Custom demised: Weyhill Sheep Fair

“To Wy and to Wynchestre I wente to the feyre.”

So does Langland record Weyhill Fair, in Piers Plowman, in 1377, the largest and most important livestock fair in the country. One of the features were the establishment of booths to sell produce and so many hops from Farnham were sold that they became known as Farnham row.  Like many great fairs despite an ancient provenance it was like others a charter fair…like others it did attract fringe activities – hiring of labour, a pleasure fair, bull baiting and even mummers and mystery plays.

Ancient fair

Twelve twenty five is the fair’s earliest reference being called Fair of Le We then. However this is not a charter. Indeed, the lack of a charter is perhaps because the fair was very ancient lying as it does on ancient crossroads which crisscrossed tin merchants, gold transporter and even pilgrims from as far as way as Cornwall, Kent and the Continent. Laying also on three parishes and three estates helped it escape the need for a Charter. For when in Andover town folk claimed a right to hold their own fair, by 1559 Royal charter, the fair owners claimed that the rules did not apply to their fair!

Court fair

As it grew into the 19^th century the volume of trading grew exponentially. Cheeses from all over Wessex were sold and around 100,000 sheep were sold in one day.  Irish horse traders were accused of putting everyone in danger by showing off ‘charged up and down, and over hurdles’. Lawlessness was a common problem and so large was the fair that by the 16^th century it was necessary to set up a Court of Pie Powder. This a common feature of large fairs was a court which provided quick settlement on disputes and could punish lawlessness. Wife selling was a custom associated with many fairs and one immortalised by Thomas Hardy in his 1886 The Mayor of Casterbridge. Renamed Weydon Priors one of his characters, Henchard, sells his wife for five guineas. Wife selling was not unknown in the days before divorce was relatively easy and affordable. An account records that a man called Henry Mears bought Joseph Thomson’s wife for 20 shillings and a Newfoundland dog – he was originally asking 50 but the account states both parties were happy. I am not so clear as the wife’s opinion.

The fall of the fair

The 1800s was perhaps the final heyday of the fair. By the end of the 19^th century it was in decline. William Cobbett in his Rural rides visited the Fair in 1822. He had been a regular attendee for 40 years previous and found it already depressed:

“The 11^th of October is the Sheep Fair. About £300,000 used, some few years ago, to be carried home by the sheep-sellers. Today, less perhaps, than £70,000 and yet the rents of these sheep sellers are, perhaps as high, on average, as they were then. The countenances of the farmers were descriptive of their ruinous state. I never, in all my life, beheld a more mournful scene.”

Reports suggest that despite being still the biggest fair in the South in 1867 each year less and less hops and cheeses were being sold.  Sheep and cattle continued to be trade until just after the Second World War. In 1948 only 1400 sheep were sold – a far drop from the 100,000s. The rapid progress of modernity, better roads, rail and communications meant such large meetings were unnecessary. Although the pleasure fair continued to thrive as in many places. In 1957, the last livestock auction was held and then so few animals were sold that the auctioneers deemed it unprofitable. So the fair stopped and unlike other fairs such as Nottingham Goose fair so did the pleasure fair. The booths were bought by a building company Dunnings Associates using them for storage. They themselves went bankrupt and the buildings fell into disrepair. The site is now a light industry site with the Fairground Craft and Design Centre continuing the name and tradition of selling.

Custom survived: The Brigg Horse Fair

It was on the 5th of August, the weather fair and fine,
Unto Brigg Fair I did repair; for love I was inclined.

So famous a fair which became immortalised in the well-known folk song. However visiting on the day in the early 2000s I found a different story. The town sign clearly pronounced – Brigg – Town of the Horse Fair – but where was it? So famous a fair I thought would be much trumpeted with posters and banners. So I asked in the  Tourist Information Centre, they said they knew nothing? How strange I thought…then a local man learnt over to me and said in a quiet voice “It’s still on…they want to get rid of it and so are keeping quiet about it….it’s on the industrial estate on the edge of town.” Industrial estate I thought?

Horse whispers

It was a sad statement for an event which was the oldest of its kind in the country. Legendarily founded in 1204 in the Reign of King John it was an important charter fair which ran for five days. It may have originally been a general fair becoming a horse fair only later in its history. The sight of large numbers of horses and their assembled traveller community was a memorable site.

