The Unfamiliar (E-Journal)

Mukherji, Diva

105 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
I’ll Be Up in the Studio Just Working on 
Accepting My Body and Doing Fergie Proud
DIVA MUKHERJI
ESSAYS
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 UK: Scotland 
License | © Diva Mukherji. ISSN 2050-778X (Online). DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.2218/unfamiliar.v6i1.1528
106The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
I’ll Be Up in the Studio Just Working on 
Accepting My Body and Doing Fergie Proud
DIVA MUKHERJI
Monday 15/02/16 20.25
“Four, tres, two, uno” – with will.i.am’s soothing voice blasting from the speakers, mixed with Jess and my 
classmates cheering us on, I decide that maybe this won’t be the most humiliating experience of my life. Then 
I remember that it’s being recorded. And that WikiLeaks is a thing. Never mind.
Listening to Fergalicious, one of my ultimate self-love anthems and nervously looking at Hazel on 
the pole across from me, I launch into a leg whip, a classic pole move, and one that takes me back to my first 
taster session 7 weeks ago, when pole dancing seemed like the last thing I should be doing. But over the past 
few weeks, 6.55pm every Monday became my favourite time of the week.
Throughout the entire routine, approximately 3 minutes, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’ve nev-
er felt so at peace with my body (and how much I need to start going to the gym, but that was secondary). As 
someone who grew up loving everything about pop culture, and still do, it isn’t surprising that I was reason-
ably confused and insecure about how I presented myself as a woman. It may be nice to hear Beyoncé telling 
you that you’re flawless, just like her, but it’s also pretty hard to forget that she is Beyoncé. Even though you 
know she’s still just a human female, it’s also easy to forget that she probably has a sizeable budget dedicated 
to her appearance, and uses more than just supermarket brand eyeliner. Not to mention, apparently #nofilter 
#nomakeup selfies on Instagram invariably prompts the questions – do women actually look like that? Are 
women supposed to look like that?
Following a ton of “body positive” blogs doesn’t really help my idea of unrealistic standards of 
beauty when my Instagram feed is filled with seemingly perfect women. But even though I don’t really have 
the traditional ‘pole dancing’ body, I’m not thinking about that as much. With my classmates cheering at my 
body wave, I finally don’t feel like hiding my body away.
I did not expect to feel the most ‘whole’ while spinning around a pole. Maybe it’s because of the en-
vironment in the class – the only comparison or ‘aspiration’ to another female I’ve heard was “get Beyoncé’s 
ass!” and that definitely didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. Being in a space surrounded by other women, 
all of whom understand exactly where you’re coming from and are unconditionally cheering you on, makes 
everything a lot better. Sure, every time I glance at the mirrored wall in the studio I think “oh god why do 
I look like that”, but the effect that has is hugely reduced when you also have Jess (objectively the cutest 
person in the world) bouncing up to you and complimenting your ‘perfect’ fireman spin. You know ‘perfect’ 
is an exaggeration, but that’s just what you need to hear sometimes. Too often women are pitted against each 
other, and you can very quickly fall into the cycle of competing with other women you know – it isn’t al-
ways a conscious decision, but it’s just the compulsion to almost prove to everyone that you too can also do 
whatever another girl can, sometimes even better. But that’s not what the classes feel like – it just feels like a 
bunch of other women being excited that you’ve accomplished something. The excitement feels so strangely 
pure as well, and the best part is that it’s shared among all of you in the class, and returned to each woman 
individually. The happiness is infectious.
The feeling of contentment I get from class definitely makes all the ‘stripper’ questions worth it. 
Part of me acknowledges that, sure, even though I’m doing this completely for myself - and for anthropolo-
gy - I’m still using my body in a way that would earn more than a few creepy winks from a certain kind of 
heterosexual male, and falls into line with certain forms of female objectification. Amy-Chinn (2006) found 
similar results while studying the business of lingerie advertising. She studies how when lingerie advertising 
is created in a way that perpetuates the idea of a woman as an object for male pleasure, it is acceptable. Maybe 
107 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
I have been conditioned to believe that this is empowering, when in reality I’m just a product of the patriarchy 
and ruining everything feminists have fought so hard for. 
Is my pole dancing really that empowering if I’m motivating myself by thinking “if only Tom Hardy 
could see you now”? I’m making a conscious decision to use my body in this way, but I’m still using it in 
ways that appeal to the (mystical) male gaze – Mulvey (1989) describes the male gaze as a specific portrayal 
of women through the eyes of men. Mahmood (2012) states that women’s desires and needs are irrevocably 
influenced by patriarchal ideologies. She describes it as a system of said ideals objectifying women’s bodies 
which in turn manipulate how women begin to view their own bodies, which thereby affects how they use 
them. Pseudo-liberation is a strange thing: you can judge the Kardashians for spending millions on their 
physical appearance, but still feel like you can take over the world when you buy a great red lipstick. As 
much as I want to develop a meaningful relationship with my body, I also don’t want to do so in a way that 
perpetuates hegemonic ideas of feminine sexuality. 
But maybe I’m not? Yeah, okay, my ideas of female sexuality do not exist in a void where they are 
completely unaffected by what the media has told me what a sexual female should look and act like. But I’m 
also making a conscious decision. Goldman (1992) discusses the idea of commodity feminism, which out-
lines how women build their own image and ideals based on those that they see portrayed in the media, and 
their social circles. But he doesn’t take into account personal autonomy – I am aware that many of the person-
al goals I have for my body and image are hugely influenced by who I follow on Instagram, but if I’m using 
these tools to feel more comfortable with my body, my interpretation of these tools become more significant. 
Yes, some of my favourite pole moves are the ones that involve ridiculously dramatic and technically 
useless hair flips, but I’m doing it so when I look at myself in the mirror I’m like: “Hey! Okay! I can work 
with that!” I probably have internalized the male gaze and maybe this is all an elaborate scheme to try and 
make me feel better about my body, but really I’m single-handedly ruining feminism. What I want my rela-
tionship with my body to be like still exists in the realm of mass marketing that prescribes a normative image 
of what women’s bodies should look like. But I’m still enjoying myself and feeling comfortable – shouldn’t 
that count for something? I understand and acknowledge the history pole dancing has, and all of its associa-
tions to adult entertainment, but that is not why I’m doing it. This is for me, and only me. In the wise words 
of Missy Elliot, “ain’t no shame ladies do your thing, just make sure you’re ahead of the game”.
References
Amy-Chinn, D. (2006) ‘This is just for me(n) How the regulation of post-feminist lingerie advertising 
perpetuates woman as object.’ Journal of Consumer Culture. 6(2): 155-175.
Goldman, R. (1992) Reading ads socially. London: Routledge.
Mahmood, S. (2011) Politics of piety: The Islamic revival and the feminist subject. Princeton: Princeton 
University Press.
Mulvey, L. (1989) ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.’ Screen. 16(3): 6-18. 


