However, it is certain that the event was pivotal in the development of modern performance poetry. Forty years later, some of the original faces returned to the scene of the crime with some new talent in tow.

A comparison between the original and the revival illustrates how things have changed. Back the '60s, the punters arrived with wine and cannabis to be shared. Tables were set out in the arena, piled with fruit and incense. The modern manifestation was a much more sober and sedate affair, with a well-to-do crowd sitting politely in their seats and applauding.

But instead of being a requiem for a lost dream, the evening had its sights fixed on the present as well as the past. The evening began with Christopher Logue, a stalwart of the '60s. Technical problems meant that his set was interrupted by two penetrating blasts of feedback. Once these gremlins were banished, the night flowed on smoothly -- with the exception perhaps of Spike Hawkins, whose delivery was compromised by his self-confessed consumption of some "grass".

But there were some truly amazing performances that more than made up for any slight hiccups. Stacy Makishi, a performace artist born in Hawaii, came on stage inside a suitcase wheeled on by a stagehand. When she popped out, it brought a round of applause. Her piece was a funny yet incisive discourse on how the Americans had tested nuclear weapons on Pacific islands such as Bikini Atoll. She wasn't on stage for nearly as long as I would have liked.

As an ex-Brixtonian, Linton Kwesi Johnson is a familar sight to me in his trilby, suit and tie. Having seen him walking down the streets so many times, it was quite strange to see him in his usual habitat on stage. He took this opportunity to deliver three elegies to people who had been close to him. As this event was a commemoration of times past, it was poignant to hear him remember those now departed.

Adrian Mitchell was one of the original '60s poets out of the Liverpool scene. It was quite a nice surprise to realise that I'd actually studied his poetry at Junior school -- so it was quite surreal to hear him perform his poem about school bullying entitled 'The Killing Ground'. Suddenly I recalled a long-forgotten lesson where we were put into groups and all performed the poem to crude accompaniment from whatever broken percussion instruments were avalable to us. He also performed a poem about the importance of working for peace, alas as relevant now as it was back then.

There were also some outstanding musical performances on the night. Kathryn Williams has a beautiful pure voice which was accompanied by her acoustic guitar. Eliza Carthy on the other hand has an amazing voice, which boomed out and filled the Albert Hall marvellously. For a folk singer, she had a lot of sex appeal -- imagine Mae West with an accordion and you'll get the idea.

Fran Landesman, another of the original '60s mob, performed some highly amusing ditties accompanied by some flaky guitar work from her son. The superlative John Hegley was hilarious, playing the mandolin and reciting poetry accompanied by double bass -- he got one of the loudest rounds of applause and deservedly so.

A real personal treat for me was seeing the William Blake Klezmatrix perform. I've been a long-time admirer of William Blake as well as the Penguin Cafe Orchestra, who had a certain Annie Whitehead amongst their number. I was initially dubious about the idea of setting Blake to Klezmer, the Jewish folk music that resembles melancholic jazz. But as soon as they started playing, all doubts dispelled.

After all, Blake used Hebrew terms like 'Beulah' in his personal mythology, so the two forms weren't as incompatible as I'd initially supposed. Annie Whitehead played a trombone that seemed to be as tall as her whilst Michael Horovitz emoted Blake, with accompaniment from a flautist and pianist. A brave experiement that I would like to see more of.

The evening was rounded off with a performance uniting the talents of singer-songwriter Rachel Fuller on the piano, Pete Townshend of The Who on acoustic guitar and Jerry Hall performing a spoken word piece about 'no-one in particular' but obviously about her ex-husband Mick Jagger.

Rachel Fuller has an incredible voice, reminiscent of Joni Mitchell and is a talented pianist to boot. Thrashing the guitar like it was 1965, Townshend made a loud sound that I didn't think was possible from a mere acoustic. Jerry Hall was something of a revelation - her diction was clear, confident and well-metered. A career on the London poetry circuit beckons I feel...

The Mullah

The William Blake Klezmatrix will be appearing at the 100 Club as part of the National Poetry Day Superjam. Full details are at http://www.poetryolympics.com

special thanks to Debbie Gold for making vital arrangements and general support www.outerglobe.com

Physicists at the Institute of Physics have devised a formula that, based on your shoe size, tells you the maximum height of heel you can wear without toppling over or suffering agonies. And it is:

h = Qx(12+3S/8)

h is the maximum height of the heel (in cm)
S is the shoe size (UK ladies sizes). This factor makes sure that the base of support is just good enough for an experienced, and sober, high-heel wearer not to fall over

Q is a sociological factor.
It equals px(y+9)xL divided by (t+1)x(A+1)x(y+10)x(L+£20)M

pis the probability that wearing the shoes will help you "pull" (in a range from zero to one, where one is a certainty and zero is stick to carpet slippers). If the shoes are a turn-off, there's no point wearing them...
y is the number of years experience you have in wearing high heels. As you become more adept, you can wear a higher heel. Beginners should take it easy...
L is the cost of the shoes, in pounds. Clearly, if the shoe is particularly expensive, you can put up with a higher heel
t is the time since the shoe was the height of fashion, in months (0 = it's the "in thing" right now). One has to suffer for one's art, and if the shoes are terribly fashionable, you should be prepared to put up with a little pain...
A is units of alcohol consumed. If you're planning on drinking, be careful to give yourself a little leeway for reduced co-ordination.

