Bourne Diary - November 1999
by
Rex Needle
Saturday 6th November 1999
A visit to the fair was an unforgettable experience when I was a boy in the thirties. Coloured lights lit up the night sky and steam clouds rose from the throbbing traction engines which provided the power for the gilded three-a-breast gallopers, the flying horses, the scenic ride and switchbacks, while the air pulsated with mechanical music from a Gavioli or Marenghi pipe organ, their marionette figures moving in time to the music as the cymbals clashed, the drums beat and the pipes burst forth with the rousing strains of Sousa marches, King Cotton, El Capitán and Liberty Bell. Everyone strolling between the amusements was in a relaxed, holiday mood, smiling and laughing, munching hot dogs, biting into toffee apples and sucking humbugs from the Rock King's stall, rolling pennies in the hope of winning a teddy bear, testing their skill at the hoopla or coconut shies or trying in vain to hook a watch inside a glass case with a chromium crane whose claws always slipped off once the prize was within its grasp.
The sideshows vied with each other for the unbelievable with buskers outside drumming up custom to see the biggest, the strangest and the most exotic, the fat, the bearded or the tattooed lady, the Siamese twins pickled in spirit, the world's largest rat discovered in the sewers of Mexico City, the giant Malayan python which had already killed ten men, Salome with the dance of the seven veils, the new Tom Thumb, the Chinese sword swallower and the Red Indian knife thrower who returned the admission fee of anyone brave enough to stand against his target board while he performed. All the wonders of the world could be seen for a few pennies and we believed it all.
For the more adventurous there was the crazy rolling of the cake walk, the Wall of Death with motor cycle daredevils defying the laws of gravity as they spun round on their machines inside a circular track, the deep swing of the steam yachts that left a tingle in the pit of your stomach, the rifle ranges where the targets were celluloid balls bouncing on jets of water and a moving line of tinplate ducks, the boxing booth where boys dared their dads and big brothers to have a go with some of the fearsome looking fighters limbering up on the tiny stage outside, and best of all, the dodgems or bumper cars which gave small boys the chance to drive miniature two-seater sports cars powered by overhead electricity and encircled by rubber safety guards to take the knocks as you whirled round an oval track, seeking out and trying to collide with your friends in another car.
The fair brought the glitter of entertainment from the world outside into our lives and we watched it leave with sadness, vowing to be there again next year when it arrived with new rides and fresh attractions. The few travelling funfairs that survive today are lacklustre when I remember the enchanting and spellbinding appearance of those which toured the country between the wars, shiny and new and as smart as paint, and by comparison, seem shabby and down at heel. But then perhaps they always were and I was only seeing them through the eyes of a child.
My memories from sixty years ago are prompted by the arrival in Bourne last weekend of the October fair and I have imagined the delight in the hearts of hundreds of children awaiting with eager anticipation their visit to this wonderland of sights and sounds but somehow I do not think it is the same as it was, but then as we grow older, we firmly believe that things never are as they were.
English fairs have a long and honoured tradition and have always been associated with merrymaking. In fact the name itself fair is derived from the Latin feria meaning a holiday but their object was a serious one and far removed from the swings and roundabouts we see today. Fairs meant commerce and as many were established by the grant of a Royal Charter, the right to hold them became highly prized. There is no evidence of such distinguished approval for a fair at Bourne but a Royal Charter was granted to Baldwin Wake, then Lord of the Manor, by King Edward I in 1279 enabling him hold a weekly market every Saturday and extract tolls from those who came to sell their wares. These rights passed to the Cecil family in 1564 and in recent times were acquired from the Marquess of Exeter by South Kesteven District Council who continue to hold markets on Thursdays and Saturdays. There is also evidence that until 1803 the town had a stone market cross on the west side of the market place, ten feet high with an octagonal shaft and three steps at its base, around which the goods from farms and villages were brought in for sale such as butter, cheese and poultry, and visitors travelled in from miles around to buy their produce. From this sprang the weekly markets that we know today.
