participating in more than one type. (A couple of the dancers are also part of an English longsword team, Pacific Sword Company, that performs sword dances from northern England.) I decided to check out English country dance.

Kilts are the height of fashion in Scottish dance class. | Photo: Ingrid Bostrom

Arriving at First Presbyterian Church on a Sunday afternoon, I was pleased to see familiar faces from Scottish country dance: Robin, Dave, and Rachel were all there. So was George, clad in his kilt, which apparently is not considered sedition at English country dance.

Writer Amy Ramos, partnered with George Williams, tries out Scottish dancing | Photo: Ingrid Bostrom

I recognized some of the same terms (set, cast) from Scottish country dance, and it seemed to me I had an easier time learning dances like “Farmer’s Joy.” Possibly this was due to the more sedate pace of English country dancing, which some describe as “fancy walking.” It’s no snoozefest, though — one of the dances involved galloping. And I learned new steps too: “Turn of the Tide” incorporated a waltz step and involved some backward movement; “wheeling” also involved joining hands with another dancer and leading her backward in a circle. Susan Evans called the steps at this class. As with the Scottish country dance class, we walked through the dance before trying it with music, and the caller sometimes demonstrated more complicated steps.

The English country dance class had a somewhat different vibe from the Scottish, since the venue is a church and not a dance studio. But there was nothing religious about the activity itself (unless you count the dance called “The Bishop”). The English country dance class also included a break with provided snacks.

Although country dancing is traditional by nature, the gender roles are less rigid than one might expect. In the Scottish country dance class, if the group is short of men, a woman can slip on one of the pre-knotted plaid ties McDonald keeps handy and dance a man’s part. I also observed several women do this in the English country dance class, although no special attire was involved. Dancers may take a break if needed, but there are no wallflowers here — everyone who wants to dance can find a partner.

Most of what I know about this kind of country dancing is from watching screen adaptations of Jane Austen novels. I was afraid of being like the bumbling clergyman Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice, turning in the wrong direction and crashing into other dancers, to the mortification of all. But in reality, in both of the country dance classes I tried, veteran dancers helpfully pointed me in the right direction, and everyone was encouraging to a newcomer, forgiving of mistakes, and enthusiastic about welcoming more people to social dancing. “You have to come to contra dancing,” a dancer named Betsy told me. “That’s really fun.”

Scottish Country Dance meets weekly on Thursday evenings, 7-9 p.m., at State Street Ballet Academy (2285 Las Positas Rd.); led by Rachel McDonald; cost: $10 per class suggested, $5 minimum. English Country Dance meets on the first, third, and fifth Sunday of the month, 2-4:15 p.m. (new dancer instruction starts at 1:45 p.m.), at First Presbyterian Church (21 E. Constance Ave.); leaders rotate; cost: $10 per class ($12 when there is live music). Both classes are for beginners as well as experienced dancers. For either class, wear comfortable clothes that allow for ease of movement. Footwear: soft-soled shoes are best (I wore dance sneakers, which worked well) — nothing grippy (running shoes) or unstable (heels, sandals, flip-flops).