The Fair has in recent years apparently had a tenuous hold on survival. Maureen Sutton notes that it was in rapid decline in the early 1990s. She notes that in 1995 a new committee took it over the organisation and the fair was revivatilised and in 1997 80 horses were present. Morris dancers and local folk singers attended as well….these sadly were nowhere to be seen in the early 2000s.

Of course in the world of NIMBYism an event which attracts large numbers of traveller folk was always in modern times to be not looked upon favourably and one wonders whether this was behind the councils attend to sequester it. Certainly if Maureen Sutton (1996) account is anything to go by in her Lincolnshire Calendar, the attendees were not shy of sharp practices.  An 89 year old man recalls:

“Oh aye, Brigg Fair, I seed it with me own eyes, I seed it. I was a boy of ten and me dad took me. Me dad bought twenty horses and one of them was lame, it it had sort of – like this, gristle in the leg. When they run with others up and down they kept this one to the wall side on the street, when they run them back again they made sure it was hid in the others, tricksters – they were that. I seed it bit I was too daft to tell me dad, lame it were – no good.”

Such activity was sure to make in unpopular. Indeed the reluctance to ‘allow’ the proper fair resulted In 2003 with two fairs occurring one unofficial one with horses the official one didn’t! Then the original fair site disappeared under a Tesco supermarket and an alternative could not be found and so the fair did not occur. Even barriers were placed across Station Street to prevent the traditional trotting of ponies, due to the danger to the general public…All this appeared to send the message that the fair or rather its traditional attendees were not welcome!

Horsing around
Certainly there was a depressing and subdued atmosphere at the industrial estate – a very perfunctory place for a fair. Yet it was like stepping into another age. The roads were lined with caravans, stalls selling china and jewellery mainly and of course horse boxes with their horses and ponies sheltered in their shade. Nearby men had hushed conservations, every now punctuated with hand slapping and an occasional laugh. Up and down the lanes people milled around examining the materials on the stalls or else being curious. Every now and then a trap would come by with a pony trotting along. There was a feeling of being an intruder into another world – this was long before the media’s obsession with Gypsies – and certainly I experienced a number of furtive and concerned looks from the attendees – why was I taking photos they may have thought.
As I took these photos of the dying world I thought that this would be one of the last…but somethings customs can have greater resilience than that. Perhaps thanks to a combination a better organisation, that increased desire to preserve old customs and the media appeal of the travellers and their customs the Brigg Fair is bigger and better than ever.  Now the event starts with a parade of horses for the entertainment of the crowds…which sounds like a long way away from the trotting ban of early in the 20th century.

Custom survived: Broughton Tin Can Band

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Broughton (pronounced Browton) Tin Can band is a unique survival. Every year on the Monday morning – that is 12 midnight (accounts always say Sunday night but call me a pedant it’s not strictly is it) – villagers carry pans, metal dustbin lids, spoons, sticks, forks, spanners and anything that clangs, dongs, thumps or beats. It is not organised, planned or ordered but it happens every year. It has been going on as far as we know for 300 years. Why?  Read on.

One man band

The Tin Can band had been on my radar for many years and finally I decided to see for myself what it was all about. I arrived in Broughton – streets dressed for Christmas but not a soul to be seen along its streets. I headed for the Red Lion, which advertised itself as the pre-Tin Band location and in the back of the pub were the carol singers, the nucleus of the said ‘band’. It appeared I was not the only one here to experience this curious custom for sitting at the table were two other researchers who can come to make a film and make sound recordings. Soon another visitor turned up guided in by the pub’s landlord as here’s another one of your lot! It was quite interesting that many of the attendees appeared quite surprised that anyone knew of it – I added that virtually every general folklore book has it mentioned which surprised them even more! Some interestingly, seemed reluctant to be filmed as well – hence why I blurred some faces!

Strike up the band!

Leaving at the pub at 11.50 giving me a few moments to walk to the church as we walked we debated whether it was at the church porch or at the bottom of the gates…I said it was more likely considering how dark the grounds of the church was that the gates seemed a sensible location.  It was the gates. The first to arrive were some seven youths. Now usually upon seeing some teenagers holding spanners and crowbars at midnight down a lane I would keep quiet (or run the other way!). However, they seemed genuine enough and keen to get involved. Was this everyone? Fortunately not as soon a larger group of older people arrived carrying their pans, metal trays, whistles and spoons some suspiciously looking like they had come from the nearby pub!