Many fairs however were established in towns during the period between the Norman Conquest of 1066 and the Black Death in the 14th century but most of them were cattle fairs although sheep were sometimes involved and other trading was also carried out. There was one annual fair at Bourne in the Middle Ages but by 1816 the number had risen to three, held on the Thursday nearest to March 7th, May 6th and October 29th and by the end of the century there were four, held similarly on April 7th, May 6th, September 30th and October 29th. People came from long distances to attend, bringing a bustle of activity to a small community that was absent at normal times, and the shops clustered around the market place welcomed the additional business. Performers arrived to entertain visitors and to add to the revelries while the inns and alehouses were filled to overflowing.
The 18th century brought about changes in the nature of fairs and as the distribution of goods from manufacturers to the shops became more efficient, there was less trading as the years progressed and more emphasis on amusements such as peepshows, rope walkers, freak shows and the first of the rides we know today, swing boats, merry-go-rounds and the big wheel, which in the absence of electricity, depended on the treadmill and crank for power. They eventually degenerated into purely pleasure fairs and it was the travelling showmen who kept them alive, pursuing a nomadic way of life on the fringes of society but the place they once occupied in our folk heritage has been eroded by the advent of the cinema, increased mobility, holidays abroad, a wide variety of recreations and now television and so their arrival in town is no longer the grand event it once was. Consequently, our attitude towards the travelling fair varies from indifference to thinly veiled hostility.
Itinerant showmen have been coming to Bourne for centuries and the present fair operators, Roger Tuby and Sons, have been involved with travelling fairs since 1853. Their October engagement is part of a hectic schedule that lasts from February to the last week in December and covers a 100-mile radius from their home base at Doncaster in Yorkshire. Roger Tuby's great grandfather was Alderman George Thomas Tuby who became one of the most prominent fairground proprietors in the country. He served for more than thirty years on Doncaster Borough Council and was mayor from 1921-22. Fairs carrying the Tuby banner now appear in Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire and Lincolnshire and for the past twenty-six years they have made regular appearances in Bourne.
Today, the October fair is the only one left in Bourne but it clings on precariously. The fair is noisy, it creates litter and attracts an unruly element and there are invariably cases of rowdy behaviour and vandalism. Eighty parking places are lost for five days, access to West Street, North Street and Crown Walk is impeded by showmen's trucks and caravans, electric power cables strewn over the floor create an obstacle course for the unwary while the manic hunt for somewhere to leave the car deters many shoppers who flee to Stamford, Spalding and Peterborough for their household wants instead.
The showmen too have their own problems with rising running costs, expensive new rides to keep pace with changing fashion and health and safety rules and regulations that must constantly be addressed.
The travelling fair has for centuries held an affectionate place in our history, a romance of the road, of moving from town to town and spreading pleasure and enjoyment in its wake, but such imagery of a living, breathing example of the mediaeval past is no longer valid and our showmen are now businessmen driving smart cars and living in luxury caravans while their rides are expensive and often uncomfortable and it is therefore difficult to find much sympathy with them when we are so inconvenienced.
We must now ask ourselves whether the annual fair has become an anachronism, a tradition rooted in the past but totally out of keeping with the tempo of life in Bourne today. No one suggests that the sheep fairs once held in the town centre should have continued. They have long been driven out by the changing times and an increasing use of the motor car. Even the weekly market has been moved off the streets for the past decade in the interests of road safety and the last circus to visit fifteen years ago set up its big top in a field at the far end of Mill Drove and so we cannot plead that our age-old customs are sacrosanct. Progress is inevitable and there will be casualties.
The visual textures of our travelling fairs, mostly remembered from childhood, fade as the years pass but there will always be those who lament their changing face and wallow in the nostalgia of these attractions as they were but if the appeal of the candy floss and cake walk are as magical as they insist, then they will be just as appealing from a meadow on the outskirts as they are on a cramped and awkward site on a valuable and much-needed car park in the middle of a busy market town. Perhaps the time has come for our annual fair to be moved. Oh for the eyes of a child again for we would never see the problems that this transitory but bewitching world creates.
Saturday 13th November 1999
A visit to the village church at Pickworth is to follow in the footsteps of those who love our countryside and our heritage because this building is a time capsule of religious belief in a small rural community that has remained virtually unchanged over the centuries. The flagstones have been worn uneven by generations of worshippers and the ancient timbers of the pews, the pulpit and communion rail smoothed by the touch of untold hands for this is a living church, a building that has been a pivotal force in the existence of those people who have inhabited this countryside since it was built.
