According to the Cambridge Dictionary, ‘reeling’ is the act of “moving from side to side, looking like you are going to fall”, and if you saw the amount of twisted ankles and bloody noses the Edinburgh Reeling Society suffers from every Tuesday, you’d be inclined to agree. Nevertheless, this pseudo-contact sport is a popular activity across many Scottish universities, although you’ll find out most people who reel are more like ‘Scott-ish’, arguing that the land their family owns in the Highlands offsets their aggressively English accent.
In all seriousness, reeling is a form of traditional Celtic country dancing with a lot of clapping, stomping and twirling of partners in long tartan skirts. This, however, is not to be confused with the more commonplace cèilidh, which has a simpler dancing style and is accompanied by a verbal walkthrough from the band to ensure even your Great-Aunt Fiona can pick up the moves.
It also seems the various university reeling societies differ rather distinctly from one another. Aberdeen students turn up in abundance to use reeling as a coping mechanism for living in Aberdeen, whilst Glasgow’s events appear slightly on the desolate side. St. Andrews, however, rivals Edinburgh with their unique style of ‘beach reeling’ – not only does the sand cushion the inevitable falls, but there’s nothing quite like dancing the night away next to the lapping waves of the North Sea. Edinburgh themselves can usually be found in Ghillie Dhu, although one member informed me that the ‘eccentric’ nature of most reelers means a dance can spontaneously pop up anywhere, from the top of a hill to wherever else New Townians go to escape from the university’s state-educated population.
Although my comment was made in jest, this does relate to the original question posed about this popular Scottish pastime: is reeling a celebration of local culture, or a showcase of snobbery and exclusivity? It is no secret that the average Edinburgh reeler has tasted the fine dining of the Pollock cafeteria, yet if you look at the origins of reeling as a dance form, it seems as though it has always been catered to the upper classes, having been popularised as an aristocratic festivity in the 18th century through balls. It therefore begs the question of whether celebrating the culture and being a snob about it are even mutually exclusive; if one has grown up reeling at various godparents’ weddings, does pursuing it at university make it respectful, or is this a wider indicator of the many traditions established in British culture to cement class distinctions?
However, harking back to aforementioned descriptions of reelers as more ‘eccentric,’ it does feel as though there is a distinction between your average ‘posho’ and a reeler. After all, dressing up in odd fancy clothes and jigging like a sprightly grandma has an inherently ‘loser-ish’ quality that is somewhat endearing – especially when one could be blowing daddy’s money on a number of ‘cooler’ things, such as ski trips, memberships to not-so-secret societies, and an infinite supply of Guinesses with your face on it from the Wally Dug.
It therefore seems that to truly gauge whether reeling can ignite the hidden Scottish spirit within you is to attend a Tuesday evening session – or perhaps show up en masse to stage a bloody revolution if the generational wealth proves truly too insufferable.
Image by Katie Bean
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To Reel or Not To Reel?
According to the Cambridge Dictionary, ‘reeling’ is the act of “moving from side to side, looking like you are going to fall”, and if you saw the amount of twisted ankles and bloody noses the Edinburgh Reeling Society suffers from every Tuesday, you’d be inclined to agree. Nevertheless, this pseudo-contact sport is a popular activity across many Scottish universities, although you’ll find out most people who reel are more like ‘Scott-ish’, arguing that the land their family owns in the Highlands offsets their aggressively English accent.
In all seriousness, reeling is a form of traditional Celtic country dancing with a lot of clapping, stomping and twirling of partners in long tartan skirts. This, however, is not to be confused with the more commonplace cèilidh, which has a simpler dancing style and is accompanied by a verbal walkthrough from the band to ensure even your Great-Aunt Fiona can pick up the moves.
It also seems the various university reeling societies differ rather distinctly from one another. Aberdeen students turn up in abundance to use reeling as a coping mechanism for living in Aberdeen, whilst Glasgow’s events appear slightly on the desolate side. St. Andrews, however, rivals Edinburgh with their unique style of ‘beach reeling’ – not only does the sand cushion the inevitable falls, but there’s nothing quite like dancing the night away next to the lapping waves of the North Sea. Edinburgh themselves can usually be found in Ghillie Dhu, although one member informed me that the ‘eccentric’ nature of most reelers means a dance can spontaneously pop up anywhere, from the top of a hill to wherever else New Townians go to escape from the university’s state-educated population.
Although my comment was made in jest, this does relate to the original question posed about this popular Scottish pastime: is reeling a celebration of local culture, or a showcase of snobbery and exclusivity? It is no secret that the average Edinburgh reeler has tasted the fine dining of the Pollock cafeteria, yet if you look at the origins of reeling as a dance form, it seems as though it has always been catered to the upper classes, having been popularised as an aristocratic festivity in the 18th century through balls. It therefore begs the question of whether celebrating the culture and being a snob about it are even mutually exclusive; if one has grown up reeling at various godparents’ weddings, does pursuing it at university make it respectful, or is this a wider indicator of the many traditions established in British culture to cement class distinctions?
However, harking back to aforementioned descriptions of reelers as more ‘eccentric,’ it does feel as though there is a distinction between your average ‘posho’ and a reeler. After all, dressing up in odd fancy clothes and jigging like a sprightly grandma has an inherently ‘loser-ish’ quality that is somewhat endearing – especially when one could be blowing daddy’s money on a number of ‘cooler’ things, such as ski trips, memberships to not-so-secret societies, and an infinite supply of Guinesses with your face on it from the Wally Dug.
It therefore seems that to truly gauge whether reeling can ignite the hidden Scottish spirit within you is to attend a Tuesday evening session – or perhaps show up en masse to stage a bloody revolution if the generational wealth proves truly too insufferable.
Image by Katie Bean
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