Posted in Personal life

Hawkesbury Show and Tell

photo of the field on Hawkesbury Show Day
Can we have weather like this, please?

Last night I had a terrible nightmare. I was in the marquee at the Hawkesbury Horticultural Show when I realised I’d forgotten to put in any entries. There I was in a tent full of exhibits and none of them bore my exhibitor number.

Speaking as a past prize winner, this dilemma doesn’t bear thinking about. Okay, so most of my prizes have been in dubious categories such as the odd-shaped vegetable (it was a tomato – don’t ask!) Our hen’s egg entry was also interesting. In our first year of poultry keeping, we assumed that eggs were judged only on size and colour. For weeks we saved our hens’ biggest and brownest. We didn’t realise they’d be cracking them open. Six week old eggs and a hot show tent are not a good combination.

Bad eggs aside, our village show – one of the oldest of its kind in the country – demonstrates our community at its best, bringing together old and young alike.

Red onions
The Show judges know their onions. I mean, they REALLY know their onions.  (Photo: Wikipedia)

And I mean at its best. Judges of unparalleled skill and experience ensure the high quality is maintained. A few years ago, when I was on the Show Committee, I attended a meeting at which the onion judge was present. He’d travelled from afar to share his knowledge. He produced from his pocket a set of silver rings, specifically made to check the size of onions. They’d been passed to him from his father. As he was well into retirement, I reckon the rings had been in use for nearly a century. We were in awe.

But don’t let the judges’ high standards put you off submitting an entry. The ultimate prize is not the individual’s red rosette, but one we can all share: a tent full of produce and crafts, representing just about everyone in the village. So not like my nightmare at all, then.

Happy Show Day, everyone!

Red rosette for first prize winners at Haweskbury Horticultural Show
A prize day out for all the family

Hawkesbury Horticultural Show takes place on the last Saturday in August in the Cotswold village of Hawkesbury Upton, Gloucestershire. For more information, visit the Show’s official website.

And in case you want to know more about the poultry-keeping, here’s a post about how we ended up Recharging Battery Chickens.

This post was originally written for the Hawkesbury Parish News (August 2012).

Posted in Family, Personal life

May Day

Procession of children in traditional May Day ceremony at English primary school
Me, centre, being a May Maiden, with Days Lane infant school in the background

For me, the concept of May Day will be forever associated with an annual ritual that took place at my infant school in Sidcup, a Kentish suburb of London. 

Each May Day, or the closest school day to it, the girls from the oldest class became “May Maidens”.  We had to dress in white frocks and the prettiest girl (how un-PC is that?!) was crowned May Queen.   A determined band of mothers raided everyone’s gardens for roses and greenery to make into wreaths for the Maidens’ hair.  They also wove two long floral ropes for the Maidens to carry.

The May Day Procession

For the May Day ceremony, the whole school turned out onto the field.  ‘The Elizabethan Serenade’ played over the tannoy, while two lines of May Maidens, each carefully carrying one of the ropes, processed slowly to the far end of the field.  Then they stood still while the May Queen and two attendants proceeded down the length of this floral aisle.  Once the May Queen had taken her place on her throne, the Maidens sat down on the grass and the Headmistress addressed the gathered crowd of parents and children.

I don’t remember what the boys had to do, but they must have found the whole thing pretty dull.  Not so the mothers, who ooh’d and aah’d as we walked by, snapping away with big, boxy cameras.

Those were gentler days, I think to myself, wishing that my own small daughter had the chance to take part in such an idyllic ritual.  But then I realise with a start that the backdrop to this quaint ceremony was far from idyllic.  For behind where the May Maidens sat, all along the edge of the school  field, was a long row of air-raid shelters.  Though the war was over long before we May Maidens were born , most of the adults watching our procession would have been all too familiar with the inside of an air-raid shelter.

A Sheltered Life?

Me, centre, aged 6, as a May Maiden on the school field
Funn how it seems it was always summer when I was a child…

These days it is hard to imagine that Health and Safety inspectors would allow any school to have such dark, dingy, unlit sheds on the school field.  Risk assessment for air raid shelters?  There’s an interesting thought.  In those days, of course, children were allowed to enjoy a little danger, but I’m sure that’s not the only reason the shelters were retained.  I suspect there was an inkling that we might needed to use them again.  This was, after all, the 1960s.  The Cold War was in full swing.  Even as recently as 1980, the government was issuing its infamous “Protect and Survive” leaflets, telling us how to guard against a nuclear attack.  (Unbelievably, top tips were to sit under the kitchen table or to take a door off its hinges if a table wasn’t to hand.)

We live in more peaceful times.  My daughter may not get to be a May Maiden, but at least I don’t have to worry about a bomb falling on her school.   All the same, she’d look awfully pretty with roses in her hair.

(This post originally appeared in the Tetbury Advertiser, May 2010)