English

I\u27ll Be Up in the Studio Just Working on Accepting My Body and Doing Fergie Proud

Crawford, Blyth Iona

73 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
Busness
BLYTH CRAWFORD 
ESSAYS
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 UK: Scotland 
License | © Blyth Crawford. ISSN 2050-778X (Online). DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.2218/unfamiliar.v6i1.1499
74The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
Busness
BLYTH CRAWFORD 
Conducting eight weeks of ethnographic research on Edinburgh buses presented my team with a lot 
of opportunities for boredom. Sometimes this boredom evolved into social discomfort and, more 
rarely, into moments of genuine interest.
One particularly memorable episode of bus travel occurred on a punishingly early 9am journey to 
Clovenstone, and has gone on to become what will be for evermore referred to as “The Vaping In-
cident”. The warning signs were apparent as soon as I boarded the vehicle and, sitting near the back 
of the single deck, I was perfectly positioned to observe the troubling events unfold. The soon-to-
be-vaper sat with his bird-like teenage legs outstretched, his feet resting precariously on the seat in 
front of him. Dressed in a risky double-denim combination with an e-cigarette resting visibly in the 
top pocket of his jacket, he was the picture of rebellion. 
Trouble started around ten minutes into my journey when the culprit removed the cigarette from 
his jacket and, with one deep exhale, blew a pungent strawberry scented haze into the deck. After a 
few more puffs the smoke had spread throughout the bus, the lingering sweetness drifting into the 
airways of the remaining passengers. The scent, while not inherently unpleasant was somewhat stale 
and invasive. It seemed to somehow bind the other passengers together in our mild annoyance. We 
were no longer merely co-present, but were actively linked by our resentment.
Quickly the deck descended into chaos. Passengers towards the front of the vehicle began turning 
their heads and staring – in some cases glaring – at the villainous smoker. A pair of older women a 
few rows in front of me who, prior to this incident, had sat in silence, began muttering incredulously 
to each other. A middle-aged man sitting directly beside the perpetrator continued to stare resolutely 
ahead in silent protest. 
This state of disarray continued for a few tense minutes, punctuated by frequent further puffs of 
smoke. I watched in middle-class horror as the muttering intensified to an audible murmur and the 
staring became noticeably piercing. Eventually, finally, the man next to the smoker gave up his tol-
erant attitude and accepted the burden of heroism with the damning words: “Do you mind not doing 
that?”
For a moment I thought the deck would explode with rapturous applause, instead, as the rebel oblig-
ingly placed his cigarette back in his breast pocket, a woman towards the front of the bus gave a 
thankful nod to our saviour, which, in the circumstances, is basically the same thing.
As the strawberry smoke gradually dissipated, so did the temporary air of community. Passengers 
returned back to their front-facing positions and the terse silence of the deck returned. Gone was 
any trace of our communal protest, and we reverted to our usual state of individuals, travelling alone 
together. I was left to reflect on how one individual’s act of rebellion had caused the vehicle to de-
scend into disorganised ‘anarchy’ in a matter of minutes. His refusal to be shackled by the informal 
rules of British bus travel had shaken our sense of hum-drum familiarity and left us feeling uncertain 
and attacked. While it shook my sense of social decency to the very core, this was indeed the most 
interesting event of eight weeks bus riding.


