12. The Ban on Round Dances 1917–1957: Regulating Social Dancing in Norwegian Community Houses
© Egil Bakka, CC BY 4.0 https://doi.org/10.11647/OBP.0174.12
This chapter aims to contextualise the forty-year ban which the Norwegian Liberal Youth Movement placed on round dances during meetings1 in the period 1917–1957. I hope to feed into the discussion on the resistance these dances met throughout Europe. The chapter portrays the three largest popular movements in Norway, which were the main agents in relation to popular dance, because they controlled most of the community houses in the country. Since such houses were very much sought after for dancing, the owners had to take a stance on; an attitude which depended on the social climate and the practices and ideologies of each agent. Description of the movements, their houses and their stance on dance will therefore be the main focus of this chapter, combined with historical contextualisation of the dances from their arrival in Norway.
The Agents
The term ‘popular movement’ is a common translation into English of the Nordic terms folkerørsle/folkebevegelse, a phenomenon found in all the Nordic countries.2 The Swedish researcher Helena Forsås-Scott claims that ‘Common to all the popular movements was a desire to rouse people, to organise and transform them and to change their way of life’.3 Norway had several popular movements influencing social dance in the decades before and after 1900; the most important were the movements of lay Christianity, the Liberal Youth Movement and the Labour Movement.
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Fig. 12.1 Public summer meetings could attract thousands of listeners to the countryside of sparsely populated Norway. All popular movements used such meetings to spread ideas in the decades around 1900. The author Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson was one of the most popular speakers, even if he did not belong to any of these movements. An audience of over 5,000 attended his speach at Stiklestad in 1882. Photo by Henning Anderson (1882). Public Domain.
The term ‘modern’ has been used in many ways. In this context, the characterisation of the British writer Peter Child is intended: ‘The Modernist movement of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries constituted a literary and cultural revolution’.4 This understanding of modernism is mostly used in the fields of arts, but here attempts are made to transfer the term to phenomena of social and political life, more specifically to popular movements.
The dominating genre of social dance in this period was what dance teachers of the nineteenth century called round dances. The specific question dealt with here is how and why round dances were banned from some important arenas in Norway during the period from 1917 to 1957. It concentrates on the period surrounding the ban, and mainly analyses the discourse on social dance in Norway in the first three decades of the twentieth century. This discourse sprang from broad ideological movements, the organisations they formed, and the community houses they built. First, however, I offer a brief introduction to the period when the round dances established themselves in Norway.
A Historical Perspective
Norway was in union with Denmark in the period from 1380–1814. It was a province ruled by the Danish kings in Copenhagen on the outskirts of Europe. There was no royal court and almost no nobility. The Waltz seems to have arrived in the Nordic countries during the last decades of the eighteenth century, during a period when economy and trade were flourishing in Norway. Early in the nineteenth century, the Napoleonic wars broke out. Denmark-Norway tried to stay neutral, continuing its trade with both sides. This resulted in the English blocking off trade on the coasts, which pressured Denmark-Norway into alliance with Napoleon. The peace treaty in 1814 forced Denmark to give up Norway to Sweden. Norway managed to get status as nation with its own constitution, but remained in union with Sweden until 1905.
The arrival of the Waltz and related couple dances do not seem to have attracted much attention from Norwegians. In 1796 and 1797, a newspaper in Trondheim published two articles, in several parts, about dancing. They are critical, but not strongly condemning, of at Valdse (‘to Waltz/waltzing’). The argument is that the Waltz dislodges other, more valuable dances such as the Allemande, Minuet and Quadrilles; it has grown too popular, and is sometimes indecent. These ideas are not new or original, but reiterated similar continental discourse. There are no traces, however, of scepticism towards the foreign dance, and the article does not refer to the Waltz as particularly new. The writer states that mature women of a modest background, as well as ‘mature ladies of the world’, have told him how the Waltz touched them in their younger days. This suggests that the arrival date of the Waltz in Norway should be moved to at least ten or twenty years earlier.5
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Fig. 12.2 This famous painting represents the moment Norway became an independent nation. A specifically elected national assembly met to write the country’s Constitution which was completed on 17 May 1814, since then the National Day of Norway. Oscar Wergeland, Riksforsamlingen på Eidsvoll 1814, 1885. 285 x 400 cm. Parliament of Norway Building, Oslo. Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norwegian_Constituent_Assembly#/media/File:Eidsvoll_riksraad_1814.jpeg
Historians mostly argue that nationalism surfaced in Norway with national romanticism towards the middle of the nineteenth century.6 At this point, the old couple dances of the peasants, such as springar and halling, started to be named national dances, but this does not seem to have triggered any critical attitude toward new ‘foreign dances’. At least, it is hard to find comments about it in contemporary Norwegian sources.
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Fig. 12.3 Old dances — halling and polsk — in the mountain mining town of Røros. Chapter frontispiece in Edward Daniel Clarke, Travels in Various Countries of Europe, Asia and Africa, vol. 10 (London: T. Cadell and W. Davies, 1824), part 3, p. 166. Library of Norwegian Centre for Traditional Music and Dance.
