I can remember, when I was young, being taught a simple dance. All of my schoolmates were taught it too. We stood in a circle, each raising one arm in the air, then skipped around each other in a pattern: in and out, round and round. It made no sense to me until May Day came around and we were marched out of class to a Maypole that had been erected in the playground. Each given a colourful ribbon to hold in those outstretched hands, we did our dance as directed, and found we had woven a pattern that spread out from the pole until there was no space left to dance.