The Three Morrises

Recently I’ve been thinking about the word Morris and my relationship to Morris and how it’s featured in my life.

It seems that there are three Morrises in my life, though I also went to school with one other along time ago.

The first Morris is this:

My Mother’s car..a Morris Minor 1000 estate. She bought it before I was born, and she sometimes reminds me that I am younger than it is. I remember lengthy periods of time spent sitting inside it, travelling between Suffolk and Cambridge, or travelling around the country on holidays (for example to the Lake District in 1979, which included dramatic trips through Rhinos pass). Sometimes Mum would take me shopping and I'd be left to sit in and guard the car and reflect upon the dashboard and its gadgetry. Other times, this gadgetry would be transformed imaginatively by my sister and I into the controls of a space rocket and we’d prepare for takeoff, or even, indeed, be lost, or not so lost, in space. Here she is driving it in the summer of 2005 in the charming village of Chelsworth.

Here’s another picture of it, sporting the jovial presence of my dearly departed Father.

The second Morris, in order of chronology (meaning when they entered my life, not their place in history), is this man.

Known to the world as ‘Jim’ (and as Jimmy to family and friends in his early years), he made it clear he wanted his poetry and writings (‘The Lords’ and ‘The New Creatures’, in addition to his more famous lyrics, some of which were set to music) published under his full name, James Douglas Morrison. I don’t know but I’m not sure this has happened yet. Still, I was gratified to note when I went to his final resting place, Pere Lachaise cemetery in Paris in 2000, that his new tombstone (replacing the much graffitied original) is inscribed with his full name. The old tombstone, which had carried a bust (and which I’ve heard was stolen?), just said Jim Morrison. Actually, when I was there a cemetery official told me something that is perhaps not widely known by those who take an interest in this American poet and singer. Namely, that each year his father, who is now in his eighties comes from the US to his Son’s grave to pay his respects. I don’t know if he still does this, however, but I found this story very touching and poignant..in view of the fact that Jim Morrison publicly and repeatedly distanced himself from his Father (an Admiral in the US navy), going so far as to tell the press that both his parents were dead. I was also moved when I read in Stephen Davis’s excellent biography that when they last met, in 1966, five years before Jim’s death, they were seen to express genuine affection for one another.

Jim’s influence on me, in terms of my character formation and early writings and poetry, was massive. When I was introduced to him by school friends when I was 17 he seemed like an angel trapped in darkness, speaking of higher realities that the rest of the world, even Christians, seemed to deny. Regarding Christ though, it should be said that he once called himself a ‘Mystery Christian’ – an expression I love- and indeed he even goes so far, on ‘When The Music’s Over’ to cry ‘Jesus save us’. Clearly, this could be construed as ironic and mocking, but who knows? In any case, the spiritual dimension of Jim’s mind is often neglected, although Ray Manzarek, a fellow Doors’ member, speaks eloquently about this aspect of him in interview.

The third Morris is still alive – a living legend no less, and is this much loved and hated man.

Although already having produced music and lyrics for over a decade, first with The Nosebleeds and then much more famously with The Smiths, I only came across Steven Patrick Morrissey properly in the summer of 1989, when the invigorating, sublime orgasm that is “The Boy With The Thorn in His Side” blew the roof off my mind and exposed me to the sound of angels. That may seem hyperbolic. I assure you, this was the effect. In my ignorance, no doubt, I had never come across such consoling emotional sympathy from any person, living or dead, in the flesh or by the word. I had not, to be frank, encountered such an unguarded, defenseless humanity before, except amongst young children when I myself was a child. Yet allied to this openness lay an astonishingly funny and perspicacious wit. So, as you might imagine, he really did ‘shake my world’ as the cliché would have it. Along with Jim, and Matt Johnson of The The, and courtesy of my trusty Walkman, he insulated me from anxiety and fear, as I travelled with strangers across South America in 1990, and added spice and rapture to my experiences working with Operation Raleigh in Botswana later that year. Indeed, in Botswana, surrounded by a majority of Smiths revilers, my defensive, idolatrous regard for him could at times be acute, and deeply wounded. Maybe if I hadn’t had an ‘eastern style’ spiritual experience later during that trip, whilst in the Okavango Delta, and then the following winter a very deep encounter with the sprit of Christ, to this day I would be a fully Mozzed up Mozzer, the devoted owner of endless albums and related merchandise, one of the indefatigable doters on his every word, who follow him from concert to concert.

I mentioned another Morris. This was a girl, whose name was Morris. I studied History with her at school as a teenager. For some reason she once looked at me and said ‘extraordinary’. I don’t know why she said this (though generally speaking I was considered pretty weird) but decided to take it as a compliment. She was really vivacious and bright and powerful, and you got the impression she would be going places. I wonder what she’s up to now.

There is no dictionary definition of the word ‘Morris’ other than that of a style of English folk dancing. Dancing like this.

For some reason, I think the English are a little coy about this folk tradition. I must say I have shared this feeling, though don’t really know why. Anyone want to shed any light? Actually, going from this video it looks rather festive. Perhaps I might have thought it a bit 'square' in my cool-conscious days. According to Wikipedia, it bears Moorish connections to Morrocco. Does this explain 'Morris' to any extent..?

Anyway, long live Morris, and long live my relationship with Morris. May there be more of Morris in the world.