In fact, an English traveller, Edward Clarke, wrote one of the most important comments. I cite his remarks from 1799, regarding a ball in the Norwegian capital, Christiania, which is also one of the earliest sources for the Waltz as an established dance in Norway:
There are public balls on a Sunday evening, once in every fortnight. These are held in a large room belonging to the principal inn; and the ball is followed by a supper. Tickets are given to the different persons as they enter, to regulate their places in the dance; a different set of tickets being distributed for a similar purpose at supper. The dances are, the waltz, which has always the preference, and the common English country-dance: but even in the country-dance the waltz is introduced: indeed it is so great a favourite, that our English dance would probably not be tolerated, but in compliment to the English who may happen to be present. Some of our popular dances were performed by the band, but in so slow and solemn a manner, that the effect became truly ludicrous.7
A colonel’s wife, born around 1801, reports from her young days in Christiania, the capital of Norway:
In general there were more original personalities at that time than is seen now, and often they were quite comic. One of them, whose name was Flor, I think, was teacher at the Latin school, a middle-aged man who was very enthusiastic about dancing, in spite of a quite unbecoming appearance. He was the alarm of all ladies, because he used to tap the beat with his big hand at the lady’s back. At that time there was waltz in nearly all dances, partly a very slow one, as in English dance, partly 2/4 quick as in Feier and Molinack, not to forget about Figaro which did not have neither beginning nor end. Everybody danced at the same time, and everyone with their favourites, because it was the dance of inclination. It ended the ball and lasted long.8
Additionally, the famous Danish ballet master and choreographer, August Bournonville (1805–1879) commented on the Waltz in 1829 with a slightly critical tone:
I would like to add a few words on the frequent use of the German waltz. Not to mention the violent movement in which it brings the blood and the untidiness it brings about in the clothing, I think, though, that, since the more civilised world distinguishes itself from the lower classes as well as in language, customs and clothes as in pleasures, it should also make its dance a bit less accessible for those whose being and manners cannot give the necessary grace. For I consider it to be impossible in a waltz to distinguish between more or less decency. I will probably find many opponents among the passionate waltzers, but I do not present my opinion as an oracle, I just think that a bit less waltzing at the balls would not hurt.9
These sources seem to confirm that the Waltz was already a very popular dance in the first decades of the nineteenth century, at least in the upper classes of the capital cities of Norway and Denmark.10 Bournonville’s voice may have been heard in Norway in matters of dance even in those days, when he was only in his mid-twenties, and dancing masters in Norway might be of similar opinions. It is worthwhile noting that Bournonville seems afraid of criticising the waltzers too harshly, which is why one might propose that it does not reflect any strong critical attitude in his circles in Copenhagen. Rather, it perhaps reflects his international orientation, and stronger critical attitudes towards the Waltz elsewhere in Europe. In turn, the source itself is too early to suggest that his calling the Waltz German, whilst at the same time criticising it, has anything to do with the slowly rising scepticism in Denmark towards Germany,11 a scepticism which culminated in armed border conflicts.12
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Fig. 12.4 E. Lange, August Bournonville, before 1879. August Bournonville was a Danish Choreographer and Ballet master at the Royal Theatre in Copenhagen. Royal Library, Copenhagen. Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:August_Bournonville_by_E._Lange.jpg#/media/File:August_Bournonville_by_E._Lange.jpg
It seems that Norwegians received the Waltz and the round dances generally without much reflection on their origin. There is no evidence to support the assumption that they may have been considered as threatening to Norwegian identity or to older, traditional dances in this period. It is striking to note that more than a hundred years passed before anyone singled out the round dances as threatening and banned them. During this period, the round dances spread to most of Norway, with few exceptions. At the beginning of the twentieth century, they dominated in urban as well as rural dance repertoires. There were, however, a few rural districts where they were hardly accepted and of little importance, and some districts where, while they were still on equal terms with older couple dances, they were mostly the dominant genre for young people.13
Early Twentieth-Century Building of Community Houses in Rural Norway
In the first two to three decades of the twentieth century, there was an impressive boom in the building of community houses that could act as venues for dancing in Norway. Local groups and clubs belonging to different, more or less national, movements built the houses. This radically changed the situation for social dancing, particularly in the Norwegian countryside. Earlier, most dancing had taken place either out of doors in all kinds of weather, in narrow rooms of private homes, or in improvised locations, such as vacated houses, barns or, in some liberal communities, even the schoolhouses. In the twenty-first century, it can be hard to understand fully what a treat it was for young people to dance in spacious community halls with excellent dance floors. The young people were sheltered from wind and rain and did not need to beg permission from their parents’ generation in each case. Community houses open for dancing were exceptions in the Norwegian countryside before 1900.14
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Fig. 12.5 Dance in Vålåskard, a dairy farm hamlet in the mountains between Meldal and Rindal, around 1920. Young people from Løkken and Rindal had set a weekend meeting and dance out of doors at an old meeting and dance place. Photo owned by Ingeborg Isdal Løkken, CC BY-NC.
Community houses were obviously very attractive for young people who wanted to dance, and many of them eagerly participated in the building, even if dancing was not at all given as any official purpose for such houses. There were, however, fierce struggles on the question of dancing in some of the new houses, and they seem to have peaked in the decade around 1920. These struggles are the main topic for this article.
There were two dominant groups of community houses which were, at least in principle, available for dancing. These were the houses of the Liberal Youth Movement, called Ungdomshus [Youth Houses], and the houses of the Labour Movement, called Folkets Hus [The People’s House]. The two movements behind these houses based themselves on strong ideologies, and had many similar characteristics, despite the fact that they were opposing agents in the formation of Norway as a new state. They were also opposing agents in concrete and practical terms in local communities.15
There was also an older type of community house that existed in considerable numbers, the Bedehus [House of Prayer]. Small, local, informal groups or congregations of devout, often stern Christians built these houses. Dance was unthinkable in the Bedehus, but, due to their explicit stance against dance, these houses nonetheless belong in the picture of the struggle about dance in the early decades of the twentieth century.
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Fig. 12.6 Svae Bedehus and its congregation at Skiptvedt, 1902. Public Domain.
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Fig. 12.7 Dølehalli Ungdomshus Morgedal with members, from Den Frilynde Ungdomsrørsla. Norigs Ungdomslag i 25 År, ed. by Sven Moren and Edvard Os (Oslo: Norigs Ungdomslag, 1921), p. 265. Public Domain.
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Fig. 12.8 The workers in the mining community of Løkken in front of their Folkets Hus, preparing for the Labour Day procession which unions organized throughout the country. The house was built in 1914, and the picture was probably taken in 1919. Photo by Karl August Berg, Folkets Hus, Løkken (c.1919). Public Domain.
Before discussing the main topic, I must give this picture some more nuances. There were certainly a variety of assembly houses used for dancing in towns and cities, at least from the early nineteenth century. Most of them were probably venues for clubs of the upper classes.16 Even in the early twentieth century, the upper strata of society had some houses built for their own dances. In regions with relatively sharp class divisions, the leading farmers built their own houses (i.e. Bøndernes Hus in Lørenskog, built 1921),17 in competition with the houses of the Labour Movement. Large industrial enterprises in small communities also built assembly halls (i.e. Sauda Klubb, built in the 1930s, and Festiviteten in Tyssedal, built 1913). They were mainly for officers who might not be at ease in the houses of the Labour Movement or in a house for everyone in the community. The enterprises may not explicitly have stated any distinction in who could use the house.
