Banjos, Bells, and Queer Joy: A Guide to Sidmouth Folk Festival with the Queer Morris Alliance

Forget everything you think you know about Morris dancing. At Sidmouth Folk Festival, tradition gets a glittery upgrade thanks to the joyful chaos of the Queer Morris Alliance. I spent a weekend by the sea soaking up ceilidh sweats, clifftop views, and a whole lot of queer community spirit in one of Devon’s most charming seaside towns. If you thought folk festivals weren’t your vibe - this guide might just change your tune.

Index

• Introduction to the Sidmouth Folk Festival

• Why is Devon a hub of follk rituals?

• What to see

• Highlight: Ceilidhs in the Anchor

• LGBTQ+ Travel Tip

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Sidmouth Folk Festival - Devonshire Traditions meet Progressive Folk

We arrived in Sidmouth bundled into the back of a car with our best friends and their spirited puppy on a golden Devonshire morning. The high cliffs of the Jurassic Coast rising in front of us as we crossed the East Devon hills from the market town of Honiton, and headed down towards the sea, the faint hum of pipes greeting us as we parked up. We had parked outside a relatives house, with a 30 minute downhill walk towards the seafront, and took in the fresh air and the calm parks of the outskirts of Sidmouth on our way into the town centre. It was quiet - dead quiet - and a little disconcerting for four grown adults in folk festival garb (think kilts, linens, and tie-dye), but we could hear crowds and rhythms floating on the wind so we knew it wasn't going to be long until we found our people. As we emerged onto the buzzy seafront there was something magical about that first breeze: this wasn't just going to be another festival, it was going to be a folk festival, and we were ready to embrace the full queerness of it all, from the Morris dancing and seaside pints, to spine tingling melodies and dances that have been passed down through hundreds of years. We spent the early afternoon orientating ourselves within the town. The full historic centre of the town is taken over by the festival for a whole week in August, and every town square, to pub, to promenade is filled with traditional musicians, dancers, crafts-people, and ceilidhs. Everyone from Welsh harpists to Malian drummers congregate here in pubs and on marquee stages to stand side-by-side and even at times perform together. Harbour-side food stalls supplied everything from pasties to pad thai and everything you could imagine in between. And as golden hour drew near, we found our first taste of queer folk devotion: the Queer Morris Alliance organised ceilidh, bells jangling in unison, folk skirts over jeans, sassy dance callers guiding the merry crowd, all holding space with tradition and a wink.

This year, Sidmouth Folk Festival felt less like nostalgia and more like a bold, sea-salted homage to community (in every sense of the word).

Why is Devon a Hub of Folk Rituals?

Devon feels built for folk - or maybe, folk built for Devon. With it's small towns, coastal hustle, legend-producing landscapes like Dartmoor and Exmoor, and storytelling roots, it's a perfect stage for music and cultural events that thrives on tradition, inclusion, and a bit of dirt under the fingernails. Sidmouth, Dartmouth, Exeter's Beggar's Banquet, Braunton, Ottery's Tar Barrels - each year these festivals weave into the same wide fabric of rural folk revival that exists all over the UK - just here it feels closer to the surface and more accessible. And they've all quietly embraced queer expression, folk fusion, and overt joy. Why here? The land holds generations of folk songs rooted in transactions between ports, hill, and market square trades. The pubs aren't overwrought; they lean heavy on live sessions. Local crews - be that farmers or fishermen - pass traditions on through generations. And in the 2010s, the Queer Morris Alliance surfaced, built less to protest and more to reimagine: to celebrate queer bodies dancing traditional dances in public, with bells and ribbons and bright colours galore. Sidmouth, with its inclusive Field Dance and increasingly visible queer scene, became fertile hallowed ground without losing that wholesome Devon feel. And the "Morraissance" is visible here. Morris is no longer just a percussive tradition, it's a radical community gathering. Devon folk festivals are where lineage meets love, folk roots reach out to rainbow beats, and pastoral meets protest - generously and joyfully, with a pint of cider extended to queer folk and allies alike.

What to see at the Sidmouth Folk Festival

• Festival Green & Daily Stages - playgrounds for acapella choirs, folk fusion trios, and world-tune collaborations.