Just before twelve a shadowy figure could be seen coming down the church path his cloak fluttering in the wind – it was the vicar Canon Revd Brian Withington. I thought he might have appeared to give some sort of disapproving sermon but fortunately not, the complete opposite he was there to give his blessing. On the BBC 4 documentary he does go onto disclose that he had joined, justifying if it was to drive out evil that was okay! This was a feature of the custom I was unaware of! Furthermore it was good to see the event advertised in the church’s newsletter. As soon as the church’s clock chimed twelve he read the Collect for Advent:

“Alrighty God give us Grace that we may cast away the works of darkness and put upon us the armour of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which your son Jesus Christ came to visit us with great humility and in the last day he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the quick and the dead we may rise to the life immortal to him who liveth and reigneth with the holy ghost. Now and ever Amen.”

Then as his force rose to the occasion he called out:

“So put away all that is evil tonight as you go around the village as you make a racket.”

At this point ironically perhaps the heaven’s opened and heavy rain began to fall..this was no discouragement for the assembled ‘band’ who shock and rattled, whistled, honked, yelled and cried at message from the vicar. They then maked their way off bashing, smashing, whacking, hooting and whistling down the streets. The route took the main streets of the town; Church Street, Glebe Avenue, High Street and Gate Lane bringing a curious cacophony for these quiet streets.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Band on the run

The Broughton Tin Can Band has had as rough a journey as the music.  It has always been controversial and complaints from the usual suspects resulted in 1929 that the Parish council appeared to have set about trying to stop what they saw as an undated and clearly anti-social practice noting that:

“Notice is hearby given that at a meeting at Broughton Parish council given on September 17^th 1929, it was resolved that the practice of the Beating of Tin Kettles and the noise created thereby on Broughton streets must cease and will not be allowed.”

This thus would make it an arrestable offence! The police were called in and it is said appeared to have enjoyed the event much I am sure to the Parish’s chagrin. Finally they were forced to issue arrests and fined fifty-four people. However, as the village was still supported by the villagers and a dance was held which paid for the fines! Some elderly people still live in the village apparently proudly displaying their fines! The following year the police presence was reduced and fewer arrests and soon it appears to have returned to normal. Local people have been victims Mr Stamper notes that when they first moved there they had their metal dustbin lid taken…but a visit to the police station the next day found all the lost metal dust bin lids laying on the lawn for collection!

Bandwagon jumping?

This has not been the only time. Three years ago it was close to be stopped but as John Stamper relates that there were enough people in the village who would be very upset it had. This was probably as a result of some undesirable elements joining the throng. The Northamptonshire Evening Telegraph 2007 notes:

“However, last year the fun was marred by anti-social behaviour which saw vandals damaging street lights, signposts and garden fences. Police were called to the event after a series of incidents.”

These appear to have been people from outside the village and indeed the youths of our throng did seem to spend more time hitting lamp-posts and pins then what they were carrying. They appeared to get admonished for this but again as John Stamper notes again on a BBC4 Lives in the Landscape:

 “Once hour a year not going to kill anyone!”

And they generally grow up, more on or get girl-friends. Furthermore, in an essence this sort of ‘vandal’ behaviour is surely part of the appeal of the custom and it needs young blood to keep it going and if they get some sort of pleasure out of bashing bins and rattling railings…that’s the point of it! They all good humoured with it and importantly stopped when everyone else did.

Breaking band

Then back at the church the ‘band’ retired for the year…the group all linking arms to sing Auld Lang Syne…or at least the verse everyone knows and they disappeared into the darkness – presumably to bed! The rain then stopped. My companions remarked that that was what you got when you are trying to cast out evil spirits. And spookily according to folklorist Doc Rowe the same happened the year before!

What are the origins of this custom?