The conflict over popular dancing took place in the Liberal Youth Movement, and not in the Labour Movement. Nonetheless, the Labour Movement and their houses are an important backdrop against which to understand this conflict, and are thus necessary to provide a full picture of popular dancing in Norway during this period. If we depart from the dance repertoire, all levels of the community shared the round dances. Around 1900, the egalitarian rural communities dominating most parts of the country would additionally still have kept the couple dances, which were older than the round dances. The so-called regional dances, and the very thin layer of the bourgeoisie (the upper class of Norway), would still have a repertoire of contra dances. The lower classes in rural regions with a strong class division, the working classes in the towns, and much of the coastal population, would have used the round dances, practically speaking, as their only repertoire.18
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Fig. 12.9 Video: Reinlender, a round dance popular in Norway, performed at the dance competition at the Landsfestivalen 2013, Løten. ‘Reinlender 2 — Landsfestivalen 2013’, 3:42, posted online by norsound, Youtube, 21 July 2013, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cY7WHpd_nvQ |
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Fig. 12.10 Video: The regional dances of Norway include springar, pols, halling, and gangar. This link is a clip showing the springar from the region of Valdres, as performed in the National competition in folk music and folk dance, and gives a good impression of what a regional dance could have looked like in the nineteenth century. ‘Valdres springar’, 2:35, posted online by Lars R Amundsen, Youtube, 24 December 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ijq5RYxIGz4 |
The Labour Movement and the People’s Houses
In the late 1890s, Labour unions and the Labour Party grew into a Norwegian Labour Movement19 through complex political and organisational processes. Numerous unions and local clubs experienced problems in finding places for their meetings. To deal with this dilemma, the idea of building houses became obvious. In 1910, the National Labour Union20 established a fund for supporting the building of local assembly houses,21 which could offer many local unions a much-needed contribution for this purpose. There is no statistical information available to tell us how many of these houses were built, but a knowledgeable representative for the People House Union in the late 1970s guessed that around 500 such houses might have been built up to then. However, old houses that were later replaced by new houses were also counted in this number. Provisional houses, built by migrant workers during a period of construction work on road or railways who left afterwards, might also be in this number.22 A monograph on Folkets Hus by Harald Berntsen — a historian and political activist on the radical left — names some 250 such houses.23 This history, alongside other histories of the Labour Movement, speaks about the efforts of building these houses.24 These histories name the leaders of the work, discuss the financial arrangements involved, and describe how the houses strengthened the social life of the membership. The union activity and political meetings were, of course, a primary aim, but broad cultural activity is also mentioned. The dance parties, which seem to have been perhaps the most regular activity at the weekend, whether it was proceeded by some cultural or political activity or not, are hardly mentioned.25
Berntsen counts the stonecutters’ community house Spjerøy Folkets Hus at Hvaler in the county of Østfold, as the oldest Folkets Hus in Norway.26 Torsnes Folkets Hus, also built by stonecutters in Østfold, finished in 1902, claims to be the second oldest. A short online article, written to celebrate the one hundredth anniversary of Torsnes Folkets Hus, gives some background information and a lively account of the social life during the early years of the house, unfortunately without precise dating.27
A company that brought in stonecutters from Sweden established the stonecutting industry in Østfold in the 1880s. The workers there established their Stonecutter Union in 1896, which, from the beginning, held its meetings in the parish house. One may suspect that there were quite strong tensions between the local farmers and the mostly immigrant stonecutters. In 1910, the community had 360 people connected to the stonecutting industry and 265 to agriculture. This was a typical situation when small communities in Norwegian countryside were being industrialised through mining or large construction work such as building roads, railways or factories. The large influx of immigrants from Sweden or other parts of Norway, often from a proletariat background or liberated from the norms of the stable rural society and inspired by socialism or communism, created a new labour class in rural Norway, and even more in towns and cities.
One of the members of the Thorsnes Stonecutter [Brass] Band has given an account about how the band and the stonecutter community in Torsnes celebrated the First of May in the early twentieth century:28
First of May At 5 o’clock in the morning we lined up at Høyda på Holm started playing and marching […] and at Kråkberget we blew the Internationale and other socialist marches. […] Then we continued along the dusty road to Folkets Hus. In the fields, the farmers were spreading manure, which was their way of celebrating the day. Outside Folkets Hus, the women served coffee and sandwiches, and sometimes someone might have a tot. Then everybody went home for a few hours before the First of May procession at two o’clock. The Stonecutter Music led the procession with the Stonecutter banner and a red standard, then came the children and then the grown ups’ procession. We may have been 100–150 people who were winding through the small parish. The procession went to the Folkets Hus where there was a speech for the day, community singing and music by the Band […]. In the evening, we played again. There was a partyat the house until midnight and the Band provided the music, I think mainly the bass drum was excused. We played old time dances, reinlender, the Waltz and the Polka […].29
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Fig. 12.11 Opening celebration of the Folkets Hus at Torsnes, 1902. Postcard, Torsnes Arbeiderlag. Public Domain.
Even if most available accounts keep the issue of class very low key, some attitudes and hints shine through in the text: heavy drinking and partying among the stonecutters, an emphasis on cultural activity in the Folkets Hus, and the comment about farmers spreading manure on the fields as a protest to the celebration of the First of May.
There are few, if any, signs of the Labour Movement having any position on dancing. Dancing was a given phenomenon which the Movement did not seem to have any opinion about, a treasured activity among the membership, which the leaders probably saw neither as politically interesting nor harmful, but which must have been useful to attract members.
Dancing — a Problem in Ungdomshuset, not in the Folkets Hus
The rules for Folkets Hus Høvik in 1909 seem typical for such houses, and the following paraphrase gives an impression of the tone and aims:
At parties and similar gatherings outerwear, hats, umbrellas and the like should be left at the designated place. Smoking should not take place during lectures, discussions, recitations or performances. Moreover, dancing persons may not use a pipe, cigar or cigarette. Two men are not allowed to dance together.