Busness

Fullerton, Kirby R

43 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
An Interview with David Roy: 
The Edinburgh Ceilidh Consultant
KIRBY FULLERTON
ESSAYS
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 UK: Scotland 
License | © Kirby Fullerton. ISSN 2050-778X (Online). DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.2218/unfamiliar.v6i1.1530
44The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
An Interview with David Roy: 
The Edinburgh Ceilidh Consultant
KIRBY FULLERTON
When I messaged David to arrange a time for our interview he replied: “Well why don’t we kill two 
birds with one stone, and you can come round for lunch!” I was very pleased, feeling that my first attempt 
at interviewing was well on its way to being a success. That being said, David deserves most of the credit 
for our budding friendship, as he greeted me warmly upon my first visit to the Edinburgh Ceilidh Club and 
eagerly invited me to the pub to join him and the other kilt-clad regulars afterwards. I was kindly permitted 
to record our lively lunch, and I have reproduced some of the dialogue here, combining it with notes and final 
observations collected as part of a larger study on gender and the performance of tradition at the Edinburgh 
Ceilidh Club. 
As I arrived, he yelled from the kitchen for me to let myself in the front door. After entering his third 
floor flat, I was greeted, as I am every Tuesday night at the Ceilidh Club- with a warm hug, a kiss on both 
cheeks and a pat on the back. He took my coat and we sat down on barstools framing the small table in his 
cozy, yet comfortable kitchen. Jolly and at ease he joked and laughed as he talked about his experiences in the 
Ceilidh and Scottish dance world with the confidence of a self-proclaimed “Edinburgh Ceilidh dance expert”. 
Our interview ended up being more of a conversation that I prompted and ‘drove’ in different directions, 
focusing on my interest in the performance of gender in the tradition of Ceilidh dance. 
Kirby: “It’s nice that people seem to change partners though, and ask different people to 
dance.”
David: “Yes, that’s significant. The nature of Ceilidh dancing is that it is a chance to socialize, 
a social occasion. A chance to meet up with so many other people. Some of the dances force 
you to, because you swap partners around the line. You get no choice.”
Kirby: “There does, however, always seem to be a few less boys than girls there...”
David: Well, yes, generally speaking, it’s only a few less boys than girls, which, compared 
to most dance scenes, is...”
Kirby: “Impressive?” 
David: “Yes, very impressive.”
Kirby: “It seems that the girl can play the role of the boy in most dances, that’s the impression 
I’ve gotten.”
David: “Well, yes, if you’ve run out of boys. I do think, though, as society has gotten 
more and more accepting towards, ummmm, same gender relationships, it’s getting more 
acceptable for two guys to dance together...Which, for the heterosexual one...makes it, 
hmmm, interesting, when you get passed a dance partner down…”
Kirby: “Right. I guess as a girl I’m much more used to dancing with girls.”
David: “Guys, heterosexual guys, are definitely not used to dancing with guys.”
This conversation proved very fruitful for my later research on the performance of gender in Ceilidh 
dance. The simultaneous existence of a certain gender fluidity together with restrictive traditional ideals made 
for a very interesting point of inquiry in later interviews and conversations. 
Kirby: “I know this is a broad question, so take it any direction you wish, but could you 
describe your ideal Ceilidh? What is characteristic of some of the best Ceilidhs you’ve been 
to?”
David: (David pauses, contemplating the question seriously)… “I think it is very important 
to have a good, bouncy wooden floor.”
Kirby: “Okay! I didn’t expect you to say that!”
45 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
David: “It just makes it softer to dance on if you’ve got what’s called a ‘suspended floor’. 
So, if you’ve got a concrete floor, that’s very hard work. Ummm…and I certainly notice that 
because I’ve got osteoporosis in the knees, I can do about two hours dancing, then I begin to 
feel the strain in my knees. I can last longer if I’m on a suspended floor. Any dancer would 
say that.” 
Kirby: “So, a good floor. What else?”
David: “A band that can play at a steady speed. A band that can read its audience.”
Kirby: “Okay, so is that in the calling of the dances?”
David: “Yes, but [a band that] can play at a speed that the audience can cope with. Sometimes, 
you get to the point where the band isn’t playing the band, it’s playing the audience. So 
they’re really watching the dancers. It might be an age thing, a generation thing, if they [the 
band] can see that the dancers are up for something faster, a faster dance, then they’ll play 
more dances up to speed, rather than, say, a waltz. You’ll often find that at a Ceilidh with the 
older generation, they play a lot more waltzes.” 
Kirby: “What about Scottish identity and Ceilidh dancing, especially the way it seems to be 
interpreted by tourists as a cultural event, as opposed to another type of social event?”
David: “Well, I think there are two aspects to that. Yes, it is a traditional thing, and if you go 
to a Scottish wedding, well, it just isn’t a Scottish wedding unless it’s got a Ceilidh. If they 
only have a disco...it’s not a Scottish wedding (laughs).”
Kirby: “Did you have one at your wedding?” 
David: “We didn’t have a Ceilidh, we had a live jazz band I think... I got married in Kent, 
you see. I hadn’t found Ceilidh at that time, you see, or else we would have, no question.” 
I later discovered, after a bit of prodding, that David, although Scottish, was raised in England. After 
marrying his wife, they both moved to Edinburgh to start a family. Although David readily admits that his 
premier interest in dance was for exercise, his love of country is apparent in his passion for Ceilidh dance, 
something I suspect he already had prior to his move from Edinburgh, but found the perfect vehicle for in 
Ceilidh dance. After retiring, and what I have inferred to be the death of his wife, his Ceilidh dance schedule 
seems to have taken a dramatic increase, as he goes to as many as four Ceilidhs a week, traveling extensively 
to events and festivals. 
David: “My son got married last year, and he did have a Ceilidh. He’s Scots, born and bred in 
Edinburgh. He got married to a girl from Liverpool, and she had done the odd little Ceilidh. 
They’re both doctors. Let me just check this…”
 
The oven buzzer goes off loudly, and he gets up to take an apple strudel out of the oven. The small 
kitchen is filled with an aroma of warm pie as plates clatter. He continues the story as he serves me a heaping 
portion of pie:
David: “The Ceilidh, that was fun. It was in middle England, you see, so the Scots half of the 
family, we get in full winter day dress, so tweed jackets, tweed waistcoats, kilts, all matching 
kilts, in my, in our, other family tartan, so that worked well. They had booked a Ceilidh band 
in Liverpool. The Ceilidh band had come from the south coast somewhere. I don’t know why 
they chose a Ceilidh from the south coast.... but it was fine. The night before the wedding, 
they were discussing what to do as bride and groom, so I taught them the Rosa waltz. I don’t 
know if you know it.”
Kirby: “Hmm, can you talk me through how it goes again?” 
David scoots off his stool, comes over to me, and we stand up, palms together. He takes me through 
the dance, holding my hands as we rock from side to side, then ushering me under his arm for an admittedly 
less than graceful twirl. I am very aware of the space in the small kitchen, and try to avoid knocking over the 
framed picture of what looks like his son’s wedding. He does not seem to be concerned. Rock, rock, twirl. 
Rock, rock, twirl. I suddenly remember and exclaim, “Oh yes! I believe we danced this one a few weeks 
ago!”
46The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
David: “I would have probably forced it upon you! So the bride was very concerned that 
the band wouldn’t be able to play the appropriate music, so I said “Don’t worry, it’s a waltz. 
The band will have waltzes coming out their ears”, but to calm her nerves, I went up to the 
band, to the caller, and the first thing he said, bear in mind he’s from the south coast, “I know 
you!”” 
Kirby: “So you knew him?” 
David: “No, no, but he knew me. So we went round, and found that the common factor was 
that we had both been, for a couple of years, to the Whitby Folk and Dance Festival that 
happens every year!”
Kirby: “It’s such a small world!” 
David: “Yes, the Ceilidh world, to some extent, and the Scottish country-dance world...well, 
that’s very small. He had recognized me. I’m recognizable, for looking like Santa Claus, and 
a red kilt that sticks out.” 
After hearing this, I couldn’t help but laugh and confess that at my first Ceilidh, my friends and I 
had referred to him as ‘Father Christmas’, and it had stuck as far as him being called ‘FC’ in our fieldnotes. 
An enquiry into the most resent Ceilidh he attended led to a half hour animated rant about the virtues 
of scouting, as David is an avid scout leader, and had recently attended a Sea Scouts event in Poland where 
he organized a Ceilidh for the troops. I eventually manage to veer him back to my neatly typed and printed 
questions, of which I had asked almost none…
Kirby: “Before I have to run, is there anything I didn’t ask, that you think I should have 
asked?” 
David: “Why do I go? My reason for dancing started off as fitness, and then became social. 
And I particularly enjoy taking up novices onto the dance floor, having a good time, because 
then they’ll come back to Scotland, if they’re on holiday, or whatever. 
Kirby: So you’re kind of like a Scottish ambassador?” 
David: “It seems so! A number of times, it seems, in the last year, a girl came up to me and 
said Hey Dave, can I have this dance?” and turns out she was my dance partner five years 
earlier, when she was fresh to Edinburgh… Probably every couple of weeks, I get a message 
saying “Dave! I’ve got so-and-so coming over, and I can’t find a Ceilidh!” So I’ve become 
a kind of Ceilidh consultant.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you to David Roy and the Edinburgh Ceilidh Club for their willingness to host myself and the two other 
members, Emma McCombie and Lucy Workman, of my Ethnography project team.


