It was Masham Sheep Fair at the weekend, so my camera and my phone worked overtime. More another day- maybe.
My feature photo – from my camera – is appropriate: one happy farmer at the end of the day displaying all the cups she’d won. The one below is from my phone, and shows my favourite 400 Roses taking to the floor – well, the town square.
For Brian – Bushboy’s – Last on the Card
Here are some more images taken in Masham as dozens of historic vehicles trundled slowly through town last Saturday in the early evening sun to take their place in the Market Square to be gazed at by the curious – or closely inspected by fellow enthusiasts.
And some children, schooled by the parents – or grandparents more likely – rushed out into the road before each vehicle passed to place pennies in the path of oncoming vehicles. Malcolm remembers the excitement, as a boy, of finding their now unspendable coins flattened into large discs by those trundling steam rollers and similar. My London childhood denied me such pleasures. Though I do remember fire engines like the one shown as the fourth image here, with one frantic fireman at the front constantly pulling at a rope to ring the tinny bell urging people out of the way.
And here are the children and their pennies …
And here are some of the characters we saw. Though what one little group was doing canvassing for Votes for Womem (sic) escaped me.
Midweek Monochrome
This last weekend saw the annual Masham Steam Engine and Fair Organ Rally take place. Unaccountably, we’d never been before. But at 6.00 in the evening we turned up to watch these lovingly restored vehicles parade through the town. And before the Parade Proper started, these rather charming miniature engines had their moments of fame.
The parade of the Real Steam Engines is for another day.
It was Ripon’s third Theatre Festival last week, and the weekend was to be given over to the streets and the park for theatre-in-the-street. The first two festivals had been sunny, warm, and everything good the weather could offer. Last weekend’s forecast was unremittingly vile. Rain, wind, thunder … everything you don’t want. Ripon’s luck had run out.
Except it hadn’t. Apart from one short sharp shower in the middle of Sunday, the weather was – sunny, warm enough, and everything anyone could have wished for.
Come and have a stroll. We could join Struzzo the ostrich and Maxim as they wander round the park.
Kit and Caboodle told a good yarn from their laden mule- cart. It was nicely illustrated by a moving picture show, transcribed onto an apparently unending scroll of paper unfurling before our eyes. And with added paper puppets.
We could watch the swirling-skirted clog-dancers rhythmically and musically clickety clacking their clogs.
Or we could wait for a train with the Rhubarb Theatre and their Three Suitcases as they try to set off on holiday. We’d have a long wait. Ripon doesn’t have a station.
Oh, hang on! There’s plenty going on near the Market Square too…. such as Fireman Dave …
… I want to catch the Bachelors of Paradise …
… and Logy on Fire, who does astonishing feats of acrobatics and balance with batches of discarded cigar boxes …
And there’s so much more. I only managed to see Four Hundred Roses, whom I photographed here, as they wandered up Kirkgate between performances.
I wish you could have been actually – rather than virtually – there too. Maybe next year?
There were times during my recent trip to Spain when I was part of a street-side audience. But there were those who had a prime viewing spot. They lived in an apartment immediately above the action. I have a few shots of them peering down at the events below.
On my first Saturday, we popped over to Barcelona, for a neighbourhood festival: La Festa Major de la Esquerra de l’Exeimple. Early in the morning (well, early for Spain) we happened upon a communal keep-fit session. So did this older inhabitant, who chose to maintain her distance.
This is what she was missing:
Then the next weekend, nearer home, was Rebombori, which I reported on here. As the gegants plodded through the streets, at least one chap had a ringside view.
And when they arrived in the town square, one set of young people had the best view of all:
My header photo is another from the Festa Major, when we were all ‘just looking’ at the Gegants de la Pedrera, the neighbourhood’s very own gegants, celebrating Antoni Gaudí, whose buildings are generously scattered throughout the area. And indeed at the locals who were adding a bit of colour (if not in this photo) by dressing up quite splendidly in Edwardian costume.
For Leanne’s Monochrome Madness, hosted this week by Sarah of Travel with Me.
The featured photo shows the Vikings as we always seem to think of them: a bellicose lot of marauders and fighters. In fact they were much like the rest of us – seeking a simple life of home, work and family. A trip to York, the Jorvik Viking Centre and the Viking Festival showed us an everyday story of country folk.