They had a blind and primitive belief, a simple confrontation between good and evil, and each Sunday their parson exhorted them from the pulpit to lead an exemplary life or boil in the cauldron of God's wrath. Fear of Satan was much in evidence and a door was incorporated in the wall on the north side of the church which was left open at baptisms in order that the evil spirit could loose itself in the shadows. It has now been blocked off to keep out the cold and stop the draughts.
There have been alterations and additions to the building over the centuries but the very atmosphere is one of an enduring faith and a few moments of quiet contemplation in an empty church enables one conjure up the ghosts from the past when life was harder, though less hurried, and piety was a necessary part of the daily round.
St Andrew's Church stands in the unfrequented stone belt of South Lincolnshire, nine miles north west of Bourne, and was largely rebuilt, apart from the tower, about 1358 by the Pickworth family and ten years later the Black Death had swept away one third of the population, including most of the elderly. The church is built almost entirely in the Decorated style of English Gothic architecture of the 13th and 14th centuries, with a broached spire and an unrestored interior of old pews and a plain 13th century font, whilst an ancient sedilia and a piscina with carved leaves and ugly heads are still in evidence. The south door has been there for 600 years and its decorative ironwork forms the letter C above and below in honour of St Clement the Martyr (100 A D), the patron saint of the smith. There is a mediaeval rood screen of the most delicate workmanship, a two-decker pulpit still with its hour glass stand from 1693, altar rails dated 1767 and important wall paintings from the 14th century.
The rood screen under the chancel arch is 600 years old and by 1964 it was in a very poor condition with the lower section collapsing and parts of the decoration missing but it was restored with consummate skill by Mr J H Palin who reproduced the missing coving, destroyed in 1566, redecorated parts hidden by unwanted coats of varnish and replaced the decaying beam on which the screen rested. Like the 14th century woodcarver who created this work, Mr Palin was left-handed and he was later honoured for his fine craftsmanship with an award from the Architects' Association.
The figure of an early 15th century headless female saint still stands on its corbel and there are beautifully furnished chapels. Above all, there are the wall paintings and they are really what matters at Pickworth but as so often in England they are far too badly preserved to be enjoyed. The murals were originally painted circa 1380 but were partly obscured during re-roofing a century later and covered by white paint circa 1540. They were re-discovered during the Second World War when a bomb fell near the church and displaced large chunks of the whitewash. Mr E Clive Rouse set to work and by carefully chipping away the plaster, gradually uncovered the paintings which were finally revealed in all their glory when his work was completed in 1950, depicting scenes from the Bible, the lives of the saints and examples of the moralities. If one wants to enjoy or indeed to study them, one must look at reproductions and fortunately the church provides a clear broadsheet guide for visitors. Doom, or the Last Judgement, is over the chancel arch depicting more than sixty figures and on the nave south wall three figures are sizzling in that very cauldron but opposite is first the ascending Christ, then the Three Quick and the Three Dead, then the friendly figure of St Christopher while one of the north arcade spandrels contains another picture showing the Weighing of Souls. They are all precious as examples of 14th century art and devotion.
This church is a favourite of Prince Charles and he came here to see the wall paintings in 1971 while learning to fly at nearby R A F Cranwell but found it locked although he returned in 1988 when his visit had a more successful outcome. If anyone wishes to make the pilgrimage to Pickworth, they will find their visit well worthwhile and the key to the church is now available from the house opposite.
The new Bourne Town Guide for the Millennium has been delivered to homes and businesses around the town in the past few days, a 54-page glossy booklet which has the official seal of approval of the town council. Seven thousand copies have been printed and it is will also be available in the public library.
Much of it is advertising, forty pages no less, but then those homes and businesses that receive it are not being asked to pay. This mass of trade material has therefore restricted the space for information about our town and so a lot has been left out, including this web site although one of our articles was reproduced without permission.