It is strictly forbidden to drink spirits in the house. Intoxicated persons are not admitted. Persons who repeatedly behave in disturbing or violent ways will be refused admission for up to half a year.30
There is reason to assume that the rules were intended to regulate or prevent typical behaviour. Some of them may have been an attempt to improve manners, such as leaving outerwear on when entering. It might not have created great problems that some people kept their outerwear on. Men are reported to have danced with hats indoors, considering ‘bare-head’ dancing snobbish.31 The rather lenient restrictions on smoking probably had a similar background, together with rules against spitting indoors.
The rules against more serious problems, such as drinking and unruly behaviour, are more sharply formulated, but they still tolerate# such behaviour at least twice. The prohibition against two men dancing together could be connected to this and meant to stop drunken men. Girls had perhaps refused them, and then they disturbed the dancing by being unruly on the floor. In the many isolated, next to all-male, working places, such as construction sites and fisheries and during military service, it was quite usual for men to dance together, for the purpose of practice and for the pleasure of moving to music.32
Rather than representing any homophobic ideas among labourers, the prohibitions could also be a concession to what good considered polite manners.
The radical Labour Movement used slogans such as ‘Down with the Throne, the Altar and the Plutocracy’33 and mostly did not see a need to work for acceptance in religious circles. Their wishes for good manners probably had educational rather than moral roots. Their use of political and cultural activity as a means to promote the educational was central. They saw that the formation and progress of the labourers’ culture needed to be based in a knowledge of, and being on level with, existing culture in Norwegian society.34 Probably leaders saw drinking in particular as a problem for such progress, not least because the Labour Movement had influential members belonging to the temperance movement.35 It is worth noting, however, that the public discourse of the Labour Movement does not blame dancing for increasing drinking, nor for creating problems for other cultural or political activity.
The folklorist Ørnulf Hodne discusses the particular problem of ‘culture’ in the Labour Movement. There was hardly any specific ‘Labour culture’36 employed during the 1920s and 1930s. What was available was either the bourgeois culture of the upper class or the folk culture from the countryside. Therefore, elements from those had to be appropriated and adapted to the ideas of the international Labour Movement, based on the concepts of solidarity, community spirit and joint action.37 There were somewhat spectacular attempts to appropriate folk dance in the capital city around 1920 through communist folk-dance groups for children. The communists belonged in the Labour Movement at that time.38 One may interpret this as having been successful; individual initiatives and actions came from folk dance instructors who belonged to the left wing of the Labour Movement. This may be the reason why they sprung up suddenly and disappeared, possibly due to the changing personal circumstances of the leaders. If this was the case, it did not need to have had any deep political roots. On the other hand, when the communists formed their own party in 1923, the split deeply affected the Labour Movement’s work for children.39 The split had already marginalised the communist party during the late 1920s, and it seems that the individuals who had earlier supported the children’s movement were on the communist side. This may explain the rapid decline and be an important reason why folk-dance activity did not continue as an important element in the Labour Movement.
Round dances constituted the dominant dance genre within the Labour Movement in the early twentieth century, but there is no evidence that anyone looked upon it as any kind of cultural asset. Books on the history of the Labour Movement mention theatre, choir singing, club newspapers, and similar activities as culture, but not the weekend dance parties in the Folkets Hus, which was a traditional activity up into the 1950s.40
Ungdomshuset and the Liberal Youth Movement
The Liberal Youth Movement grew from the local youth clubs which shared aims and values. Ivar Blekastad, an eighteen-year-old son of a farmer, initiated the club which has been counted as the first in Sel in Gudbrandsdalen during the winter of 1868/69. He and most of the other pioneers in the movement derived their inspiration directly or indirectly from the teachers’ seminars and the folk high school movement. Many young people from the countryside attended these schools and came back to become resources and innovators in their communities. Further new clubs came into being in the 1870s and 1880s, but during the 1890s the development exploded. The local clubs formed regional unions in the early 1890s, and these were the basis for the national organisation which was founded in 1896.41 The Liberal Youth Movement came from the grassroots and had its strongholds among small farmers and countryside teachers. During its first twenty years, the organisation had four chairmen, all of whom were farmers’ sons.
The organisation promoted popular enlightenment and national and rural values. One of its main aims was to build a strong civic society, according to modernistic,42 liberal values. The clubs built community houses to attract young people to be enlightened through talks or lectures, discussions, recitations, unison singing, playing theatre, and playing games. They could use standard popular dance as an attraction, but, increasingly, they viewed dancing as problematic.43
Histories about Noregs Ungdomslag [Norwegian Youth Association] stress how Grundtvigianism was the ideological basis for both the Liberal Youth Movement and Noregs Ungdomslag, and how these ideas spread through the folk high schools.44 Grundtvigianism emphasises a joyous Christianity, a sense of the national, of popular culture, and of the spoken word as the optimal kind of communication.
The founder of the folk high school movement is considered to be N. S. F. Grundtvig (1783–1872) […] He was not interested in creating an educational system, and he was never able to set up a school according to his ideas […]. But his lectures on national education inspired others to found folk high schools.45
Grundtvig argued that to be a true Christian, one must first be a full human being. And a human being was someone embedded in a specific cultural and historical tradition. […] For Grundtvigianism, therefore, the study and celebration of rural folk culture was an integral part of the search for salvation…46
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Fig. 12.12 Cover of Sven Moren and Edvard Os, eds, Den Frilynde Ungdomsrørsla. Norigs Ungdomslag i 25 År (Oslo: Norigs Ungdomslag, 1921). Public Domain.