Unsurprisingly for such as anti-social custom its history is a little lacking. The custom is most often linked to the principle of ‘rough music’ which was an ad hoc custom undertaken by villagers to drive out an undesirable – a wife beater or philander – a tradition most recently seen during a mock funeral for Margaret Thatcher in Goldthorpe Yorkshire. The focus on this ire is said to be gypsies. However, as one local questioned in the BBC4 documentary that it could not be for gypsies as there were some in the locale! The other equally plausible theory is that it was used to drive out evil spirits. However, the two are not mutually exclusive as gypsies were through to cast spells and brought about evil.

One rarely made association is that the event is staged near what would have been Old St Andrew’s Day or Tander’s Day. This was a feast day particularly celebrated by lace makers, of which there were a number in Northamptonshire. Furthermore, Thomas Sternberg of Dialect and Folklore of Northamptonshire collected the following account from the mid 1880s which looks significant:

“Tander – of the numerous red-letter days which diversified the lives of our ancestors, this is the only one which has survived to our own times in anything like its pristine manner…Drinking and feasting prevail in a riotous extent. Towards evening the sober villagers appear to have suddenly smitten with a violent taste for masquerading. Women may be seen walking about in male attire, while men and boys donned the female dress, and visit each other’s cottages, drinking hot ‘eldern wine’; the staple beverage of the season.”

Since this account the custom has died out. However it is interesting to speculate that the Broughton Tin Can Band may have arisen this way. The association with St Andrew is supported by the fact that the church is dedicated to the saint and so the village would have celebrated the day as a patronal day. Furthermore there certainly were lace makers in the 1800s in the village according to the census, but it is not clear how many. I did not see any ‘men and boys donned the female dress’ but there were quite a few’ Women may be seen walking about in male attire’ well trousers anyhow!

Band aid

Whatever the truthful origins of the custom it is something the village must preserve. The group were keen to have it continue and wondered how they could ensure it preserved. Hopefully this small contribution There will always been those who disagree with it but being so unique it needs to be kept. However, understandably a custom which is set on midnight in December on a Sunday night-Monday morning might not have any takers. Numbers have waved over the years from the 100s said to have attended years back down to one lone drummer in the war years. When I attended there were 22. The greatest risk to the custom is not the complainers but like many customs apathy! So if you are reading this blog post and live near Broughton, nothing to do on Sunday night, have tin pan and will travel…don’t forget first Sunday after the 12^th December.

Custom demised: Bringing in the Yule Log

 

“Come, bring with a noise,

My merry, merry boys,

The Christmas log to the firing;

While my good dame, she
Bids ye all be free,

And drink to your heart’s desiring.

With the last year’s brand
Light the new block, and

For good success in his spending,

On your Psaltries play,
That sweet luck may

Come while the log is tending.”

Robert Herrick 1591-1674

In the cold depths of winter nothing is heartening that a blazing fire ranging in the hearth. So important was the provision of this vital winter fuel that a whole custom arose around it – the bringing in the Yule log – a tradition with confusing origins as well. Today ask someone in the UK what a Yule log is and they will direct you to a cylindrical chocolate cake with or without a plastic Robin, but go back over 100 years ago and most people would have been familiar with it. An account from Belford in Northumberland summarises it well:

“the lord of the manor sends round to every house, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, the Yule Logs—­four or five large logs—­to be burnt on Christmas Eve and Day.  This old custom has always, I am told, been kept up here.”

The collection and bringing in was all part of the ritual of course. In Wootton Wawen, Warwickshire, the Yule block was drawn into the house by a horse on Christmas Eve. This is one of the earliest accounts in England when a Sarah Chandler remembered:

“Beginning with Christmas Eve in the year 1759 my third year, I perfectly remember on that day being carried by Thomas, an old man servant to my grandmothers…the object of my visit on that particular day was to see the Yule block drawn to the house by horse, as a foundation for the fire on Christmas Day and according to the superstition of those times for twelve days following, as the said Block was not to be entirely reduc’d to ashes till that time had passed by.”

John Udal (1922) in his work on Dorset Folklore noted:

“It was customary in many farmhouses on Christmas Eve for a large block of wood to be brought into the kitchen, and an immense fire having been made up, the farm labourers would come around and sit around it, or as many as were able would crowd into the chimney corner, and drink beer and cider. This was what was usually called the Christmas brown.”