An Interview with David Roy: The Edinburgh Ceilidh Consultant

Anstock, Clare Victoria

17 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
The Race of the Vagina Monster: An Excerpt from Field Notes
CLARE ANSTOCK
ESSAYS
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 UK: Scotland 
License | © Clare Anstock. ISSN 2050-778X (Online). DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.2218/unfamiliar.v6i1.1513
18The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
The Race of the Vagina Monster: An Excerpt from Field Notes
CLARE ANSTOCK
Monday 22/2/16. 7.35
There are eleven of us at pole-dancing class on Monday evening, instructed by Jess, a short, young woman 
with blond hair long enough for some elaborate hair-flicking. We have successfully completed our five-min-
ute warm up and Jess bounces around the room, excitedly telling us that we are about to do something fun. 
Now, I’ll admit it: I’ve never been to a gym, let alone a pole-dancing class, and something about Jess’ tone 
makes me feel more than a bit anxious. As I look around the room, I see shifty glances from my fellow 
pole-dancing beginners. 
“We are going to do a new exercise: its kind of a relay, so divide yourselves up into four groups, two 
groups at each side of the room facing opposite the other two.” 
We follow her further instructions until we are sitting down in lines, one behind the other, cross-legged on 
the floor. I’ve placed myself at the back of my line, so I can give myself as much time as possible to work out 
what to do. Jess joins the front of the group opposite my own, fiercely establishing herself as our competitor. 
She claps her hands, smiles broadly, and tells us that we are going to do: 
“The Race of the Vagina Monster.” 
The room echoes with nervous giggles as Jess shows us how to complete the race. I watch in awe as she lies 
on her back and begins to wave her outstretched legs in the air. Each leg wave moves her body about half an 
inch along the floor towards my group. 
Not only does Jess glide across the floor while her legs are churning air, she also manages to chat to 
us, telling us about the places in our bodies where we should be feeling some strain. As she approaches the 
other side of the room, I worry momentarily that she will kick one of us, but she passes our group, spins round 
and yells for the race to begin. 
“The first team to get all their Vagina Monsters to the other side of the room, one by one, wins!” 
There is a lot of cheering and encouragement from the groups and a lot of confusion and surprise from the 
racers:
“C’mon! You’ve got it! Go go!”
“AAAARARGGHGHGHG, THIS HURTS!”
“WHAT THE HELL, JESS?”
“Oh my god! … Wait, can we use our elbows?!”
“Yes! Absolutely! You should be on your elbows!”
“Woohoo! You can do it!”
“Show us the goods!”
“You’ve got it, go for the wax on/wax off thing”
At last it is my turn, and my nerves are confirmed – I had not nearly expected how strenuous it would 
be, and I am a bit embarrassed by it all. But the other women’s cheers make it much easier to laugh at myself; 
we are all laughing at ourselves, and each other. My legs – unable to straighten fully due to my own lack of 
flexibility – are now the focus of Jess’s (well intentioned and positive) criticism, and I finally make it to the 
other side and snort with the team at how ridiculous this all feels. There is just one fellow pole dancer left 
inching across the floor and we turn to focus all of our cheers and encouragement towards her; Jess joins 
19 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
her on the floor and they reached the other side of the room, Vagina Monsters together. The room bursts into 
applause and cheers for each other. 
The Race of the Vagina Monster was one of the most bizarre things we did at pole class. Jess prom-
ised us it would be a challenge, and it certainly was, but the required stretching and flexing was a great warm 
up for pole-dancing. As we pushed ourselves across the floor we were learning how to become comfortable 
with our bodies, using them in ways that would come in useful for hanging on a pole with only grip from 
upper thighs challenging gravity. We gained greater understanding of the dichotomous relationship between 
sexual acts and friendship, in which we found we were using our bodies not as voyeurs engaged in perform-
ing for the pleasure of others, but instead as a group promoting female empowerment and bodily autonomy. 
We all felt uncomfortable at the start of The Race of the Vagina Monster, but then again, not everyone hopes 
for the chance to wave their legs about the air in front of near strangers while slowly and painfully inching 
across a squeaky, waxed floor. 


The Race of the Vagina Monster

Thomsen, Anna Elisabeth

Dailly, Damon

Assmann, Laura

“There is no such thing as waste”: Redoing concepts of materials and values in the Shrub

Caspersen, Hakon

07 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
A Letter from the Editor
HAKON CASPERSEN 
Volume 6, Issue 1
Unfamiliar Edinburgh: Being and Becoming in the City 
A Letter from the Editor 
Social anthropology can be defined as a mode of thinking that seeks to understand and articulate 
the social relations that define and shape our perception of the world. This, of course, is also an 
activity that we in our daily life as human beings are continuously involved in. This understanding of 
relationships and our own role within them is crucial in order to act intelligently in a shared world. 
If it is true, then, that ‘we are all anthropologists’, one might think that teaching anthropology should 
be a straightforward undertaking. However, in my own, and I admit, limited experience of teaching 
introductory courses to anthropology undergraduate students, I have often been left baffled by the 
challenge of getting students to ‘think ethnographically’ and to develop ‘ethnographically grounded’ 
arguments in their writing. 
One of the challenges, perhaps, stems not necessarily from that students are unfamiliar with 
anthropology or ethnographic writing but from the lack of experience with the actualities involved in 
carrying out ethnographically grounded qualitative research.  I do not want to claim that ethnographic 
sensibility cannot be developed without a practice-based familiarity with fieldwork. However, the 
contributions to this volume by second-year anthropology students at the University of Edinburgh, 
might exemplify some of the benefits of practice based exercises when teaching anthropology and 
ethnographic methods. On the one hand, the texts demonstrate the value of longitudinal participant 
observation when it comes to learning to learn to understand social phenomena. On the other 
hand, the students have become acutely aware of their own roles as individual interpreters and 
authors, making them to reflect on how their own perceptions and changing roles throughout the 
process have become part of and are shaping the final ethnographic texts.
This volume encompasses ethnographic snapshots of different aspects of life within Edinburgh, 
as perceived and presented by a selection of undergraduate students in the second-year course 
Ethnography, Theory and Practice at the University of Edinburgh. It also aims to exemplify how 
these anthropology students are taught to develop an ethnographic sensibility through ‘fieldwork 
experience’. To contextualise the volume and its individual contributions the teaching staff, John 
Harries, Koreen Rice and Stephen McConnachie, have written an introductory essay that explains 
the pedagogical rationale behind the course while reflecting on the processes of learning and 
knowledge-making involved in being and becoming student-ethnographers in the city of Edinburgh. 
Hakon 