In the context of this article, the main point of interest is that the Grundtvigian orientation promoted a kind of Christianity that accepted dancing. This enabled two priests to be chairs in Noregs Ungdomslag, and a good number of other priests to be prominent members. Halvdan Wexelsen Freihow was the first priest who chaired Noregs Ungdomslag 1925–1936.47 In 1921, he wrote an article where he compares the ongoing struggle about dance to a lawsuit where the Liberal Youth Movement stands trial. Freihow metaphorically frames the lay preacher as a prosecutor, the stern laity as the jury, and Freihow himself takes on the defence:
I admit that young people of the Liberal Youth movement are dancing, I admit that drunken people sometimes attend meetings and reunions, but can this serve to prove that the work of the Liberal Youth movement prevents a true Christianity among the young people? If the youth clubs had as a task to teach young people to dance, then would that be the same as preventing true Christianity? If it is, there are many who prevent true Christianity among young people. If the work among young people had as an aim to teach them to drink, then the accuser could have found proof for his accusations.48
Freihow accuses the laity of seeing themselves as a kind of Supreme Court in questions of religion and culture, and popular opinion for seemingly accepting that. He ends submitting ‘not guilty’ as statement for the defence, stressing that: ‘The Liberal Youth Movement does not see it as a task to condemn and suppress the joy of life in playful dancing. The movement sees it as a task to do everything it can to help young people play with dancing without killing their spiritual and intellectual engagement’.49
Freihow’s polemic explicitly targets a newspaper article by a named lay preacher, and such articles were manifold in this period. An anonymous writer heavily criticises dance and liberal youth clubs in a small contribution to a local newspaper in 1916. It gives an impression of how the stern lay movement pleads its case of dance as dangerous and sinful. The writer claims:
Dance is perfect for fostering and nourishing sins against the 6th commandment50 in thoughts, mind and action. […] In the Bible 1 John 2:16 one can read: ‘Everything in the world — the lust of flesh, the desires of the eyes, and haughty lifestyle — comes not from the Father but is of this world’. Our Saviour says, ‘The world loves its own’.51 This fits dance perfectly. It is the three-headed animal that constitutes the ‘desires of the eyes, the lust of flesh, and haughty lifestyle’. Those who are not true converts seek to place the activity of dance into a spacious bag alongside other loved sins under the name of indifferent things.52
If a person, for instance on the street, approaches someone of the opposite sex in the same way as during a dance, any decent individual approached would feel it as defamatory, even as a crime for which the person rightfully would deserve punishment. But in the dance clubs it is counted as purity and decency.53
It seems clear here that the main problem with dance is the impurity and indecency of a public act of intimacy between man and woman. No distinction is made between kinds of dances, and even singing games were generally forbidden.54
According to Freihow, the laity was very influential in many parts of the Norwegian countryside. They also had support from some clergymen of the state church. This was probably an important part of the backdrop for the quite intensive debates in Noregs Ungdomslag about dancing, peaking in the years from 1916 into the 1920s. The religious laity published articles as part of the heavy discourse against both dance and the Liberal Youth Movement in newspapers throughout the country. Sometimes, Norsk Ungdom55 cited such articles to enable replies in the internal channels of the movement. The opinions about dance as sin hardly found support within the internal debate, but the movement found it important to argue against them.
In 1917, Norsk Ungdom was the arena for particularly intensive debates about the dancing in member clubs of Noregs Ungdomslag. An anonymous contributor wrote, ‘If one has followed the work for young people in clubs where many members have an inclination to dance, one will acknowledge that dance is and remains the worst enemy a youth club can get. There is nothing that can overwhelm young people spiritually and culturally more than the dance’.56 The reason given for this claim was based on experience, ‘If there is a discussion, only older members participate. The young people are sitting uninvolved, perhaps making noise, longing for the end so that they can get a dance, even if the questions debated are burning issues, that particularly bear on their situation’. The members who had joined the club in order to dance were not engaged with other activities or issues the organisation had as its main aim. Rather, they were impatiently waiting for the dancing that would end the meeting. In this way they, destroyed all engagement with other issues. Hence, the dance prohibition was intended for meetings and not for parties. The folkeviseleik [ballad games] were identified as the most efficient means to eradicate round dances from the meetings. The folkeviseleik would still provide the pleasure of movement that young people needed after the meetings, but those individuals who attended for the sole purpose of dancing would no longer disturb the meetings, since they did not care about the folkeviseleik.
In a later issue, Hulda Garborg published an article arguing along similar lines. She refers to Martin Luther: ‘If vice and sin can be found together with dance, it is not the fault of dance itself, but rather the fault of the evil minds of some of those who dance’. She vehemently attacks the ‘new-fangled’ dancing as ‘vulgar, ugly and of bad taste […] being poisonous flowers from the most unsound city culture’. She continues: ‘Therefore, I think that this kind of dance should be barred by everyone for aesthetic and moral reasons. Unfortunately, I also think that the good round dance needs to be kept away from the liberal youth clubs — for other reasons’.
These clubs had idealistic goals; they were founded to combat brutality, materialism and indifference, and to help young people find their way to a higher cultural life, better self-esteem and stronger national feeling. ‘Everything that hampers this must be taken away from the clubs, however good it may be in itself. Long experience shows that the round dance hampers, it destroys fellow feeling and disperses motivation’. She argues that, for dancing to have educational value, it should engage the mind as well as the body. She suggests that the ‘song dance’ and the ‘figure dance’ have such qualities; they are serious disciplines that keep dancers alert and have spiritual content. The round dances do not, even if they are pretty and innocent. Garborg probably thought that dances that could be performed without demanding a certain concentration on them were of less educational value.57
There were several other articles on dancing in the clubs in 1917. Even if no article argued directly against Hulda Garborg, there is every reason to believe that many members at a local level wanted to dance round dances without restriction. An example from the small community of Sauda is likely representative: a farmer gave the ground for the house, on the condition that the users did not allow round dancing. The house was ready for use in 1915, and a struggle arose soon after. Parts of the membership wanted to dance round dances; not only the song dances and figure dances which rules allowed. At Easter in 1922, the dance faction broke into the house to dance, and there were threats of bringing in the police. The struggle ended when this faction left and built a house of their own some years later. In 1938, the youth club bought the site, and, from then on, allowed round dances at parties, but still not at meetings.58
![](image/Fig.12.13.jpg)
Fig. 12.13 The — at the time — new Ungdomshus (Youth clubhouse) in Sauda, with a dining room in the basement, and a hall for meetings with a small stage and a gallery. Den Frilynde Ungdomsrørsla, Norigs Ungdomslag i 25 År, ed. by Sven Moren and Edvard Os (Oslo: Norigs Ungdomslag, 1921), p. 239. Public Domain.