There are nine photographs but strangely no views of our many attractive buildings including Bourne Abbey, the Red Hall, Baldock's Mill and the Town Hall, and the volunteers currently toiling to establish new amenities for the town such as the Wake House Project and the Heritage Centre will be disappointed to find no mention of their endeavours. Our twinning link with France has been similarly ignored. Whatever will Monsieur le Maire of Doudeville think when he finds a total absence of the entente cordial in the pages of Bourne's official town guide?
The most glaring omission is the impending Elsea Park development over 325 acres to the south of Bourne that will create 2,000 new homes in the next fifteen years, double the existing population and change the face of our town forever. One of our councillors has described this project as the biggest happening in Bourne since the Norman invasion and although this may be a flight of fancy, it is a momentous occurrence and should have been given some prominence in a guide that will be read by newcomers in years to come
Five famous people from the past are briefly mentioned, Robert Manning, William Cecil, Charles Worth, Raymond Mays and of course Hereward the Wake. The popular legend that he was born here, fought the Normans and met his death in Bourne Woods, is repeated yet again although the tale is a false one and perpetuated only by publications such as this that repeat past fallacies.
Fortunately this booklet is free and has been produced without money from public funds and it does give a glimpse of our town to those who do not know it well and so why complain? I am sure that many copies will come to an ignominious end in the waste paper bin along with the other advertising material that cascades through our letter boxes but others will find their way on to our library shelves, both public and private, and this is the problem. Readers in years to come will select this slim volume and open its pages and believe everything they read therein, especially as it has the official seal of approval from our town council. This is nothing new and that is why we still believe in Hereward the Wake. However, you may read the true story of our folk hero in Bourne Focus.
The Stamford Official Guide is currently available in the shops and is the same size and format as that under review but the town council and the publishers responsible for this booklet have achieved a far more successful mix of advertising and editorial content. It is a model of the genre containing a wealth of information about the locality with many fine photographs, both in colour and black and white, maps, line drawings and a town trail. I would suggest that the town council and the publishers take a close look at this if they are contemplating any further editions of the Bourne Town Guide in the future.
[Bourne Town Guide for the Millennium is published by Space Watch (U K) Ltd, 17a West Street, Bourne, Lincs PE10 9NB, price £2.50 where bought plus pp if despatched.]
Saturday 20th November 1999
Whenever we think of modern art it is difficult not to conjure up the ludicrous creations of Damien Hirst and Gilbert and George but those of us who still cling to the tradition of representational images such as those produced by Goya, Constable, Rembrandt and Wright of Derby, look for something that is immediately understood and appreciated whenever we encounter something new.
If you want to see landscapes, sunsets and sea at their most brilliant look at Joseph Mallord Turner and for views of Venice and London go to Antonio Canaletto. The Dutch school gives us still life of fruit and flowers and are the most exquisite ever painted while a host of English artists during the 19th century left a legacy of canvasses that are unrivalled in their capture of the social history of this nation during Victorian times. In sculpture, we have Michelangelo's David as a symbol of classical perfection while Rodin gave us food for thought with Le Penseur and, closer to home, Landseer left us his lions in Trafalgar Square, all instantly recognisable for what they represent without resorting to a guide book. Art should be inspirational and, more importantly, recognisable, and anything that needs a lengthy explanation is lost.
I have been looking at new sculptures that have appeared recently at two of our local schools, and I use the word sculpture advisedly. Both look reasonably good. Neither is out of place and therefore the criterion for public display has been met. But whether they are food for the soul is another matter. In each case I had to read the small print, as it were, to find out what they were all about and I found this, as a viewer of the finished works, an imposition, even an impertinence on the part of the artists.
The first is at the Deepings School near Market Deeping, a metal structure almost fifteen feet high and called The Hollow Tree, a symbolic representation of the tree of life and knowledge. It is the work of a Newcastle-based artist William Pym who was resident at the school for three days this year to work with pupils and improve their art work and many of their ideas went into the design. It is made from steel plate and features a trunk with branches and leaves and etched copper cut-outs of fruit that hang between the branches to represent the various aspects of life. The work stands in a prominent position in front of the school and is so large that it needed planning permission and the surrounding area is now being landscaped to complement the site.
