DANCING that goes back to before records began was coupled with cans of beer to celebrate the arrival of May Day. Mike Buckingham joined the celebrations in an historic corner of Gwent.

"The sun should be up in a minute" the foreman said. "I expect".

Assured that the universe was going to run more or less to plan the Isca Morrismen drained their tins of Tetley's Creamflow and took their positions for a little number with the snappy title of A Bean Setting From Headington.

Wasn't there something unusual about drinking cold cans of beer in the chill hour before daybreak on May Day? I asked a Morris dancer who was sitting this one out. "There certainly is," he replied. "We normally drink real ale."

Within the space of a minute I had been introduced to two of the abiding attractions of Morris dancing.

The first is indulging in a ritual of great antiquity, a mystical pagan revel to greet the oncoming of spring.

The second is a legitimate opportunity to consume vast amounts of real ale in country pubs.

Ragged clouds were just being tinged with pink as I arrive at Caerleon's amphitheatre. Bells and ribbons were being fastened about white-socked calves, shaggy coats made from strips of rag shrugged on and Monmouth caps, a type of mediaeval bobble-cap, donned. Dr Gareth John was tuning up his fiddle, and in the amphitheatre itself an accordion wheezed its way into an old country tune.

Once, just once, in their 26 years of existence, the Isca Morrismen saw in May Day atop Twm Barllwm, an idea that was not persisted with due to the impracticality of climbing a small mountain in Morris dancing gear whilst lugging the beer and other necessities. In the eerie pre-dawn light this ancient place of gladiatorial combat seems entirely appropriate.

The Morris dancers do not take themselves too seriously but they are serious about what they do. The dancing is fun, but not funny.

"We are keeping alive a tradition that was already old by the Middle Ages. There are all sorts of theories as to how Morris dancing came about," says the squire (chairman) Les Chittleburgh of Cwmbran.

"There is certainly a link with ancient ritual relating to fertility. A theory is that the 'Morris' might be a corruption of 'Moorish' from the time of the Crusades."

Japanese woman Napsu Yo, a keen supporter, has by this time been whisked into the centre of the dancing men. One of the gleefully laughing spectators is a young black woman with marvellous dreadlocks. I know for a fact that photographer John Briggs, one of the dancers, is from Minnesota. So what's the link with 'our' past? It seems an odd thing to say when 'we' come from Hengoed and Hiroshima and all points in between, and, rather than being blacksmiths or thatchers, cordwainers or swineherds, are computer engineers, social workers, teachers, sales reps and local government officers.

And then, just as the sun breaks over the lip of the amphitheatre and the dancing reaches a crescendo, it all falls into place.

It's the world we have created and not the dance that is the transient thing. So long as the sun rises and sets people - all people - will feel a deep, primaeval urge to emulate its movement and to celebrate the warmth and growth it brings. I expect.