Noregs Ungdomslag held its annual general meeting of 1917 at Voss in western Norway, and Hulda Garborg attended to teach song dance and to be part of the discussion about the round dances. It seems that the board of the organisation had brought together a strong team to argue for a proposal from the Board: ‘The meeting is of the opinion that the round dance ought to be prohibited at ordinary meetings’.59 The proposal was unanimously adopted.
The struggle over round dances was, however, not won locally, and articles on the issue appeared in the internal channels of Noregs Ungdomslag:
The aim for Norwegian folk dancers is to promote Norwegian folk dancing, not only for use in the youth clubs, but also as a common dance both at home and elsewhere. One of our worst enemies, which we have to fight, are the round dances. The question is, what have we done to tackle this, our worst enemy? There are different answers. Some will reply, ‘We are only allowed to dance (round dances) at our club parties’. Others reply, ‘The round dances are totally banned in our club’. This may be fine, but, in my mind, good bylaws and decisions in the clubs do not help much as long as each of us […] do the round dances as soon as the opportunity arises. We often see that people we count among the folk dancers are the most dedicated in keeping alive our worst enemy. Perhaps there would be many who would ask, ‘You can’t mean that liberal youth should establish a life-time promise against using round dance in our private lives?’ No, this is not my intention; I do not think it should be necessary. People always said that the liberal youth are the most alert and intelligent youth. Because of this, I believed that this intelligent youth would see that, if they were to achieve something through their actions, it would just be their private lives, which would be influential. Here, all the folk-dance groups should lead as good examples, so that people can see what a group looks like that is working seriously. Those who want to be pioneers and leaders in cultivating also need to show that they can protect what has already been sown, so that it can grow large and strong.60
It may be that Hulda Garborg’s rather forceful attacks on the modern dances, and, in contrast, her acceptance of round dances, constitute a more urban perspective, while modern dances were not of great importance in the countryside around 1920. Noregs Ungdomslag also ruled against a proposition to ban the latter as well, which may seem strange.
The folk-dance subfield made decisions to promote song dance and national dances. In some places, the difference between round dances and national dances would be small. The national dances could be just as dominant and attractive as the round dances, but those leaders who adopted a national folk-dance perspective and were based in large urban clubs may not have understood this at the time. The result was either a ban or lack of interest in the national dances such as springar, gangar, and pols at the local level, which led to annoyance among the fiddlers who wanted to play the local music, but were forced to learn simple melodies for the national repertoire of figure dances.
Another difference between developments at the national and local level was the term for folk dancing. From the very beginning, Garborg used the term folkevisedans [ballad dance] or songdans [song dance] for the chain dance used on the Faroe Isles, as well as for the Norwegian version she initiated.61 Her main follower, Klara Semb, used the terms songdans and turdans [song dance and figure dance].62 It is interesting to note that, in spite of this, local leaders in the clubs used the term folkeviseleik [ballad game] or, simply, leik [games], in which they often included the national repertoire of figure dances. Klara Semb published many of them and they were danced to music. The reason seems patent: there was a clear distinction in the countryside between leik [games] and dans [dance]. In this distinction, games were considered far more innocent than dance, and were far more acceptable in many contexts. Leik quite soon became an important term for the national repertoire of song dance and turdans, leading to the term leikarring for a folk-dance group specialising particularly on song dance and figure dance.
It is possible to understand the argument for turdans and song dance rather than round dances in the way they would function in a youth club. Freely improvised couple dances, such as the round dances, allow the dance partners to concentrate on themselves and each other. They do not need to pay attention to others, except for avoiding dancing into other couples. In turn, they could more easily hide flirting or even sexual tensions, and could slip out of the house more easily than in more organised dances. The couple would only feel responsibility to one another, whereas, in a big crowd of dancing couples, each couple would be less available to each other’s gaze than when couples formed circles and lines where they could see each other most of the time. The leaders of a club who considered dancing as a tool wanted to create a collective feeling of closeness and cooperation, rather than allowing happy couples to isolate themselves from everyone else in the group. In this way, attention on the group, and alertness to precise and complex patterns that were purported to hold educational value, were both understood as efficient means of maintaining this collective feeling of unity in the group. It could also help the disciplining of unruly and perhaps slightly drunk groups of young people who tried to challenge conventions of ‘good’ behaviour.63
The song dance had even stronger tools for creating a collective feeling of unity in the group, since the unison singing and dancing even aimed to create a shared emotional involvement in the stories told by the text. This shared expression of emotion probably appeared strange in a secular context, since it is reminiscent of religious singing. This is probably why people in the folk music movement scornfully called it ‘den heilage dansen’ (‘the holy dance’).
Conclusion
The round dances were about one hundred years old in Norway in the early twentieth century. Dance was generally strongly criticised in religious circles, and much more so by lay preachers than by the clergymen of the official church. The Labour Movement used them extensively in social life, but did not recognise them at all as having any cultural value or being of relevance for the movement itself. The Liberal Youth Movement had a much more complex relationship to round dances. The movement did not see round dances as harmful or sinful in themselves, but did not recognise them as having any educational or national value. Since it was a genre that nearly all dancing Norwegians knew and enjoyed, occasions for dancing it in the new assembly houses were cherished and yearned for. The leading ideologists in the Liberal Youth Movement found the competition encouraged by round dances in the clubs to be very problematic, and banned it from meetings for forty years, whereas the Labour Movement let it live on without paying it any attention.
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1 The clubs had regular meetings for enlightenment, discussions, and singing, and there was time for games or dances at the end. Here, round dances were banned, but the rules were more liberal for parties. Jan Kløvstad et al., Ungdomshuset: Eit kultursenter i Bygde-Noreg (Oslo: Noregs ungdomslag: I kommisjon hos Det norske samlaget, 1986).
2 Helena Forsås-Scott, Swedish Women’s Writing, 1850–1995, Women in Context: An International Series (London: The Athlone Pres 2000), p. 18.