• Grand Pavilion Evenings - The booked night shows are where legends and fresh new artists take to the stage. Imagine discovering a balladist singing sea-shanties about love lost to tidal-ripping surfs, before household names conjure up memories of the past.

• Spontaneous Dancing on The Promenade - The whole seafront is closed for impromptu musicians, dancer troupes, and street theatre alike, all with the wind in their hair for us to drift from amazing act to amazing act.

• Rainbow Craft Marquee & Artisan Stalls - Stalls featuring hand-dyed shawls, LGBTQ+ pride tokens, hand crafted jewellery, leather goods, and event musical instruments, sprawled together. I even picked up a cup holder I could attach to my sporran - call it a souvenir.

• Workshops - Sessions ranged from Gaelic sean-nos signing to "Rainbow Morris" - twirling inside pubs until well past curfew. One highlight: a band signing a folk'ed-up version of Let's Dance by Bowie in a beautiful flower filled garden - perfect.

Highlight: Ceilidhs at the Anchor

By the late afternoon, we'd join ceilidhs at The Anchor - a restored 18th-century inn on Temple Street in the middle of town. The pub itself is all creaking floorboards and low beams, but outside in the large garden were a huge stage and hundreds of people ready to learn how to ceilidh. The Queer Morris Alliance were running the session, led by a fierce caller dressed in a beautifully eye-catching crimson dress, while people from every background, sexual, and gender orientation twirled wildly through the dances. One highlight: their "Strip the Willow" set - anyone who has ever ceilidh'ed before will know the basic variation, but the intermediate dance moved required orientation I couldn't quite summon after the large jug of Pimm's we had just shared, sending me nearly tumbling into the next group. "That's the spirit!" someone nearby shouted as I steadied myself, ensured my kilt remained decent, and got straight back into the dance. The dance circle grew, queer bodies and allies alike jostling in the organised chaos. And in between sets, we sipped cider from the inn's garden, swapped Instagram handles with other queer ceilidh folk, and revelled in the knowledge that tradition can evolve - and often, that evolution is glinting, gender-expansive, and unapologetically fabulous.

LGBTQ+ Travel Tip

The Sidmouth Folk Festival is affirming and often loud with pride - but mostly in bedazzled ribbons and not glitter cannons. Pubs, B&Bs and dance halls all respect pronouns, performance art, choir membership, and queerness. There's space given, not grabbed and taken away. If you're planning on attending:

• Pack sturdy flat shoes - you'll dance on cobbled and uneven floors alike.

• Come open to spontaneous sessions - headphone mics won't serve you where the accordion plays like in a pub cellar.

• Look out for the Queer Morris Alliance who organise socials and fringe events. They often post walk up ceilidh times and pop-up groups.

• Don't be shy - folk festivals thrive on participation across age, gender, and orientation. Sidmouth's atmosphere remains warm, unpretentious, and provocative in celebration.

• Bonus: Check the craft and book marquee for local queer makers - many are women-led or LGBTQ+ owned.

Sidmouth Folk Festival: Queer Joy and Traditional Jest

By the evening, with sunburn fading and limbs sore from so much dance, we wandered to the end of the beach to watch the last of the summer light fade. You could still hear the festival in the distance - the distant carry of a fiddle on the wind, a lone drum beating a rhythm. A rainbow ribbon danced on a street pole. And we found ourselves with the gorgeous view of the Devon coast, mellowed by folk, cider, salt air, and queer joy.

That's what Sidmouth Folk Festival offers: not just music, not just sea glimpses through bunting, but a pulse of community across generations. Morris dancing doesn't usually make headlines - but queer Morris on a Devon beach, sunrise ceilidhs in a flower-filled square, the sound of laughter and folk on the breeze - those moments do.

If you want folk with heart, coastline with courage, and small town doing big love - the Sidmouth Folk Festival is waiting. Grab your bells, your best ribbon, and dance into the dusk. It won't be like anything else you've done. It'll be everything you didn't know you needed to do.

If you enjoyed this travel story, don’t forget to save it for your next trip, share it with your favourite festival buddy, and tag me when you’re dancing down the seafront at Sidmouth. I want to see those rainbow ribbons in action!