A Letter from the Editor

Grant, Hazel

95 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
“Look at Those Double D’s!”
HAZEL GRANT
ESSAYS
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 UK: Scotland 
License | © Hazel Grant. ISSN 2050-778X (Online). DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.2218/unfamiliar.v6i1.1516
PHOTO: Double Daphne. © Hazel Grant
96The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
“Look at Those Double D’s!”
HAZEL GRANT
Tuesday the 5th May 2016. 8.50pm
“Jess! Look Jess!” I waited until our pole teacher Jess had finished talking to a pupil across the room before 
calling for her attention. She immediately gasped when she saw me and exclaimed in pride: “Yessssss!!!”
 I had been practicing a Daphne and had achieved it for the first time. The pole move – probably not 
inspired by Scooby Doo, but it always brought the red-head to mind – involved holding onto the pole with 
only your thighs, and then straightening out your body and placing your hands back on the pole, one hand 
above your body and the other under. At that point, all you need to do is push your chest forward, bend one 
knee and let your head fall back in a relaxed expression. Simple.
When I first saw the move it appeared as if the pole dancer had a euphoric freedom coursing through 
their veins, throwing their head back and basking in their beauty and femininity in that moment. It appeared 
to be the embodiment of the commodity feminism image we had come to examine in Goldman’s (1992) 
work. Commodity feminism explores how commodities are advertised and sold to women as a way for them 
to achieve the hyper feminine ideals of their culture, and become the “ideal woman”, breeding a culture of 
acceptable female objectification. The dancer appeared to hold everything consumers of beautification com-
modities were seeking: grace, beauty, sex-appeal, confidence, and femininity. All pulled together effortlessly 
by the perfect woman.
However, viewing the dancer as only the image they create does not take into account the person 
performing the Daphne. And as the person in that Daphne for the very first time, I could vouch that there was 
so much more depth to that image.
There was pain, unbelievable amounts of pain. The skin on my thighs was burning from the friction 
of the pole my contracting muscles were causing in their mission to crush the metal into smithereens. In ad-
dition, there was the strain on my core muscles to keep my upper body straight making my torso quake, and 
the cramping of my clammy hands clutching the pole. The pain in my thighs was by far the worst; it was a 
very intense and intimate pain. I had in the past attempted running and core workout, and so knew the ache 
and pull of unhappy muscles, however, I was yet to encounter any exercise that called for tough inner thighs. 
Jess had “reassured” us that after a while pole dancers had thick thigh skin and “couldn’t feel anything there 
anymore”, but for now my delicate skin was angry and bruised for days after; making stairs (and walking in 
general) the bane of my life.
The physical strain was also just the start - my mind was locked in an old Western film style stand-off 
with my body.  My limbs and muscles were calling to let go and end this madness, but the very real possibil-
ity of slipping and falling froze up my body with unadulterated fear. The signs of this internal struggle were 
blatant on my sweating brow and scrunched-up red face.
But against all odds, all the pain and fear, I was calling Jess over because I was in a Daphne. Likely 
the worst Daphne she had ever seen, but it was a Daphne and I was holding it long enough for her to jump up 
and down and call someone over to take a photo. I was radiating happiness through my rosy skin, feeling so 
proud of myself and my body in that moment.
97 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
“Wait, wait, why don’t we do doubles?” I looked up at Jess, still mid-Daphne. “What?” Doubles in 
pole dancing is where two dancers use the same pole at the same time, but it wasn’t anything I had seen in 
person before. “Let’s do a doubles Daphne! Get down a second!” I slid (or more accurately fell) down the 
pole and Jess immediately flew up and got into a perfect Daphne, then called for me to join her.
Although apprehensive, the other students and instructor encouraged me to go up the pole and strug-
gle into my second ever Daphne under Jess. The class whooped and cheered us, taking photos of what they 
proclaimed to be “Double D’s”. I kept having issue of spinning away from the camera, as my body was get-
ting tired and I couldn’t hold my sweaty hands in one place, but I lasted until the photos were done and fell 
to the floor, triumphant.
For the rest of the night, even after class had ended and we had limped out into the real world I was 
buzzing with pride. It was the only thing I would talk about as I met my friends and boyfriend later. When 
Jess sent me the picture of the “Double D’s”, I was instantly sending it to my friends and waving it in my 
boyfriend’s face.
Looking at the picture again weeks afterwards, I feel a little disappointed it isn’t as amazing as I re-
member it - and the immediate comparison of Jess’s Daphne doesn’t help. I see now how my legs could have 
been straighter, the arch of my back more exaggerated and how I was almost falling off by the time the photo 
was taken. There were a hundred differences between mine, and my teacher’s Daphne, from the point of our 
toes to my tomato-coloured face, but overall, that wasn’t what was important in the picture. I had achieved 
something, trained myself to do something that I had not thought possible before, and there I was, with my 
pole teacher and “pole family” – (the term for communities and classes of pole dancers) smiling at the wall 
behind me and feeling on top of the world.
When I showed this photo to my friends and boyfriend, I knew (at first at least) I was seeing a very 
different image to them. My friends said how alarming it was, my boyfriend grinned and told me how sexy 
I looked, and overall they focused on how my body appeared in the photo. In talking about how commodity 
feminism constructs women’s relationships and autonomy over their bodies, Bae (2011:29) summarises that 
Women use autonomous control over their bodies and appearance to build a construct that 
will eventually be objectified by the male gaze. Thus[...] this feminist search for value and 
the meaning of women’s emancipation through sexuality and bodily appearance constitutes 
pseudo liberalism. 
To some extent I understand how this was what my friends and my boyfriend were seeing: me building my 
body towards achieving the perfect feminine image; and how, although I was taking control over my body, it 
appeared as though the only way I could express this control was by aiming towards this image. But I cannot 
adhere to Bae’s point fully, as I see this image in such a different light. I don’t feel or see myself aiming for 
any “perfect feminine image”. I see what I was experiencing in that moment - that improvement, strength, 
pain and pride I had worked so hard for. It did not feel like pseudo liberation, and when my friends and boy-
friend asked me questions about the photo - about how I was holding myself up, how much I trained to do 
this, how big were the bruises I had gotten from it - they began to move away from Bae’s perspective too in 
their dialogue and see where I was coming from. This photo wasn’t about anything other than my body, my 
goals and my inability to remember how painful it is to rub yourself raw when dreaming about when I could 
next try it again. And that is why I will continue to walk to and limp from class until I can achieve the perfect 
set of double D’s.
98The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
References
Bae, M.S. (2011) ‘Interrogating girl power: girlhood, popular media, and postfeminism.’ Visual Arts Re-
search. 37(2): 28-40.
Goldman, R. (1992) Reading ads socially. London: Routledge.
 


