Today we went to a fair in a village by here. Jamie kept laughing at me. 'Your face' he said. 'You just don't really get it, do you?'
I don't. I guess fairs like this are more school fetes to me - but perhaps there's not much difference. It's a way for the community to come together and raise money - presumably for a school or the church. This village was a particularly lovely one in Somerset, and they shut the whole street off every year for it. Bunting in British colours adornes the space overhead, and the whole affair feels quite festive.
Jamie went straight for the coconut shy, whereby one throws balls at coconuts on stalks to try to knock them to the ground. He was very disappointed that he didn't win a coconut, even suprised - the kids in front of him managed. He did get a sweet as a consolation. It cost a pound a go. Nope, I wasn't game - I'm terrible at anything related to balls.
However, I did enjoy watching people smashing plates. Jamie's Mum enjoyed it in particular. There was no prize that I could see, except perhaps a feeling of catharism. How often do you get a chance to imagine someone you hate and aim the ball at crockery with them in mind?
We were too late for the duck race. Apparently it sold out. Jamie was disappointed it wasn't with real ducks. Of course it was with rubber ducks that are placed in the water at one end of the village and end up at the other.
There were a few stalls that sold bric a brac and books. You could also buy a lot of cake and sweets, and icecream. Chocolate brownies with strawberries, muffins and even alcohol - Butcomes beer on tap or Pimms in a glass with fruit, a British summer favourite. You could name a teddy or guess the last few numbers on a 20 quid note note to win the note. It all seemed like I'd stepped into some British television show where the camera pans around an idyllic village setting before revealling a young girl had been murdered and we were to puzzle through six episodes wondering which of the villagers had done it.
On the walk back to the car, we went by the church. Whether you're religious or not, a churchyard in England is often interesting - the gardens, the trees, the headstones, the architecture.
A gorgeous copper beech stood in the middle of the grounds, as well as a chestnut and a few other trees. Just magnificent.
I loved the climbing rose over the entrance. I've noticed many roses in England - this is the month for them - but the climbing roses are my favourite, and I think I'd quite like to plant one when I get home.
To the rear of the garden it was lovely to see that large circles of grass and flowers have been left purposefully for the insects. It's a trend to do this as it provides a haven for animals and insects, but not all churchyards do it. Jamie's Mum is warden for her local church but they don't like to 'leave a mess' in their church grounds - saying that, there isn't much room left there, whereas this one wasn't over crowded.
The lichen always fascinates me. It eats away at headstones and church walls with little discrimination, contrasting with the softer colours and textures of flowers laid on gravestones or climbing walls. We spent a while reading headstones. It strikes me that the soem of the people enjoying the fair will be buried here one day and that the dead too once enjoyed duck races and coconut shys.
Village fairs are definitely quaint and quite lovely - a snapshot of British country life. But they're definitely foreign to this Australian.
God help me when I'm forced to go to a steam fair.
With Love,
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