3 Forsås-Scott refers to popular movements as ‘the temperance movement, the free church, the Social Democratic Party, and the organisation of labour’ when discussing Sweden (Swedish Women’s Writing, p. 18). Her characterisation of popular movements echoes the definition provided in Ulf Himmelstrand and Göran Svensson, Sverige: Vardag och struktur: Sociologer beskriver det svenska samhället ([Stockholm]: Norstedts, 1988), pp. 806ff.
4 Peter Childs, Modernism: The New Critical Idiom (London: Routledge, 2000), p. 5 https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203131169
5 ‘En prøve hvorledes noget om dands vel monne smage [5 Parts]’, Trondhjemske Tidender, no. 3–7 (1796). I thank my colleague Professor Anne Fiskvik for giving me this source. ‘Saa skal vi nu ikke mere valdse?’ [n.a.], Trondhjemske Tidender, 47–49 (1797).
6 Mary Hilson, ‘Denmark, Norway and Sweden. Pan-Scandinavianism and Nationalism’, in What Is a Nation?: Europe 1789–1914, ed. by Timothy Baycroft and Mark Hewitson (Oxford: Oxford University Press), pp. 192–209.
7 Edward Daniel Clarke, Travels in Various Countries of Europe, Asia and Africa, vol. 10 (London: T. Cadell and W. Davies, 1824), part 3, p. 454, https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=nyp.33433000631485&view=1up&seq=7
8 Oberstinde Rehbinder, Carine Mathea Thrane Rehbinder and Nanna Thrane, Barndoms Og Ungdoms Erindringer (Kristiania: Gyldendal, 1915), pp. 23–24. Translated from the Danish by Egil Bakka. It is worth noting that Ms. Rehbinder is using the term Waltz in accordance with the term’s usage in the early nineteenth century, considering also dances in 2/4 to be versions of the Waltz. The dance names based in this understanding stayed on even after the name Polka spread over Europe from Prague via Paris in the late 1840s as shown in Egil Bakka, ‘The Polka before and after the Polka’, Yearbook for Traditional Music, 33 (2001), 37–47, https://doi.org/10.2307/1519629. The description of Figaro der alle dansar in Klara Semb, Norske Folkedansar. Turdansar (Oslo: Noregs boklag, 1991), p. 215 makes the last sentence about Figaro understandable.
9 Aug Bournonville, Nytaarsgave for danse-yndere (Copenhagen: C. A. Reitzels forlag, 1829), p. 122. Translated from the Danish by Egil Bakka.
10 The Waltz, as the earliest representative of the round dances, seems to have been established in all the Nordic capitals around 1800. Cf. Henning Urup et al., ed., Gammaldans i Norden: Rapport Fra Forskningsprosjektet: Komparativ Analyse av Ein Folkeleg Dansegenre i Utvalde Nordiske Lokalsamfunn (Dragvoll, Norway: Nordisk forening for folkedansforskning 1988).
11 See, for instance, Poul Kierkegaard and Kjeld Winding, Nordens historie (Copenhagen: H. Hagerup, 1965), p. 2, who claim that there had not been any conscious antagonism between the Danes and the Germans, even in the Southern provinces where there was a border between the two languages, before 1830. The conflicts over the provinces of Schleswig and Holstein resulted in two wars (1847 and 1864).
12 Ibid., p. 205.
13 Egil Bakka, Norske Dansetradisjonar (Oslo: Samlaget, 1978).
14 Ibid., p. 175.
15 There were also other types of small, rural assembly houses in which dance could take place (for example, those belonging to shooting clubs or temperance lodges), but these are neither numerous enough, nor do they sufficiently represent coordinated strategies, to be examined in more detail here.
16 Trygve Wyller, Det Stavangerske klubselskab og Stavanger by i 150 år (Stavanger: Dreyers grafiske, 1934), p. 242.
17 ‘Bøndernes Hus (Lørenskog)’ [n.a.], lokalhistoriewiki.no, 20 July 2017, http://www.lokalhistoriewiki.no/index.php/B%C3%B8ndernes_Hus_(L%C3%B8renskog)
18 These rather broad generalisations are based on the author’s extensive fieldwork in all regions of Norway in the period between 1966 and 1990, and on the resulting collections at the Sff-sentret, Trondheim. It is also based upon the impression that it took some decades before African-American dances such as Onestep, Twostep, Tango etc. gained any broad importance as social dances in Norway. See for instance Egil Bakka, Norske Dansetradisjonar (Oslo: Samlaget, 1978).
19 Ida Blom, Sølvi Sogner, and Gro Hagemann, eds, Med kjønnsperspektiv på norsk historie: Fra Vikingtid til 2000-Årsskiftet (Oslo: Cappelen akademisk forl., 2005), p. 461
20 Arbeiderens Faglige Landsorganisasjon.
21 Harald Berntsen, 100 år med Folkets Hus ([Oslo]: Folkets hus landsforbund,1987), p. 530
22 Bakka, Norske dansetradisjonar, p. 170
23 Berntsen, 100 år med Folkets Hus.
24 For example, Bjarne Jullum, Folkets Hus 1907–1932: Fagforeningenes Centralkomité, De Centraliserte Fagforeninger, De Samvirkende Fagforeninger 1883–1893–1932 (Oslo: [n.p.], 1932).
25 Ibid., p. xii.
26 Berntsen, 100 år med Folkets Hus, p. 19.
27 Willy Olsen and Sverre Holt, ‘Jubileumsberetning Folkets Hus Torsnes. Et Faglig, Politisk Og Kulturelt Sentrum Gjennom 100 År. 1902–2002’, Folkets Hus Torsnes, 2002, http://www.folketshus-torsnes.no/index.php/historie
28 The Band was dissolved in 1938.
29 Olsen and Holt, ‘Jubileumsberetning Folkets Hus Torsnes’, http://www.folketshus-torsnes.no/index.php/historie. Translated from the Norwegian by Egil Bakka.
30 Berntsen, 100 år med Folkets Hus, p. 196.
31 Egil Bakka, ‘Samandrag Frå Intervju Om Ålen’, in Gammaldans i Norden: Rapport Fra Forskningsprosjektet: Komparativ Analyse av Ein Folkeleg Dansegenre i Utvalde Nordiske Lokalsamfunn (Dragvoll: Nordisk forening for folkedansforskning, 1988), pp. 180–201 (esp. pp. 188, 195).