They must have been doing something right. They even had a willing slave in the form of my eight year old grandson cheerfully wielding his broom for his temporary Viking master.
La Sardana is the traditional dance of Catalonia. It’s been around in one way or another since the 1600s, but really came into its own in the 19th century. Back in the fascist era, Franco did his best to ban it, as he tried to ban all forms of regionalism, or worse, independence. He suppressed the distinct languages within Spain: Catalan, Basque, Galician, with the result that they have now sprung back stronger than before.
Anyway, la Sardana. It’s a circle dance, with men and women, neighbours, friends, strangers joining hands, moving slowly in a circle following the fairly complex foot moves of the leader. When the circle starts getting too big, a second circle starts, then a third ..
On Sunday morning, we took ourselves down into town to watch the mini-Sardana festival. We immediately noticed that I fitted the age-profile the best. Every single dancer was over 60. Anaïs’ friend’s granny immediately wanted to put that right, and appointed herself Anaïs’ personal Dance Mistress. With not much success.
A few younger citizens took themselves off to practice in a quiet corner …
And after a slow start, the event got going. Not having a single dance gene in my body, I wasn’t tempted to get involved, despite being The Right Age. But it’s rather sad that this seems to be the general view among the young. Would Franco get his wish after all, and see the Sardana vanish a hundred years after he tried to banish it?
Blogging pal Peter of Peter’s Pondering told me that after he’d read my last post, he’d enjoyed ten minutes with YouTube watching 400 Roses performing . I’ve missed a trick. I should have shown you myself. Here you are:
When I showed you all the fun to be had at Masham Sheep Fair in Monday’s post, I included a couple of shots of dancers. Dancers who really didn’t give of their best in black and white. These are the 400 Roses.
They’re a group of women dancers from West Yorkshire. They’re folk dancers. But it’s not as simple as that. They combine Morris dancing with – yes – belly dancing, with a nod perhaps to steampunk. Their gloriously extravagant red, black and white costumes feature – among other things – red and white roses to celebrate their Yorkshire and Lancashire origins . Those of you who are not from these parts may not know that the red rose is the symbol for Lancashire, the white rose, that of Yorkshire. The Red Roses are accompanied by their energetically engaging band t’Thorns. Come and have a look.
And a close-up of the skirts of their dresses, every one different.
I couldn’t resist two black and white portraits though: one of a dancer, one of a bandsman.
And even one of the cheerful bags that accompanied them to where they were dancing.
Thank you, 400 Roses. We’ll come and watch you now whenever we can. I think you enjoyed yourselves as much as we your audience did.
An optional extra for Ann-Christine’s Lens-Artists Challenge: On Display.
Townie Toddler has gone back to Spain. The house suddenly seems unwontedly calm and quiet. Rather dull really. This is probably because the two old fogies who live here have no remaining energy – for a day or two at least.
Townie Toddler’s mum wanted her daughter to spend time being a child of the countryside – spending time with its animals, plants and wide open spaces. So off we went on Saturday to Borrowby Show. Horses from shire horses to the tiniest of ponies, sheep, dogs and small animals were all Being displayed to best advantage. Oddly, the only cattle were two charming Jersey calves. One of the set pieces in the afternoon was of The Hunt. Definitely NOT our thing. But Anaïs enjoyed the chance to meet the docile and well-behaved beagles who later tore round the show ring in pursuit of – luckily – a less than realistic hare, who doubtless smelt right.
Here’s our day:
Then the next day, on our way to the airport, it was Meanwood Valley Urban Farm. It was somewhere we often went when we lived in Leeds, and the children were smaller. We loved it then. Now it’s re-invented itself. It’s larger. It has peaceful walks where you can lose yourself in dense copses and apparently distant views. It has all the farmyard animals you’d expect. Yet it’s within walking distance of Leeds City Centre. It has a vegi-box scheme. A bike workshop. It works with volunteers, those with learning disabilities, disengaged young people, and is a welcoming and environmentally focussed part of its local community. It also has a really great café. We spoke to staff and volunteers who talked with pride and enthusiasm about this special place. Almost worth moving back to Leeds for. It was a wonderful finish to Anaïs’ and Emily’s English break.
Brian? Do you see those pigs? That shot’s my Last on The Card in July.
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
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