Ella Mary Leather (1912) in The Folklore of Herefordshire records:

“lasted for twelve days, and no work was done.  All houses were, and are now, decorated with sprigs of holly and ivy, which must not be brought in until Christmas Eve.  A Yule log, as large as the open hearth could accommodate, was brought into the kitchen of each farmhouse, and smaller ones were used in the cottages.  W——­ P——­ said he had seen a tree drawn into the kitchen at Kingstone Grange years ago by two cart horses; when it had been consumed a small portion was carefully kept to be used for lighting next year’s log.  ’Mother always kept it very carefully; she said it was lucky, and kept the house from fire and from lightning.’  It seems to have been the general practice to light it on Christmas Eve.”

In the West Riding, while the log blazed cheerfully, the people quaffed their ale and chanted:

“Yule!  Yule! a pack of new cards and a Christmas stool!”

In Shropshire, where it was called the brand or brund and could be oak, holly, yew or even crab tree and rollers and levers would be used to set it into the hearth of the fireplace.  Evidence for the force needed to drag this weighty log could apparently be seen in the rutted floor stones of Vesson’s farm at Habberley in 1895.

Yule meet again

In Gutch’s 1912 County Folk-lore of East Riding of Yorkshire notes an interesting practice recorded at Filey where besides the Yule log a tall Yule candle was lit on the same evening or in some cases holes bored in it to produce flames, this was the case in 1900 in Herefordshire where the bron or brund was bored twice in the middle so that flames would come out earning the name Christmas Candle.

Keep the fires burning

County Folk-lore of Lincolnshire by Mrs. Gutch and Mabel Peacock (1908) describes at Clee, that:

 “when Christmas Eve has come the Yule cake is duly cut and the Yule log lit, and I know of some even middle-class houses where the new log must always rest upon and be lighted by the old one, a small portion of which has been carefully stored away to preserve a continuity of light and heat.”

The log was lit on Christmas Eve and kept a blaze through the twelve days of Christmas and it was customarily said that as it burned the servants were always provided with ale. This would appear to be a survival of the tradition of having these days as holidays. Tony Deane and Tony Shaw (2003) in Folklore of Cornwall notes that it was also called the mock. They add that children were allowed to stay up late on Christmas Eve watching the flames and toasting with drinks the mock until recently, although they do not give further details.

Touch wood for luck

It was said that a fragment of the log is occasionally saved, and put under a bed, as noted by Gutch (1901) in her County Folklore of North Riding of Yorkshire, where at Whitby it remained till next Christmas, under the bed. It was said to secure the house from fire; a small piece of it thrown into a fire occurring at the house of a neighbour, will quell the raging flame.  The embers were also carefully tended and were must not be thrown out “for fear of throwing them in Our Saviour’s face.” According to Charlotte Burne (1883)  in Shropshire folklore they were:

“were raked up to it every night, and it was carefully tended that it might not go out during the whole season, during which time no light might either be struck, given, or borrowed.”

This tradition of the log’s power has been used to suggest a pre-Christian origin to the tradition. Dean and Shaw particularly note that in Cornwall it often had the image of a man carved upon it thought done to prevent witchcraft. Some have suggested this had to do with human sacrifice. However, there is no evidence for any use before the 1700s in Britain and no evidence before Christianity either.

Wooden be found today!

The custom’s decline is an interesting example of how socio-economic changes cause customs to decline. Clearly a victim of the Great War as accounts appear to disappear or rather not recorded subsequent. This is because of the changes that happened. The the large estates with their infinite staff became to decline, numbers of staff fell and the Manor house began to lose its position as the community focus. Furthermore as heating became more dependent on mains supply, many places did not need it and that combined with the disappearance of the horse as a work animal might have been the final nail. Yet interestingly, this is one of the few customs which translated across to the Americas and thrives there, probably because parts of the continent are so cold and snow bound they need they. A notable example can he read here but in the main they are either associated with boarding houses or hotels. Something ripe for a revival in Britain I feel!