32 Bakka, Norske dansetradisjonar.
33 Berntsen, 100 år med Folkets Hus, p. 77.
34 Berntsen, 100 år med Folkets Hus, p. 79.
35 Øyvind Bjørnson, På Klassekampens Grunn: (1900–1920), ed. by Arne Kokkvoll et al. (Oslo: Tiden, 1990), p. 177.
36 Hodne’s use of the term ‘culture’ here, seems to point towards performative or social practices, such as music, dance, theatre, etc., and not towards an open anthropological understanding, encompassing all human practices. Ørnulf Hodne, Fedreland Og Fritid: En Mellomkrigsstudie i Noregs Ungdomslag (Oslo: Novus forl., 1995), p. 35.
37 Hodne, Fedreland Og Fritid.
38 Einar Øygard and Johan Austbø, Folkedansen i 20 aar. 1903–1923 (Ski: Den norske folkeviseringen, 1923).
39 Hodne, Fedreland Og Fritid, p. 72.
40 E.g. Frode Rinnan and Olav Tveten, Vi Skal Bygge et Folkets Hus: 1937 (Oslo: [n.p.], 1937), and Jullum, Folkets Hus 1907–1932.
41 Kløvstad et al., Ungdomshuset, p. 15.
42 The large popular movements of this time may seem to have had a mostly conservative aspect, building on established values. Historians are divided, however, on whether even the religious revival movements should be seen as mainly representing continuity, or, despite their intention, whether they actually represent change and modernism. Such movements contributed, for instance, to the enlightenment and emancipation in the countryside. Dag Thorkildsen, ‘Vekkelse Og Modernisering i Norden på 1800-Tallet’, Historisk Tidsskrift, 77 (1998), 160–80; Svein Aage Christoffersen, Moralsk Og Moderne?: Trekk av den Kristne Moraltradisjon i Norge fra 1814 til Idag (Oslo: Ad notam Gyldendal, 1999), p. 274.
43 Sven Moren and Edvard Os, eds, Den Frilynde Ungdomsrørsla. Norigs Ungdomslag i 25 år (Oslo: Norigs Ungdomslag, 1921).
44 Moren and Os, Den Frilynde Ungdomsrørsla, p. 2; Kløvstad et al., Ungdomshuset, p. 25.
45 Cati Coe, ‘The Education of the Folk: Peasant Schools and Folklore Scholarship’, The Journal of American Folklore, 113 (2000), 20–43, https://doi.org/10.2307/541264
46 Andrew Buckser, ‘Tradition, Power, and Allegory: Constructions of the Past in Two Danish Religious Movements’, Ethnology, 34 (1995), 257–72, https://doi.org/10.2307/3773941
47 The second one was Knut Eik-Nes, who was chairman from 1936–1947 (but not functioning under the German occupation).
48 Halfdan Freihow, ‘Ikkje skuldig!’, in Den Frilynde Ungdomsrørsla. Norigs Ungdomslag i 25 År, ed. by Edvard Os and Sven Moren (Oslo: Norigs Ungdomslag, 1921), p. 71. Translated from the Norwegian by Egil Bakka.
49 Freihow, ‘Ikkje skuldig!’, p. 73.
50 Under the Augustinian division used by Roman Catholics and Lutherans, the sixth commandment refers to the commandment against adultery.
51 This statement is taken from John 15:19.
52 ‘Indifferent things’ here refers to adiaphora — matters not regarded as essential to faith, but nevertheless as permissible for Christians or allowed in church.
53 ‘Betydelig fremskrit’ [n.a.], Nordlands Avis, 7/4 (1916), 2. Translated from the Norwegian by Egil Bakka.
54 Olaf Aagedal, Bedehuset: Rørsla, bygda, folket (Oslo: Samlaget, 1986), pp. 122, 236.
55 The newsletter of Noregs Ungdomslag.
56 ‘Dansen i Ungdomslaga’ [n.a.], Norsk Ungdom (1921), p. 4. Translated from the Norwegian by Egil Bakka.
57 Hulda Garborg, ‘Dansen i Ungdomslagi’, Norsk Ungdom (1917), pp. 178–79. Translated from the Norwegian by Egil Bakka.
58 Egil Bakka and Magne Eiesland, Sauda Ungdomslag 1909–1964. Lagssoge (Sauda: Sauda ungdomslag, 1964), p. 44.
59 Noregs Ungdomslag, Norsk Ungdom: Noregs Ungdomslag 1916–1929: Bodstikka: Blad for Noregs Ungdomslag og Noregs Mållag. Translated from the Norwegian by Egil Bakka. Bjørnar Blaavarp Heimdal, ‘Nasjonal Samling Og Den Norske Folkemusikken: Norges Folkemusikken’ (unpubished master’s thesis, Norwegian University of Science and Technology, Faculty of Humanities, Department of History and Classical Studies, 2012). Translated from the Norwegian by Egil Bakka.
60 Vilfred Moen, ‘Svenske hell norske dansar?’, For Bygd og By. Leikarvollen (1923), p. 270. Translated from the Norwegian by Egil Bakka.
61 Norske Folkevisor: Med Ei Utgreiding Um Vise-Dansen Av Hulda Garborg, I, ed. by Hulda Garborg, Nr 8 vols (Oslo: Norigs ungdomslag, 1903), p. 48 s., Hulda Garborg, Songdansen i Nordlandi (Kristiania: Aschehoug, 1903)., Hulda Garborg, Dagbok 1903–1914, ed. by Karen Grude Koht and Rolv Thesen (Oslo: Aschehoug, 1962)., Hulda Garborg, ‘Færøisk Dans’, Dagbladet (25 January 1902).
62 Klara Semb, Norske Folkedansar II. Rettleiding Om Dansen (Oslo: Noregs Ungdomslag, 1922).
63 The Cotillion — a mixture of party games and round dances, often organised by ball directors — might have had similar effects, and be promoted by the dancing masters and adults for similar reasons.