Hatherleigh Carnival. As predicted the weather’s turned atrocious. I’d just finished making a second batch of quince cheese scenting the house with a honey sweetness; fires burnt snugly, curtains drawn, muffling the sound of wind rattling and shaking the world. I sunk into the sofa cradling a mug of hot tea. Bliss; so tempting just to snuggle in for the evening. Robert was away in London.
The phone rang, it was Adam. “Just phoning about the carnival. Are you still going? It’s such a shame – the weather, so dreadful. I was only popping in to see the judging and will probably be going straight home after. If you want I…”
“No, no” I interrupted “It’s okay. I’ll make my own way in. I want to take pictures of the tar barrels so I’ll be hanging on a bit. I’m sure I’ll meet up with Sally and Marcus. But thanks anyway. Maybe see you.”
The phone rang again…
“Are you still going?” it was Philip “We were all ready to, but, it’s just too appalling.” Philip, Lisa and their twins generally meet up with us on carnival night.
“Well, yes, I am. I want to get some photos of the tar barrels. The weather’s turning it into rather an adventure.”
“I don’t think you’ll get much of a photo in this!”
Olly came down stairs. “Mum, surely you’re not going. Have you seen?”
“Yes I am. I’ve got to. I feel sorry for everyone. So much hard work. Some of those floats take almost a year to work on. But they said the storm will be swift, if violent. And look, I can see the moon!”
I donned my mountain walking gear, wellies and waterproof trousers. Outside the back door a torrent, no, a flood hurled past the door. The dip in the lane had turned into the Amazon as water careered across the culvert, no sign of the surface anymore. Onwards I drove. The road down to the river meadows had become a series of rapids foaming with the detritus of branches, leaves and acorns; blocked ditches and drains spewed great gouts of angry water hurtling towards the river. The two miles into Hatherleigh was more of a car swim than a drive. After parking in a flooded gateway where the water almost came to the tops of my wellies, I sloshed the last quarter of a mile into town, the moon now shining though scudding clouds.
The atmosphere was exhilarating. The crowd, large enough to cause a buzz, was still small enough to create a tingling intimacy. The black slicked roads reflected lozenges of colour and light. The air hung with a concoction of musty wool, burning paraffin, the metallic tang of beer, with fried fat and the hot sweetness of fresh doughnuts. I found a group of friends and was handed a flask of warming ginger wine spiked with whisky.
The band struck up, drums resonating and vibrating inside us. The torch bearers followed leading the carnival parade, headed by the president, the queen, the prince and princess. Then the floats of intrinsic and exquisite work pulled behind gargantuan tractors, their lights hard and bright like slant-eyed monsters. The walkers joust and tumble in an array of topical satire, goading, egging and capturing the crowd with their capers and antics.
Suddenly it’s over, the procession with all its din, colour and excitement has passed into the quiet seclusion of the market place. The crowd wait, the darkness throbs with electric expectation.
At the top of the hill a shout goes up, raw and harsh “Oggie, oggie, oggie. Oy! Oy! Oy!”
The response slow to begin with growing in strength and volume
“Oggie, oggie, oggie, Oy! Oy! Oy!”
And down they hurtle, the chosen young men of the town, blood up, veins pulsing, their faces blackened by smoke, dragging a raft of wildly flaming tar barrels. Egged on by a swelling crowd the shout becomes a guttural chant “Oggie, oggie, oggie. Oy! Oy! Oy! Oggie, oggie, oggie. Oy! Oy! Oy!” Faster and faster they career down the streets the mood changing from one of light-heartedness to something far more raw and instinctive.
Now running on pure adrenalin they arrive at the bon-fire, heave the barrels onto the stacked timber to set it alight, only to lie gasping on the ground as the exertion, admiring girls and crowd catch up with them. Soon the flames and heat capture and still both thought and limb. The people of Hatherleigh, satiated and contemplative, start to remember who they are, returning reluctantly to the present from some distant time when the elements held sway and nature was a mysterious and capricious force to be respected and placated. A time when just occasionally it was OK to let primal, tribal, instincts reign.
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November 9, 2008 at 7:55 pm
Jane
I love your description of the carnival and the tar-barrels. I remember reading your description last year and wishing more of these old traditions were still going on. I’m glad you went… think what us other bloggers would have missed out on! Thanks for donning your waterproofs Paula. Jane x
November 10, 2008 at 7:29 pm
paula
I’m glad you enjoyed it – thanks Jane.
November 10, 2008 at 10:51 pm
heidi
I got goose bumps while reading that! The adventure of getting there added to the primal energy of it all, thank you for braving the wild elements and bringing this to us.
How do you get such great night shots? Amazing pics..
November 11, 2008 at 8:23 pm
HELEN REDDAWAY
Wow! Paula thats such a fantastic description of carnival. It’s like being there all over again. What camera do you use? I haven’t seen shots like that very often!!
November 11, 2008 at 9:45 pm
Catherine Sherman
Very exciting. I could hardly wait to find out about the importance of the burning tar barrels. It sounded very dangerous. I’m grateful you braved the bad weather for our sakes, ha, ha. Looks like it was well worth it. Gorgeous writing and photography, as always.
November 12, 2008 at 2:38 am
eyegillian
Fabulous description of weather and festival — what an intense experience it must have been, going from torrential rainstorm to raging bonfire in a few short miles. Looks like lots of fun, and a bit dangerous, too!
November 12, 2008 at 8:52 am
LittleFfarm Dairy
Thanks for a wonderful post, Paula –
very evocative & well worth braving that dreadful weather for! Would you believe, our local Council banned floats from the Carnival (even though it takes places in broad daylight) on Health & Safety grounds: apparently they’re concerned someone could fall off & kill themselves at that snail’s pace crawl (not that anyone ever has, mind you).
It’s a bit like banning Marmite from School Breakfast Clubs on the grounds that if you ate an entire jar at one sitting, it wouldn’t do you any good…..what a funny old world we live in. Glad to see that common sense still exists in your part of the world!
And big congrats ref the Countryfile ‘Blog of the Month’ – as posts like this so eloquently illustrate, an accolade well deserved.
November 12, 2008 at 10:42 am
paula
It was worth it heidi and all the more for your appreciation – thanks! I think the photos were very much helped by the stewards who allowed me to get as close as I wanted.
November 12, 2008 at 10:50 am
paula
Thank you Helen, high accolade indeed, I’m honoured! And thanks for taking the time to say so.
Oh my camera is just a cheap Sony Cyber Shot 7.2 from Amazon – it does well for me.
ps I thought your mum looked serenely beautiful and you were a glorious, glamorous twinkling of pink!
November 12, 2008 at 10:57 am
paula
It’s all part of the Samhain celebrations and purification rituals really Cathy, getting rid of all those bad spirits hiding in dark places throughout the town, that sort of thing.
I enjoyed it and am glad I can bring a little bit of ancient Britain to you.
November 12, 2008 at 11:01 am
paula
So good to see you back gillian – maybe the darker days will inspire you once more.
That’s just what it was – an intense experience – perfect description. Happy I could give you a little flavour of it.
November 12, 2008 at 11:05 am
paula
And thank you Jo for both your appreciation and congratulations.
This year was particularly good – as the crowd was smaller the officials were less official!
November 13, 2008 at 10:45 pm
mary
It must be an exciting spectacle Paula and your description takes us right there. I am surprised that it gets past the current ‘elf ‘n safety’ brigade.
PS I am not commenting about slugs! All God’s creatures but there is a limit.
November 20, 2008 at 9:18 pm
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