"Look at those Double D\u27s!"

This piece was written as a creative writing exercise for a tutorial during the Ethnography: Theory and Practice course. I was trying to create a compelling ethnographic hook to introduce our longer group project based on fieldwork carried out in a 5Rhythms class in Edinburgh

Eribake, Adeola

59 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
Letting the Rhythm Move You
ADEOLA ERIBAKE
ESSAYS
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 UK: Scotland 
License | © Adeola Eribake. ISSN 2050-778X (Online). DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.2218/unfamiliar.v6i1.1549
60The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
Letting the Rhythm Move You
ADEOLA ERIBAKE
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Someone was having a ‘turn’. I turned slightly to my right and saw Kar-
olina. She was stomping and grunting. Stomping and grunting. Her legs wide, knees bent, head 
engaged in a slow repetitive bang. This did not feel strange. I could feel the imaginary protective 
circle around her. I felt I understood what she was going through and it seemed everyone else 
could too. No one was looking askance. This is what chaos is for. Chaos is the middle of the five 
rhythms that we dance through – the most energetic one. The music urges your feet off the ground. 
A hard bop is usually the most natural way to move during chaos. I like to shake my hands loose 
as well. Compared to Karolina’s stomping my own movements seem tame. I aspire to be a stomp-
er in the not too distant future. 
I had a brief conversation with Karolina afterwards and she said that after three years of  5Rhythms, 
she had only in the last two weeks learnt how to dance through anger. I felt privileged to have 
witnessed her awakening, as it were. 5Rhythms describes itself as a movement mediation prac-
tice. Some people seem to glide through the two hours in a graceful swirl. Others gyrate, grunt 
and perhaps glide, by turns. The premise is to dance freely, without caring about the aesthetics of 
your movement, to disengage the mind and its obsession with self-image and let your body move 
intuitively. The five rhythms are always done in the same order and they are: flowing, staccato, 
chaos, lyrical and stillness. Dancing and moving through the different musical tempos is meant to 
eventually facilitate an emotional catharsis.
This piece was written as a creative writing exercise for a tutorial during the Ethnography: The-
ory and Practice course. I was trying to create a compelling ethnographic hook to introduce our 
longer group project based on fieldwork carried out in a 5Rhythms class in Edinburgh.


