Open Features: Community Spirit Is Best Sampled Freely
…Every village seems to hold a fete for something. For example, the village we have connections with in the Par de Calais has its own donkey weekend when an assortment of sleek and not so sleek animals arrive as if out of nowhere, to be judged, patted, petted and finally raced. The narrow lanes become congested with hot and bothered owners trying to entice their charges in a certain direction...
Mary Basham hails the traditions annual events which thrive in English and French villages.
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The French hold a celebration for just about anything that can be eaten and like nothing better than to parade their produce in all manner of ways. Apart from internationally famous events like the cheese, garlic and chestnut festivals that attract visitors from far and wide, there are also the great wine feasts following the gathering of the grapes.
At a lower level, and not to be out done when it comes to pride in their fare, every village seems to hold a fete for something. For example, the village we have connections with in the Par de Calais has its own donkey weekend when an assortment of sleek and not so sleek animals arrive as if out of nowhere, to be judged, patted, petted and finally raced. The narrow lanes become congested with hot and bothered owners trying to entice their charges in a certain direction. The air becomes blue with braying and the aftermath of nervous expulsion is gratefully gathered up in waiting buckets before it has had a chance to hit the ground. And my word, the tomatoes grow well there!
Two villages along they celebrate the humble bee, holding a special occasion to mark the collecting of the honey. There is even a tiny museum housed in some outbuildings, dedicated to honey and enterprisingly open all year round, a veritable hive of activity.
But my favourite to date has to have been the gosling fair held at the start of summer when the grass was as high as a goose’s eye and the sun just getting some warmth. Penned in behind straw bales, the youngsters moved in a mass like a Mexican wave, while weathered country folk cast an eye over their prospective Christmas dinner – a scene straight out of the Middle Ages. (The percentage of vegetarians in France must be one of the lowest in the world)
I sat mulling on this French addition to celebration the other night and admit that for a moment I felt somewhat envious. Then my St George instincts took hold and I started to mentally tick off the numerous village events that take place in the rural heart of this country. Our own edge of Fen village for one has its Ploughing Match, the next village a Pumpkin carnival and almost all communities a summer fete, church fund-raising strawberry and cream tea and of course, harvest festival.
There are also some ‘very English’ events that I simply cannot imagine ever getting off the ground in rural France. For instance my mulling was taking place in a barn surrounded by an eager audience of true locals and obvious incomers, all waiting for the show to start. It was the village Gilbert and Sullivan society’s annual production, this year HMS Pinafore and the anticipation was palpable. Where else but this country would you find a group of people, many already drawing their pension, dressed as young sailors eyeing up the Captain’s comely daughter who in reality was already showing a grey hair or two? As for ‘Little Buttercup’ …well, let’s say little is not an adjective that springs easily to mind.
But it was well done, great fun and everyone involved in the production had worked long and hard. The audience was enthusiastic, the wine flowed and conversation during the intervals (and occasionally during the production) buzzed. A memorable night was had by all. Yes the concrete floor sent a chill through to your marrow and the seat of the chair left you wondering whether you would ever get the feeling back in a certain part of your anatomy but once home a good whiskey soon thawed you out. The important thing is that people enjoyed themselves, the proceeds enable the G&S society to live and fight another day and for a whole year the stage struck of the community will have a reason to practice their singing. We are promised the Yeoman of the Guard next year!
I listened to a politician rabbiting on the other day about the haves and the have nots, about degrees of poverty and the great divide between urbanites and country folk. Of course, he had some fair and accurate points, but it is also true to say that life is what you make it and living in a village can be an rewarding experience despite the problems with transport and lack of facilities townies take for granted.
Next time the Morris Men head your way, the local amateur dramatics group puts on a play or Christmas pantomime or someone decide it’s high time to honour the mighty marrow, think about giving your support. Community spirit is a heady brew and everybody is the richer for sampling it freely.
