A real village fete

This year it seems that May Day has gone on forever. Five days of personal holiday and public celebrations, against the background of the incumbent administration’s electoral gotterdammerung (not that I’m bothered about “them”, but it makes everyone uneasy when the government is lurching from one disaster to another). I am looking forward to going back to the office to get a good rest.

Field visit to village 218



Above: This village is under the lee of the limestone cliff, but at its northern end where the gradient is very gentle. Instead of sheer cliff-face the decline is composed of steep fields. Very hot day today, with a clear blue sky and a light wind.



Above: The sheltered aspect of the village has created a micro-climate with unusual features. A rare lizard occasionally appears here. Monographs have been written about the rare lichens that are found on the dry-stone walls.



Above: I parked my car and walked down (literally down, as the road sloped) the High Street. Far less people about than I expected. The horses in the stables looked out to see who was passing.



Above: This was a real village fete - no commercialism, no trippers (apart from myself), just the local people putting on a show for their own enjoyment. Just at the side of the crossroads was the village hall where the fete was centred. One of the busiest stalls was the beer tent.



Above: There were teas in the hall if you were driving. Also a huge range of cakes. As usual they put too much milk in my tea.



Above: I have never seen so many children (outside of a school). There were lots of things for them to do. This was the coconut shy.



Above: The bowls was quite difficult (well, I thought so).



Above: Penalty shoot-out. Exaggerated cries of triumph or despair. In the background you can see one of the small village bungalows (which alternate along the High Street with terraces of stone cottages).



Above: There was a pool tournament in the hall for the older youths.



Above: At two o’clock the accordionist started playing. Among the tunes I recognised London Bridge Is Falling Down, Humpty Dumpty, the Floral Dance (surely that’s a Cornish song?). The accordionist explained later: “I play tunes that are good to skip to.”



Above: In traditional costumes the village children danced around the maypole. This is not a revival but has been performed on this crossroads every year for centuries. “Boys to the right, girls to the left, this is the hardest one…” - the accordionist shouted out instructions.



Above: The maypole itself is the oldest (by far) and tallest in the county. It remains in place throughout the year. In the past the village livestock would be driven around it (clockwise) to ensure fertility of the herds.

The dances themselves are supposed to be connected to fertility, and although now performed by children, in the past were performed by the unmarried men and women of the village. Writing in The Golden Bough, Sir James Frazer says the maypole is a relic of the ancient pantheistic worship of the oak tree. There are literally hundreds of customs and traditions associated with the arrival of May.



Above: Throughout the maypole dancing the wind blew apple blossom down on the children from nearby trees. It was as if the scene were being directed by Roman Polanski, and then discarded from the final cut of Tess. I was reminded of the painting Spring (Apple Blossom) which I saw recently in the gallery at Port Sunlight.



Above: Notes from Spring (Apple Blossom) - you might need to click on the image to read it properly.