The last of summer slipping away

Bank Holiday weekend, the last holiday before Christmas. Although the days were sunny there was no heat, and you could feel the last of summer slipping away. On Saturday I drove up to the high heath where two adjacent villages were putting on various shows.



Above: First village. I was impressed by the way the church tower seemed to absorb the afternoon light. The village seemed to be one of those places where everything is immaculately kept up (but without becoming too prettified). In the eighteenth century a woman got lost on the heath in heavy fog and eventually found her way home due to the tolling of the church bells. She left a bequest to the church with the proviso that a church bell is tolled every evening at eight o’clock. The custom is still kept up.



Above: There was an exhibition on hunting. The tone of the exhibition was defiant, since the government has outlawed hunting with dogs. Local feelings run very high on the issue.




















Above: There were photographs of old hunting meets. The hunting fraternity represent a distinct culture with well-established customs and traditions. There was a strong desire in the village to preserve their hunting heritage.



Above: There was a marquee where you could get a cup of tea. At these places you can always find someone who is willing to talk about the history of the village. I talked to one elderly lady about her horses:

“Someone in the office was saying that if your horse is a bit lame in one leg and you’re going into a show class you should kick it in the other leg so it can’t work out which leg to limp with.”

“What a wicked thing to say!” (she was using ‘wicked’ in its condemnatory sense). “When you next see that girl you should kick her in the leg and see how she likes it.”



Above: Every field seemed to have horses in it. The landscape of the stone heath was originally very bleak, but in the last two centuries it has been “improved” with plantations and stone walls. There is a sense of being very high up, with the sky all around you.



Above: In the next village, five miles on, the old folks were sat out in front of the village hall to see a display of Morris dancing.



Above: The traditional musicians included an accordian player in a long astrakhan coat resembling Orthodox Jewish dress.



Above: The male Morris dancers did their performances. It’s easy to laugh at these retired bank managers and personnel directors dressing up in 19th century peasant garb, but they take their hobby very seriously. It’s the sort of scene that Billy Bragg would sneer at (although in a reverse of class consciousness, Billy Bragg himself admitted on the radio last week that he employs domestic staff).



Above: High up on the church tower these odd little medieval faces looked down as if bewildered by all the commotion. Inside the church the organist was playing hymn requests for £1 a time. One woman gave him £5 to play Blaydon Races.



Above: The male Morris dancers did a “sword” dance.



Above: The female Morris dancers did this complicated dance involving floral arches. Note the patterns formed by their shadows. In the opening scenes of Roman Polanski’s film “Tess” (based on Thomas Hardy’s novel “Tess of the D’Urbervilles”) the girls of the village take part in similar rustic dances, to the same sort of music (http://www.roman-polanski.net/articles/hervedeluze.htm).



Above: A modern-day Tess shyly touches her face while her more outgoing companion flirts with a swaggering village lothario.



Above: Inside the village hall you could buy cups of tea from a little hatch. Home-made cakes were displayed on glass stands. There was a big raffle board displaying rows of numbers (instant prizes).



Above: A very loud woman was talking about the history of the local manor house: “It was seconded by the RAF during the war. When my parents got it back it was in a terrible state. There were so many holes in the roof that they used to put on invitations Come and see our indoor water features.” I drove around trying to get a glimpse of the manor house, but it was situated in a little dell surrounded by trees (lots of No Entry signs). The best view I could get was of this gable and turret.



Above: On a ridge you could see across to the Vintage Vehicles exhibition. The horse-drawn carriages moved in a slow procession down the central field. The wind carried over the sound of applause.