Letting the Rhythm Move You

Unfamiliar Edinburgh: Being and Becoming in the Cit

McConnachie, Stephen

Reece, Koreen

Harries, John

09 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
Unfamiliar Edinburgh: Being and Becoming in the City
KOREEN REECE, JOHN HARRIES 
& STEPHEN MCCONNACHIE
ESSAYS
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 UK: Scotland 
License | © Koreen Reece, John Harries & Stephen Mcconnachie. ISSN 2050-778X (Online). DOI: 10.2218/
unfamiliar.v6i1.1659
10The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
Unfamiliar Edinburgh: Being and Becoming in the City
KOREEN REECE, JOHN HARRIES & STEPHEN MCCONNACHIE
How do we learn ethnography? How do we teach ethnography? What is the process of becoming an ethnog-
rapher like – and what might it tell us about the places in which we become ethnographers? In this special 
issue of The Unfamiliar, we explore these questions through a range of creative and critical ethnographic 
pieces generated by the students of the University of Edinburgh’s second-year Social Anthropology course, 
Ethnography: Theory and Practice.
The course was conceived as an opportunity for undergraduate students in disciplines across the 
social sciences and beyond to explore what ethnography is – and specifically, how one does it (a puzzlement 
familiar to many a student of anthropology; Shryock 2016). In groups of three to four, students are invited 
to identify a space in Edinburgh in which to conduct a short-term ethnographic research project. After sub-
mitting a brief proposal and gaining ethics clearance, they spend several hours each week for the bulk of the 
semester hanging out, participating, observing, listening, asking questions, soliciting conversations, conduct-
ing interviews, taking photos or making maps. In short, they are spending time getting to know the space and 
the people who produce it in any way they can. 
This special issue brings together samples of student work from the course for the first time. In it, 
we find student ethnographers spending time with people living in narrow boats on the Union Canal; joining 
walking tours and pole-dancing classes; letting themselves be transformed by drag queens; performing at 
poetry slam events, or having a go at ceilidh dancing and the ecstatic release of the five-rhythms; talking 
with men drinking quietly in an Irish bar, or with the elderly congregants of the Augustine United Church; 
joining in on the work of charity shops and cafes, or engaged in the ‘creative reuse’ of discarded material. 
Students were invited to submit pieces based on any aspect of their fieldwork, and were encouraged to exper-
iment with form and style as they saw fit. An editorial committee, consisting of five students from the course 
supported by its teaching staff, supplied the creative vision and structure of the issue; and submissions were 
conscientiously peer reviewed by a select group of Edinburgh’s MA Social Anthropology cohort, who helped 
to draw out and clarify the authors’ perspectives. Together, the students who have driven this special issue 
have created opportunities to extend their course-based learning into hands-on experience with the process 
of publishing. What follows is a collection of fieldnotes, sketches, reflections, poems, profiles, and photos, 
as well as some longer ethnographic pieces, which give a rare insight into their learning trajectories, and into 
the city that shaped them.
Teaching Ethnography
In the course Ethnography: Theory and Practice, we work from the premise that ethnography is more than a 
method, or even an array of methods, but is an orientation to the world – a particular type of inquisitive sen-
sibility that allows us to question taken-for-granted assumptions about the way the world is. The main focus 
of the course is on cultivating this ethnographic sensibility, through actively mentored and peer-supported 
fieldwork. Inspiration and provocative research possibilities are suggested in weekly lectures. The course as a 
11 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
whole, however, is predominantly tutorial-driven and practice-based, with class time divided between oppor-
tunities to practice key research skills, and guided group reflection on the perplexities of the research process. 
In hands-on, practical activities – often conducted in public spaces around the city – students learn how to 
take fieldnotes and how to conduct interviews, how to identify appropriate literature, analyse their findings, 
and build their work into fully-fledged ethnographic pieces. These tasks are oriented primarily towards learn-
ing to think like an ethnographer, and towards creating a different relationship with the world. Harry Wolcott 
has described ethnography as “a way of seeing”, explaining that it is “more than method” and that “it is the 
mindwork…that goes with it that is most critical” (Wolcott 1999: 66). In reflecting on and discussing their 
unfolding fieldwork with one another, in sharing and comparing experiences with their tutors, and in produc-
ing fieldnotes, interview transcripts, book reviews, and projects for assessment, students are given informal 
and formal opportunities to practice this “mindwork” collaboratively. 
In particular, tutors on the course seek to foster ethnographic sensibility by encouraging an openness 
to “serendipity and the unexpected” (Konopinski 2014: 2) as a source of unique insight; and by challenging 
students to acknowledge and defamiliarise their own positionalities and assumptions, thereby cultivating 
reflexivity. In role-played interviews or the discussion of scenarios presenting ethical conundrums, we aim 
to show that both research and ethics are more a matter of sensitive, humane engagement than of following 
rules – more about attending, taking seriously, and improvising than about following scripts. While allowing 
the field to lead them and shape their investigations is often an unsettling, confusing, and frustrating experi-
ence for the students, over time, they learn the value of the accidental and unscripted, and find ways to turn 
these moments into unusual perspectives on their fieldsites. Similarly, students are often intrigued, perplexed, 
and unsettled by the notion of reflexivity, and attendant ideas about the appropriate place of the self in social 
sciences research – making for sharp learning curves. The results are evident in a number of the contributions 
to this volume, perhaps most strikingly in the piece on drag queens by Hannah Diry and Gaia Duberti; most 
innovatively in the piece by Isabelle Introna and Alexandra Dunn on what happened when they shared their 
final course project with two of their art school interlocutors; and most honestly and openly in the final article 
of the collection by Tannith Matthew. In these pieces and others across the issue, students ably demonstrate 
the ways they have made room for both the “unruly and systematic” dimensions of social sciences research 
(Konopinski 2014: 2).
Being and Becoming in the City
There is no straightforward narrative logic or single, coherent theme to this ethnographic collection. The 
editorial committee explicitly chose to forego a specific analytic perspective, opting instead to preserve the 
multiplicities and mess of their learning trajectories – and of Edinburgh itself. At the same time, similar 
ethnographic notes are struck across the work of our contributors, sounding common preoccupations with 
and experiences of the city: preoccupations with self-making and becoming, reflected in the issue’s subtitle; 
with movement and stasis; with performance, conflict, and social responsibility, among others. The result is 
a gathering of arguments, descriptions and reflections, which may – or may not – find resonance with each 
other, which sometimes speak to similar issues but equally pull in different directions. We juxtapose pieces 
that share certain qualities, but are also sharply contrasting, discontinuous, and divergent. In this irresolution, 
we hope to have retained something of the feeling of being and becoming an ethnographer that our authors 
evoke so well. 
12The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
Above all, what binds these pieces together – like any good ethnography – is an intense but partial 
intimacy, a kind of provisional closeness with people going about the creative, sometimes quiet, sometimes 
flamboyant business of living in the city of Edinburgh. Through these writings, photographs and drawings we 
get to know, fleetingly but vividly, people like Jen – who leads tours through the Grassmarket, telling tales 
of Edinburgh’s unseemly past; or Stephen, with his “background in logistics”, who now talks with passion 
about working for a café dedicated to helping the homeless; or the nameless group of travellers on a city bus 
to Clovenstone, who briefly find common cause in reprimanding an illicit smoker. 
Perhaps this ethnography is a bit like the experience of being in Edinburgh, or indeed, any city: a 
cosmopolitan experience of fleeting impressions, strange associations, minor incidents; of people passing by, 
resting, doing, moving on, each with their own trajectory, their own narrative, all temporarily and inextrica-
bly entangled. And as we engage with this seemingly disordered but – as de Certeau reminds us – coherent 
movement, our attention is drawn from the “concept of the city” towards an appreciation of “urban practices” 
(de Certeau 1984: 93). This city is, notoriously, a place of surfaces and secrets, configured even in its curious 
topography, its streets built over and above other streets. There is a familiar Edinburgh, the Edinburgh that 
Jen presents to tourists, the Edinburgh known to students in the course of their everyday life; there are, in 
fact, many different familiar Edinburghs, depending on who you are and how you inhabit this place. Running 
beneath and alongside, often close by, is the unfamiliar Edinburgh, the pole-dancing Edinburgh, poetry-slam 
Edinburgh, canal-side Edinburgh, of which we are aware but in which we rarely pause or dwell. In their 
work, the authors of this special issue do just that: they seek out an Edinburgh unfamiliar to them, spend 
some time there, come to know a few people, and to know the city differently in their company. And they 
explore the ways their informants make the city familiar and unfamiliar to themselves as well, carving out 
community and anonymity, following routines while engaging actively in the creative, performative work of 
self-fashioning. This is a city of arts students, drag queens, solitary drinkers, kindly churchgoers and ‘ceilidh 
consultants’, as well as those on the bus to Clovenstone.
This is also a city of student-ethnographers who, through their research, are encouraged to self-re-
flexively consider the transformations wrought by doing ethnography. These are transformations in our un-
derstanding of other people and places, in which the strange is made familiar and the familiar strange, as 
the popular turn of phrase goes. But these are also processes of self-exploration and self-discovery. In the 
encounters with unfamiliar Edinburgh, the authors also describe encounters with an unfamiliar self, disclosed 
and revealed as they join in, participate and get to know ways of doing and being previously unknown to 
them. In reading this collection, we may come away knowing something more of this city; but in the company 
of the authors, to quote the concluding piece of this special issue, we also “come away from this project [hav-
ing] learned something about humanity, something about [ourselves] and something about doing research”, 
which leaves us “inspired and excited about what else [we] can learn.” If ethnography is, at bottom, a willing-
ness to learn by seeking out the unfamiliar and dwelling within it – even for just a few hours a week – then, 
as more and less experienced students of ethnography, we can hope for no better outcome than that. 
13 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
References
De Certeau, M. (1984) Walking in the City. In The Practice of Everyday Life, trans. S. Rendall. Berkeley: 
University of California Press.
Konopinski, N. (ed.) (2014) Doing Anthropological Research: A Practical Guide. New York: Routledge.
Shryock, A. (2016) ‘Ethnography: Provocation’. Correspondences, Cultural Anthropology website. Avail-
able at https://culanth.org/fieldsights/871-ethnography-provocation. [Accessed 29 June 2016].
Wolcott, H.F. (1999) Ethnography: A Way of Seeing. Lanham: AltaMira Press.