 

 

Custom survived: The Nottingham Goose Fair

Goose that laid the golden egg

Nottingham’s Goose fair is unique. Indeed there are many fun fairs, many of them having older origins, but there is something special and atmospheric about this 700 year old event. The size is certainly one of them. Started by Edward the First in 1284, it has survived cancellation during the plague of 1646, two world wars and its removal from the city centre in 1928. Now it sprawls across the Forest recreation ground, a large area of football pitches and park and ride car park, which is for most of the year rather bland and uninspiring, an island of colourful garish  giddy excitement laying in a sea of white caravans and lorries. Another reason is the anticipation, a week before the roundabout along Mansfield road, the ancient route to the city from North Nottinghamshire, a large white goose appears upon its plinth. A visual sign to its imminent arrival for no words are affixed to it (although occasionally it does inherit some comedy flotsam and jetsam, such as a large golden medallion.) This expectation is also built up by the entrance into the fair from this road. A long walkway like a procession route downwards with the senses excited by the visual delight of the fair looming on the horizon, the smell of kerosene and the sounds of ecstatic children crying ‘It’s the Goose fair!’

Having a gander

Even if like me you are not biggest fan of those heart pulsating spinning rides, there is much to interest. Taking that processional route one enters a strange row of infant orientated rides, a plethora of food stalls and some strange stalls.

Focusing on the strange stalls first, this is again where the unique nature of the fair is again underlined. Over the years there have been cacti stalls, clothes stalls, the fire service, the army and this year the Church of England each taking the chance to promote themselves! Showing that it’s not all fun at the fair but faith as well.

The food stalls are a varied phenomena as well indicating the ethic mix of Nottingham, however the minty mushy peas is the central food focus for those that come and the largest at the junction of the row and the main centre of the fair is always packed, sending the smell of peas and mint into the air from frothing vats…

What’s good for the goose….

Elsewhere the demand for the new has seen the traditional rides fall by the wayside, but again not here. Over the years, those rides have survived and so we can find Victorian and Edwardian originals such as the Helter Skelter, a cake walk, a waltzer and gallopers all of which have certainly working far into a second century. Together with these one can encounter on and off, a wall of death, a guess your age man, a flea circus and freak show. This later attraction, sadly absent over the last few years is a memorable edifice, a large pantecnicen with flashy bulbs with crowd pleasing slogans such as ‘ see the ….. ‘ or my favourite ‘ a piece of the Berlin Wall. Believe it or not.’ To which I sorry I cannot believe…nor can I  believe in a ‘Japanese Octopus!’ Of all things! More easy to believe are the atrocious spellings. Inside one is witness to a strange selection of aborted animal foetuses, stuffed ‘dare I say it’ fakes and antique relics from older exhibits slowly in many cases in a slow gentle decay. One always leaves it laughing but by the look of the owner I am not sure that is their desire!  On a wild goose chase Despite the obvious reason that Nottingham lay on a convenient stopping point for goose from Lincolnshire, indeed over 16,006 to 20,000, were annually driven up from the fens for sale here. The sale of geese at this time being associated with the rather convenient, for those breeders, belief that eating geese on Michaelmas was considered lucky, and helped the consumer avoid debt.  However, despite this a legend is told of an angler who was engaged in angling in the Trent, near Nottingham. In a time he felt or saw a bite that had been made. Unlike modem anglers he jerked the line high up in the air, together with the catch, which preyed to be a large pike. A wild goose happening at that time to be flying overhead espied the fish in the air, which he at once secured. Not content with the pike, he carried off with him the rod, line, and angler too. The story goes on to relate that when passing over the Nottingham Market Place, either from fatigue or other cause, the goose dropped his booty of man, fish, and tackle. Very strange indeed to relate, the hero of our story alighted very comfortably, unhurt. To celebrate this exceeding good luck a holiday was proclaimed, and there was great rejoicing among the good folks of old Nottingham.

Can’t say boo to a goose

Today the fair is rather lacking is geese, although I did spy two children with Geese hats! One tradition which every year appears to be threatened with disappearance is the Cock on a stick, chicken shaped (surely it should be a goose) sweet on a stick. The tradition goes back to the 19th century and has continued through one family. It is said that this confections came over from Italy with the Whitehead family. It’s a Goose fair tradition as is the crude jokes made about it. Why no geese? Well obviously tastes change, but perhaps one can could suggest 1752 was the result. This was when the calendar changed, and such the fair moved from 21st in September (ideal for a Michealmas goose) to the first Thursday in October (not ideal!) and perhaps this resulted in the shift from fowl to fun!

Yet this is of course unimportant for the Goose Fair remains one of the greatest of England’s travelling fairs.

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