"Although at first glance our formula looks scary," said Dr Paul Stevenson, of the University of Surrey, who carried out the research. "It's actually pretty simple as it's based on the science you learned at school and which you never thought you would use in real life, in this case Pythagoras' theorem. Applying this to shoes can tell us just how high the heel of the foot can be lifted above the ground."

So now you know…

Describe yourself in three words
Free, proud, local.

Where are you from?
Masvingo, Zimbabwe. A remote rural area, where people live in mud huts and collect water from a river or wells

Why did you come to South Africa?
I just wanted to travel, it was before the war when I first came, so there was no reason to have to leave.

How did you travel here, and what did you do when you first arrived?
The elders told us we can walk here. It takes six days on foot, you cross six rivers, then the seventh river is at the border. Then sometimes hiding in caves from lions, you walk across, away from the authorities. I started working on farms for R5 a day, (50p). About 3/4 of the farm workers were from Zimbabwe or Mozambique, working illegally. We would have to work for a month before being paid. Then the farmers would inform the authorities and have us deported before paying us, that happened to me twice. Now I stay near Cape Town and make wire and bead crafts, many people here from Zim do this

When and why did you start identifying with Rasta culture?
When I was growing up I didn't know of Rasta culture, as there were no Rastas where I was living. But the elders taught me to smoke ganja at an early age, and when I was in George, South Africa in 1998, when I was 20, I realised the way I felt and acted fitted in with that way. Not worrying about things, not being competitive, being free, having no hard feelings, no blame, no dependence. I became independent in my heart and my life. The way it is, is the way I take it.

Describe Rasta culture.
The Rastas lead a traditional life, back to their roots. They protect their children from influences from America, so they don't watch TV or films, as they create chaos. Western culture brought more harm than good. Many Africans are now fighting over material things which they never had in the past, Rastas prefer the past. Most Rastas don't get married in Africa because of Lobola, the money a boys family has to pay to marry a girl, so they live on their own.

Where do you live now?
I live in Philippi, a township in a suburb of Cape Town. It's near a Rasta complex called Marcus Garvey.

Describe Marcus Garvey, and how is it different to Philippi?
Marcus Garvey was founded in 1990, Rastas started to live here then, they struggled to stay there as they were not allowed to, but they won their war. It's a small community of about 250-300 people, Philippi has about 200,000. Marcus Garvey is the most peaceful community in South Africa. No crime, no violence. Rastas say if we are arrested, we have been captured, because a Rasta would only ever be arrested for ganja as we do not do crime. The longer the dreadlock, the more you can trust someone, because if you go to prison they shave your hair. Philippi is a cowboy town, people shoot each other for possessions. If someone buys something new or has a new house they are robbed. Everyone there is competitive and jealous of others success. In Marcus Garvey people are proud of who they are and don't need material possessions to make them important. People who live by the knife, die by the knife, people who live by the gun, die by the gun, people who live in peace die in peace. When we die we pass by temple, we move to our next temple.
Tell me about the Dance Hall in Marcus Garvey.
Marcus Garvey Dance Hall is the most peaceful and cheap place where I can enjoy myself. Only R5 (50p) It's on every Friday night, from 9pm till 7am. So if you come from a far away place, you are safe to go back in the day time, when you are at the Dance Hall, you are in a safe place. No alcohol is allowed, no weapons, no drugs, (ganja is not a drug). Respect to all the brothers and sisters inside, one love to everyone, people must share what they have got. Ragga and Reggae is played by the DJ's. When you are skanking you watch your step, because there's also children and older people inside. Inside there's no competition, if you are single you don't feel separate, there's no showing off. I like the way everything is open in Marcus Garvey, the children smoke ganja openly, because if they have to hide in corners and do things in secret, it will make them think about dishonesty and crime.

So, are you gunna take me there?
Sure sisi Sarah.