The ceramic relief mural that has been erected on the front wall of Bourne Grammar School in South Road is quite different and shows a female head with four strands of hair flowing backwards behind it and depicting aspects of the town. Artist Jane Ashdown from Peterborough worked on it with sixteen students for nine months. It is almost twelve feet long and mounted on a brick panel of the school wall at first floor level and consists of more than 130 pieces of high fired and glazed ceramics. The students did their own research and generated their own ideas and themes and then made clay sections which were put together by the artist and coloured glazes were applied. The four strands of hair represent the school, the town, our local river the Bourne Eau and the nearby woods.
Graham Underhill, the school's head of art, said that the artist had skilfully welded together the themes, giving an ingenious unity to the work: "A giant, dynamic, profile head looks to the past, to the future and towards the centre of Bourne. From the head, four strands stream backwards carrying the themes of the school, town, local river and nearby woodland, all expressed in relief images modelled in clay by the students and united with coloured glazes applied by the artist. The work thus has meaning for the school and the wider community at the turn of the millennium. The durability of the materials and the time honoured processes used reflect the mood of continuity, creating an appropriate memorial to this pivotal moment."
Should a work of art really need all of this verbiage before we can appreciate it? If artists cannot make a statement without resorting to lengthy explanations about the whys and wherefores of their work then there is little point in creating it in the first place and even less reason for putting it on display. I am therefore asking for your views and would appreciate any comments on these two works that you may have and whether these they are worthy of their prominence. Please leave your opinions in the Bourne Forum.
Autumn is a golden month and nowhere are its colours more pronounced than in Bourne Woods which has become a riot of russet shades, of reds, golds and browns. The footpaths here are among our favourites and we walk them often, still finding hidden tracks and secret glades even after sixteen years of visiting. Fallen leaves underfoot make the going soft and mushy and the dank smell of the season is one of mushroom and fungus and fresh hoof marks in muddy places indicate that deer have passed this way a short time before.
Wet days prolong the autumn tints but the westerly gales for which November is renowned will soon sweep through these acres and strip the trees of the last vestiges of their colourful foliage and the woods will settle down for winter. Bird movement is already on the decline and most of our summer visitors have departed for warmer southern climes but as autumn advances, those birds that are left become more gregarious, moving together in great flocks that sweep up and down the fields and hedges that fringe the woods like shoals of fish, as though guided by one mind.
It seems that a great silence is about the descend on our woods and certainly some of its inhabitants are already preparing to hibernate although there will still be life to be seen even in the depths of winter because few animals disappear completely. But in the little that is left of autumn, we can still enjoy these ripe and mellow days when grey squirrels can be seen scavenging for late acorns to add to their winter store and performing their dizzy acrobatics among the high branches of the larches or hear the robin from the bushes, chirping a little as it makes short flights from twig to twig, watching as you pass by in case you are tempted to invade its territory.
It is now dark when we finish our walks in the late afternoon, the street lights are on as we return home and we see families gathering for the evening through uncurtained windows. Our autumn will soon give way to winter and these golden woodland days will be gone for another year.
Saturday 27th November 1999
The hedgerows in the countryside are among the most threatened features of our environment. They are disappearing at an alarming rate because they are little more than a hindrance to the arable farmer and so in cereal growing areas such as South Lincolnshire they are under severe attack from agricultural mechanisation and misguided methods of management. Those that remain are in many cases being vandalised by the farmers who are supposed to care for them in their role as guardians of the countryside and the main culprit is the flail cutter which destroys wild life and leaves in its wake a trail of shattered stems.
The flail cutter consists of a revolving chain-like structure housed inside a metal cowl and mounted on a tractor. The rotation of the flails chips and chews unwanted growth on hedges but leaves them in a most untidy and unsightly state and the site looking like a plant battlefield. The maintenance of hedges is a costly business and regarded by many farmers as a financial liability and an unproductive use of labour and so this machine is used as a faster and cheaper alternative. The timing of the cutting operation is crucial and usually takes place in midsummer (July) or in autumn (October) but whichever time is chosen, the long-term damage to the vegetation and animal life is unavoidable and can be clearly seen.