Unfamiliar Edinburgh: Being and Becoming in the City

Brownlie, Jenny Thomson

47 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
“Death” at the Grassmarket
JENNY BROWNLIE
ESSAYS
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 UK: Scotland 
License | ©  Jenny Brownlie. ISSN 2050-778X (Online). DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.2218/unfamiliar.v6i1.1517
48The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
“Death” at the Grassmarket
JENNY BROWNLIE
Taking a free walking tour within the old town of Edinburgh will, no matter how many times you visit, give 
you a new impression of the old city. As a Scottish student living in Edinburgh, I did not realise how much 
I did not know about the lives gone by in this city. Throughout several of these tours, where we were intro-
duced to historical persons and places, with their own stories, I found that it was the characters and personas 
of the tour guides that interested me the most.
Visible from her blue ensemble, it became apparent that being on a tour with Jen, our guide, could be 
an experience. The matching blue jacket and hat seemed reasonable enough, but it was the bright blue hair 
peeking out of the hat that hinted towards the eccentric persona that was slowly revealed.
By this particular tour I had completed half of the eight tours with different guides. Out of all the 
guides, Jen was the most intriguing due to her particular style. She was the biggest actress using characters 
throughout to help bring the stories of the past to life. Within a large open space, which may daunt many 
performers, Jen would encompass it all; occasionally attracting the attention of tourists that were not part of 
our tour group.
Jen eagerly walked down Victoria Street and into the square of the Grassmarket with the tourists 
trailing slowly behind. From the keen enthusiasm displayed by the group at the beginning, the tour had now 
become rather more subdued as we neared the middle coffee break. It was a February morning, and although 
the skies may have been clear it was cold! However, as was noted by both Jen and some members of the 
group, at least it was not raining. Even with the cold people always perked up as we reached one of the walk’s 
designated destinations. 
Stopping just beside a large stone, at the east end of Grassmarket, Jen waits for everyone to gather 
round before she begins the next tale. From past experience I knew which story was going to be shared but 
somehow still found myself waiting in anticipation. As the group forms a semi-circle around Jen and the 
stone, she steps up and stands upon it; creating her stage. Addressing the group, she begins the story of Mag-
gie Dickson’s execution from the early Eighteenth century. Similar to other stories, Jen acts it out dramatical-
ly. From the outset she changes the pitch of her voice depending on which particular character she embodies 
and uses wild arm motions to keep the group’s attention. The visual aid she uses here is Maggie Dickson’s 
pub. When asked, a tourist suggested it might be named such because her husband or family had owned it at 
some point. However she did not have any connection to the pub, apart from being hung from the gallows 
outside. Being with Jen you were drawn back to the day of the execution. Her details were so vivid and life-
like that you were able to imagine the excitement of the roaring crowds; little children annoying adults and 
pushing their way through to see; multiple classes all mixing with each other just to watch the murder of a 
young woman. 
Maggie Dickson, we learn, was to be executed for concealing her pregnancy. After her husband ran 
away she moved to the Scottish borders and begun an affair with a local innkeeper’s son. It was with this man 
that she became pregnant but, due to its nature, she had to hide it. Her crime was only discovered once she 
abandoned the baby following a failed attempt to kill it. Yet after her hanging, on the way to the graveyard, 
the funeral director was startled by a knocking coming from within her coffin. Upon opening it, Maggie 
Dickson was very much alive albeit complaining of a sore throat. He returned her to the gallows where chaos 
ensued, the crowds now believed they were going to see their second execution of the day. An exceedingly 
rare event! But one young lawyer spoke up for Maggie Dickson. As she had already been declared dead, in 
the eyes of the law her punishment had been fulfilled. She was thus allowed to walk free. By surviving her 
hanging she also escaped from her failed loveless marriage; at a time where divorce was not an option. Mag-
49 The Unfamiliar, Vol. 6 (1)
gie then lived out the rest of her life with her new husband in a flat close to the pub. When someone else was 
carried to the gallows she was known to lean out of the window and shout, “Don’t worry, it happened to me 
and I’m alright now!”, pointing to the scar around her neck.
The tale of Maggie Dickson is, in a sense, completely unbelievable. Yet, through the way that Jen 
told it, it made complete sense. Like an actress, Jen adopted the character of Maggie Dickson. Throughout the 
tale, the emotions and behaviour of Jen changed as Maggie got closer to what was expected to be her death. 
In the minutes leading up to her execution, Jen emphasised how quiet Maggie became by lowering her voice; 
later she moved towards the front of the stone, flaunting the fact that she had ‘survived.’ 
Although she took on the role of Maggie Dickson, Jen did not ignore the other people in the story. 
With the most extreme accuracy, Jen emphasised the shock and fear of the undertaker as he found a live body 
in one of his coffins. The most impressive part of her performance was the way that each of her multiple roles 
received the same pizazz. Maggie Dickson may have been the focus of the story but Jen could have easily 
twisted the perspective of the tale and it would still have been believable. Having someone like Jen narrate 
your death nearly 300 years later coming back from the dead sounds entirely plausible, especially in the era 
of Maggie Dickson. 


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