The following Friday night, Raymond picked me up at my friends flat where I stay, near the centre of town. Around 10pm we walked through the quiet streets of Cape Town to the taxi rank near the station. I said “quiet streets” as nobody walks out at night, the only people we saw were the casualties of poverty, passed out on the pavements, or sleeping in doorways. As we approached the station, gangs of kids swarmed around, but nobody bothered us. We found the last minibus taxi going to Philippi, which belted like a roller coaster, through the streets and along the highway for a good half an hours worth of adrenaline rush! We drove quite a way into the township, then walked along narrow alleyways of sand, which ran between tightly packed in dwellings, which were anything from tidy looking concrete bungalows to tiny hardboard and corrugated iron shacks. There was hardly anyone around, but there were, many wild snappy dogs hanging out, guarding their patch, with hectic snarling barks, which we picked our way through, stones in hand. Visiting townships in general is something white South Africans never do. They drive along the freeways, and pass by the sprawling mass of crowded settlements, which are home to most black South Africans.
The divide is still huge in that respect. Most white South Africans would have expected me to have been shot dead, raped, or at least robbed of everything including my shoes!! But the only thing threatening were the dogs, and even they ran away with their tail between their legs, if you just pretended to throw a stone at them. We reached Raymond’s shack. He prefers to live in his two meter square, hardboard and corrugated iron shack, because no one will bother to rob him. White South Africans somehow think that they are the only victims of crime! We hung out there, and filled his home with green smoke, until too many of his friends had arrived to fit inside, it was time to head to the Dance Hall! After a twenty minute walk through Philippi, we crossed a freeway into a similar looking residential area, with a huge sign saying “Welcome to Marcus Garvey Rasta community”. There were lots more people around, all Rastas heading to the Dance Hall, which could be easily found, by following the sound. There were crowds of people outside, several stalls selling munchy material, and a cafe owned by Mamma B, a Rasta from Jamaica, selling meals and incredible home made cakes! We paid our R5 to go in, and we'd ARRIVED!

It reminded me of walking into a really banging, packed out squat party. It was a large, bare room, with the capacity to hold about 500 people, filled with about 500 people, all dancing. The music was fast and hard Reggae and Ragga. It took me a while to locate the DJ, who was hidden behind a hatch way. It was quite bright inside, lighting was just a few regular strip lights, so you could see clearly, that is until later on, when the density of green smoke had reached blinding proportions! Most people there were Rastas, there was only one other white person, a woman Rasta, married to a Rasta and living in Marcus Garvey. Also most people there were men.
Under some circumstances one might rightly assume this to be the recipe for a lot of unwanted attention and hassle, but no one took any notice of me at all, unless I was introduced to them, then we'd have a chat. It's not considered right for a Rasta to ask a woman questions, it's considered none of their business, it's the business of their partner only. There were people there of all ages, many women had babies with them, who slept around the edges of the room. Several beautiful looking children from about seven upwards, with dreadlocks already to their bums, wondered around, skanked, and rolled joints. Teenagers, middle-agers and old-agers all skanked and toked, skanked and toked, toked and skanked. Except for those who jumped! This is what I got into. There were certain groups of people who just literally jumped up and down in time to the music all night, dreadlocks flying in unison, quite an incredible sight. At first I found myself jumping too fast, I was still in double time Techno mode!
But soon my blonde mohawk was flying in time with best of the dreads! Jumping became quite hypnotic. The thickest smoke in the room, of course, hung around the ceiling, so each time you jumped, you got an extra lung full, and when you stopped jumping you felt really short 'cos you got used to the view over everybody’s heads! Even more energetic were the acrobatic Reggae Break dancers, who, for hours on end, bounced and spun on their hands and feet, all on ganja!!! There was definitely no one on pills or coke, not even alcohol or tobacco, just ganja! Joints were passed around all the time. People jostled through the dancers carrying trays piled high with R5 bags of grass for sale, and rather essentially, all around the room were stalls selling munchies, such as nuts, fruit, cakes and ice creams!!! It couldn't get much better! It was such a cool atmosphere, no attitude or posing, just dancing and smoking. Anyone who enjoys partying would have as awesome a night as I did at Marcus Garvey. Music is a great unifier, if more white South Africans ventured to Dance Halls, and, let's say, Trance parties and clubs were more accessible to everyone, a more integrated party scene could develop.

So to make that whole beautiful concept come true, the following weekend, I took Raymond to his first Trance club. We went to Getafix, my favourite club in Cape Town, this is what he thought of it:
"I liked everything there. The movement (scene) is similar, like the sign above the barat Getafix promotes the same attitude as Marcus Garvey, 'Peace, Love, Unity and Respect,'but the people and language are different."The dancing style is difficult to start with, but I like the Trance music, it's much faster, you are always in action. The dressing style is all styles, no one is showing off or dressed up. " You can see the DJ at Getafix, at Marcus Garvey the DJ is hiding. " It's comfortable inside, you can sleep if you want to sleep. Marcus Garvey is not so comfortable, it is always hot. "It seemed like there were more women than men at Getafix, because there are much fewer women at Marcus Garvey. " The biggest difference is there is alcohol at Getafix, but both are very free, you can do what you like, no one is telling you what to do. You can smoke the ganja the same. "More people can afford to go to Marcus Garvey for R5, Getafix is R40 (4 pounds) When you start experiencing city life, you want to keep doing it, but it is expensive, if I make R50 a day, I can eat and pay my rent. But I will definitely go to Getafix again."

That was two awesome weekends, which showed us how the true essence of both parties are the same, it just needs people to cross the border, and make the Unity bit come true. Maybe affirmative action should be applied, and every weekend a quota of whites must be seen at Dance Halls skanking and toking! Jah.

Sarah Dancing Decor