The word hedge is of Anglo-Saxon origin and its derivation is a little complicated because there are three words that give rise to our modern usage. Haeg, meaning hurdle, hecg referring to a territorial boundary, either dead or planted, and hega, a living or border boundary. Hecg has given rise to our modern hedge, hega is the origin of the modern haw as in hawthorn while haeg is the basis for hay, as in the numerous place names such as Hayling. It is sometimes said that the word hedgerow referred at one time to two hedges with a track running between them but that is a usage that does not apply today. There also appears no good reason for distinguishing between hedge and hedgerow which can be regarded as synonymous and are used as alternatives.
Most of the hedges in England date from the period of the Enclosure Acts passed mainly between 1720 and 1840 when wages were low and hedge laying was a cheap alternative to fencing but some are much older and represent Saxon land boundaries while others are the last remaining pieces of centuries old woodland. Their decline is however evident. In 1993 it was estimated that about 330,000 miles of hedgerow remained in Britain but was reducing at the rate of 5% a year due to removal and neglect and now stands at 280,000 miles.
Hedges traditionally served two purposes, as a barrier to the movement of livestock and as a means of marking out the boundaries of a property, and from prehistoric times until the end of the Saxon period in the late 9th century, farmers were faced with the additional problem of protecting their livestock from wild animals, particularly wolves. Today, whether our hedges are ancient or modern, they are important not just for bio-diversity but also for farming, landscape, cultural and archaeological reasons. They also have a rich ecology, especially those formed by hawthorn and colonised over the years by herbs, shrubs and trees that have become important habitats for the refugees from cultivated fields, a sanctuary for birds and mammals that would otherwise be bereft of cover. They are especially important for butterflies and moths, farmland birds, bats and dormice. Indeed, hedgerows are the most significant wildlife habitat over large areas of lowland and are an essential haven for a great many woodland and farmland plants and animals. Over 600 plant species, 1,500 insects, 65 birds and 20 mammals have been recorded at some time living or feeding in hedgerows. The flail cutter is their worst enemy because there will inevitably be loss of life in whatever season it is used.
Last year, a farmer started flail cutting the hedge alongside his field on the corner of Mill Drove and the Dyke road on the southern edge of Bourne during May. It had been full of plants of all varieties with a predominance of hawthorn in full blossom but all that was left along one side was a row of stumps about three feet high and a roadside verge churned into mud by the machinery. Passers-by were aghast at the damage that had been caused during the height of the nesting season but fortunately the work was halted by a protest from nature lovers who paraded along the road with signs proclaiming "Protect the countryside from the farmers" because the operation was undoubtedly killing off song birds and their fledglings sheltering in its dense branches.
Frogs, rabbits, mice, voles, shrews and a multitude of insects are also at risk and although fewer are in danger in the autumn and winter, there will always be a high mortality rate among these creatures as their habitat is decimated in such an abominable way. The hedgerow around this field has been flail cut again this year but this time in September and there is little doubt that the loss of life in this tiny part of nature's kingdom was considerable while the cracked and crushed branches, indiscriminately smashed and split by this powerful machine, may take many years to recover and the present appearance of the hedgerow bears witness to this annual act of vandalism.
Hedgerows further west along Mill Drove have already been denuded in recent years by the Arnhem Way and Mountbatten Way residential developments which opened in June 1996 when roads were named after military places and personalities from the Second World War and although this is a most worthy honour, it would have been some recompense had these names remembered the songbirds and plants that the new streets displaced and which gave such delight to those of us who walked this way. The hedges along both sides of the road at this point for a distance of one hundred yards were once alive with yellowhammers in spring and summer but they were ripped out to make way for the new homes and the birds disappeared with them.
New legislation is now in force to protect important hedgerows in the countryside by controlling their grubbing out through a system of notification. The regulations have been introduced in a bid to halt the large amount of hedgerow removal over the last thirty years and although this has slowed down to 2,200 miles a year throughout the country, it is still cause for concern. In practice, this means that landowners must notify the local planning authority if they want to grub out a hedge with a maximum penalty of £5,000 for unauthorised removal. All of this is very worthy but difficult to monitor and it also ignores the problem of the flail cutter that is causing so much damage to the hedges that remain. While this terrible machine is allowed to operate, our wildlife which looks to the hedgerow as a habitat will remain at risk.
Return to Monthly entries