No matter how hard up we were, (and we always were) my Mum always managed to scrape together the money for tickets for the two of us to the Devon County Show. She would have loved to have her own smallholding. When I was about four, she returned jubilant from an evening class, declaring to Dad and I that she had won her certificate in sheep shearing. This may seem odd when taken in context - we were poor, living on benefits, on a council estate and my mum had rheumatoid arthritis at an early age, in her thirties. But somehow I think she had the faith and optimism to believe that one day, somehow, we might have a few chickens, grow veg and what-not. As is so trendy nowadays.
So from a very young age, I was taken to the livestock market at Newton Abbot, to the auction ring, (and once a pig farm) - and the pair of us loved it. We used to play a 'let's pretend 'game where I was the last lamb at market and no-one wanted me, but she came along and bought me.
So the Devon County Show was our big day out, and we went for a few years, until I was eleven and she was too ill to take me. I did go instead that year with a relative, but it wasn't the same without her. And as she died soon after, she never quite realised that rather over-hopeful dream. I haven't been to one since, although I have inherited her dream. So when Andy returned from his jolly camping in Wales, he realised I was a little burned out from long days in the studio. And he took me to the Malvern Three Counties Show.
It was Heaven. I've gone a bit feral living in the country, and even going to a small town I feel ill at ease. But here I was completely at home. The smells, the atmosphere, the noises - all combined to remind me of those heady days out with my mother, and briefly I was seven years old again. I wanted to look at everything, and over the next six hours, we pretty much did. We saw sheep shearing -
Farriers in competition, such a primitive sight; the roaring furnaces, sweating bodies, shifting horses and always the constant 'chink-chink' of iron being hammered into shape
There were birds of prey -
Owls a-plenty -
Traction engines, vintage vans and vintage tractors -
But for me, the very best part was the livestock section. The Malvern ground is purpose built for shows, and it has a long block of halls for animals. The musty aromas of warm farm animals, straw and muck was like sniffing a long forgotten perfume, and for a while the feelings and memories were so intense I was overwhelmed. Then I got my camera out and started taking a gazillion shots of cattle, sheep, and every living creature I could get within shot of. There was one moment when I was taking a close shot of a cow's behind, and some sixth sense made me skip to one side, just as it squirted liquid manure directly at me, causing much hilarity amid the farmers and Andy.
With my new needle felting habit, the sheep had an added interest for me, and I found myself wondering if you could actually sculpt directly onto the sheep itself, (without stabbing it of course). Would it be 'Art' or Craft?
Oh, and the hens and roosters! I was in a dizzy whirl of joy. For a few brief months my mother DID have a modest flock of her own chickens, but circumstances in the form of a vindictive neighbour conspired to deprive her of this small pleasure. I loved feeding the chickens, taking warm, steaming mash up to the coop on cold nights. When Mum sadly had to give them up, it became yet another childhood vow that one day - one day - I would have chickens of my own. This is impossible just now, as we only rent. So I contented myself with taking yet more photos, grumbling with a fellow amateur photographer that the bars of the cages made for poor shots.
There were even champion eggs -
and a magnificent first prize winning goose -
Outside, there was judging going on in the show ring. Smart sheep and their equally smart shepherds -
and the biggest bull we ever did see, a Devon Red, whose chest was so deep you could hear his bellows echoing inside him like a bass drum -
and the biggest bull we ever did see, a Devon Red, whose chest was so deep you could hear his bellows echoing inside him like a bass drum -
...later in the champions parade, having won his section, he got a tad tetchy, and his poor herdsman was pulled about a bit. He was taken away for a bit of quiet time.
The Malvern Hills loomed quietly in the background, hugging damp rainclouds round their peaks. I ate an ostrich pasty and bought some sausages for supper. Andy's eyes began to glaze over and he was starting to look like a temperamental bull himself. But before he could start pawing the ground, we noticed the brewery drays, pulled by teams of magnificent heavy horses, and we watched these beauties, moist eyed, as they clattered and clumped with unlikely grace.
Andy fell in love with the Suffolk Punches -
And as even I reluctantly admitted that it might just be time to find the bike and head home for tea, we took a last look at the pig judging - Andy has a yen to keep pigs, so it was not difficult to persuade him to linger.
It was supposed to be a day away from work for me, but as we pootled home, my head spinning with new ideas for an ark load of felt farm animals, I realised that my visually-obsessive brain had been soaking up images like a great sponge; I had not only had fun, but was filled with fresh inspiration and impetus. The dream of a small holding didn't happen for my mother. But I am determined it will happen for us, somehow. Someday.
IF THE READER HAS NOT FALLEN ASLEEP AND IS EVEN EAGER FOR MORE COUNTRY SHOW PICS, THE WHOLE HUMUNGOUS COLLECTION CAN BE FOUND HERE, OR IN THE LINKED SECTIONS ON THE SELECTED BLOG PHOTOS.
