Clang! Clang! Clang! The smell of burning hair is getting stronger and stronger. Clang! Clang! Clang! Sparks fly and fires roar. Big men hammer red hot irons rods into the shape of horseshoes. I am watching farriers work as they have for at least two thousand years.
Sights like this are what I have enjoyed most about the Bath and West. On your left a giant Shire horse pulls a huge log, on your right sits a simulator transporting you into Jenson Button’s car flying through a chicane. Two millennia of culture, ten feet apart.
The Bath and West keeps people, and most importantly children, excited with new and amazing things but shows them ancient ways of life at the same time. Important things that should never be forgotten. This is no bucolic idyll; this is not the re-enactment of an outdated pastoral scene. These ways of life have stood the test of time. To understand the world we live in we must understand the world that came before. Ancient traditions and ways of life allow us all to see how culture has developed, they help us figure out where it might go next.
I was at the farriers’ workshop, next to the BBC Somerset bus, to talk with the lovely Emma Britton on the Morning Show. Chatting about all the things I had done at the show I was reminded how lucky I am to live in Somerset and the South West. A region crammed with many of the best views and food and drink Britain has to offer.
The South West is something to be proud of, something to climb to the rafters and shout about. Here at the Bath and West this is what they are doing. They give a platform to a valuable array of craftsmen and women, food and drink producers and countless other exhibitors. Here, people share their knowledge of the things they make and do.
I grew up here, in Shepton Mallet, but yesterday outside the Dairy Cattle Shed I talked to a couple from Derby. They had been to the show as children and their memories were instrumental in their decision to bring up their children in Somerset.
They wanted them to see and be a part of the things they remembered so fondly from their own childhoods. This is how traditions are maintained, passed on from generation to generation. I look forward to my grandchildren thrilling at the Formula One car of the future Jenson Button and to witnessing the food and agricultural innovations that I am sure will make this great event a source of wonder for countless years to come.
Friday, 11 June 2010
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
Day Three From the Bath and West
Like Justin Timberlake, I went to the Bath and West yesterday with my mother as my guest. Having two chickens of her own, she has developed a slight obsession. Birthday cards frequently sport a nice plump hen. Gifts, though not poultry related, are likely to be wrapped in chicken themed paper. The real tragedy is Sunday lunch; roast chicken has dropped completely off the radar.
On finding out that I was a judge at the show, she phoned and summoned me over. “Think of all the chickens,” she said, “and I bet you’ve got badges.” As she had expected, the chickens were magnificent, and I did have some badges. Many of the birds were so beautiful Michelangelo could have painted them. And some, my predictable favourites, were enormous. The idea that these chickens lay eggs seems totally ridiculous; surely they lay six egg omelettes, already in a pan.
The chickens all seen, we headed for the Member’s Tent, my Mum proudly sporting her purple badge. The sun was hot enough to cook with and we were desperate for hydration. There was only one thing for it, and that thing, was Pimms. Ice cold drinks in hand we sat back in the sun, put our feet up and listened to the Calypso drifting over from the bandstand.
During a short break in the music a roar of applause came up from the Grandstand. We finished our drinks and nosily headed in. Roaming the field was a phenomenally well rehearsed marching band. “That’s the Gurkhas,” my Mum said. As they got right up to where we were, two huge blokes with knives ran out and pretended to kill each other, all in time with the music. “They’re good aren’t they.” My Mum said, “I’ve seen them before.” They were very good. They were like ballet dancers. SAS ballet dancers.
Not usually one for sentiment, a tear welled in my mother’s eye. Her father, who is no longer with us, was in the army you see. She travelled the world with him, and apparently, on army bases there were always marching bands. Here at the Bath and West Show, right at the front of the Grandstand, she was reminded of him and all the things he had seen and done.
Touring the food halls yesterday, I came across a man selling duck burgers. These were firm favourites with my sister and I as children. With sentimentality running wild I took my Mum there and bought us both some. It is surely a very good sign when even back at home, the show still goes on. As I sit and write, the barbie is being lit, the sun is still shining, and the burgers will soon be on
On finding out that I was a judge at the show, she phoned and summoned me over. “Think of all the chickens,” she said, “and I bet you’ve got badges.” As she had expected, the chickens were magnificent, and I did have some badges. Many of the birds were so beautiful Michelangelo could have painted them. And some, my predictable favourites, were enormous. The idea that these chickens lay eggs seems totally ridiculous; surely they lay six egg omelettes, already in a pan.
The chickens all seen, we headed for the Member’s Tent, my Mum proudly sporting her purple badge. The sun was hot enough to cook with and we were desperate for hydration. There was only one thing for it, and that thing, was Pimms. Ice cold drinks in hand we sat back in the sun, put our feet up and listened to the Calypso drifting over from the bandstand.
During a short break in the music a roar of applause came up from the Grandstand. We finished our drinks and nosily headed in. Roaming the field was a phenomenally well rehearsed marching band. “That’s the Gurkhas,” my Mum said. As they got right up to where we were, two huge blokes with knives ran out and pretended to kill each other, all in time with the music. “They’re good aren’t they.” My Mum said, “I’ve seen them before.” They were very good. They were like ballet dancers. SAS ballet dancers.
Not usually one for sentiment, a tear welled in my mother’s eye. Her father, who is no longer with us, was in the army you see. She travelled the world with him, and apparently, on army bases there were always marching bands. Here at the Bath and West Show, right at the front of the Grandstand, she was reminded of him and all the things he had seen and done.
Touring the food halls yesterday, I came across a man selling duck burgers. These were firm favourites with my sister and I as children. With sentimentality running wild I took my Mum there and bought us both some. It is surely a very good sign when even back at home, the show still goes on. As I sit and write, the barbie is being lit, the sun is still shining, and the burgers will soon be on
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
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