Thurning Feast is A pagan feast to be proud of

Who in their wisdom ruffled the fairies frilly undergarments?

Who in their right mind dared to clip her wings and rain on her parade?

Who would want to be so cruel? Who would not want to let the beauty that is held within out to let it shine for the entire world to see?

Life that’s who!!!!

Don’t you just love life??

Her frilly undergarments were ruffled by the constant change of family life. Of arrangements never adhered to and others needs put before the fairies. Well it’s her own fault as she is a very good facilitator. I fear the crumpled up silk may never recover to its former glory the lace has no chance.  

Her wings were clipped by the radiator bottle springing a leak that turned into a waterfall with no movement allowed at all!!! So no Thurning Feast for this little fairy.

She will just have to stay at home and dream of Pimm’s, paella and friends

Last Year I stood up and Did a little Tilly Moment and Here it is in Part

Now that I live in Suffolk, I have to cross the fens to get here and as I bypass through Cambridge I take a beep breathe of the rich peat earth which fills my senses and awakens the excitement of my youth. Last year Thurning feast fell on the first weekend of the school holiday, so I was in a relaxed and open to the holiday spirit. The excitement of youth and the holiday spirit can be a lethal combination.

When I got here, I came through the front of the village hall entrance and as I passed from bear hug to bear hug with kisses of greeting a strewn in my wake. My eyes feasted on the sights and the sounds of my childhood. The aromas of the home grown and cooked food took me back to its pagan feast roots. The old fashioned cake stall with a rustic twist, beckoned me to stay for a while. With carpet and welsh dressers to make you feel as if you have just popped into visit friends for a chat. But meeting and greeting didn’t allow me time to linger and as I finally came up to the line of twenty different barrels of brewed hops their inviting perfumes danced tantalising around me; akin to a snake out of a charmer’s basket I was determined to partake in the sweet nectar. I breathed deeply in so the hypnotic essence of honey, wheat and elder flower took over my senses and left me dishevelled with choice.  Before I could make my decision I met my Uncle Derek’s eyes and I knew that the evening was going to take a Thurning twist.

‘Great Tina, just the person I wanted to see, the drums in the shed’ his enthusiasm was undeniable. A drum, whoops a daisy I had forgotten to warn my son about the drum. Well to be fair nothing had been definite, no rehearsals organised and no songs mentioned so I thought that the Skiffle Band idea had been put on hold for another year. How’s so ever Axl (my son) does take his music a little too seriously and his initiation onto the ‘Derek way of things was well over due I thought so pushed him forward to partake in the merriment.

We dually went off to the shed to find the one and a half drum sticks and the snare drum that were the only equipment we could salvage. We improvised with a pair of castanets for symbols and a tambourine, not sure what to do with the tambourine but best take it I thought; I had to laugh, as Axl looked at me as though the world had suddenly just gone mad. His eyes finally took shape again during the rehearsal. As they practiced packed into a little shed like sardines in a tin, behind the stage, the band; which consisted of two guitars (one played by Uncle Derek), violin, trumpet, saxophone, drum with castanets and tambourine, and builders base; made up from a tea chest with a beautifully crafted hole that had a gramophone flute to magnify its sound, a plank of wood for the neck holding the guitar strings like a proper base, with a trowel on top expertly played by Jason Capp who is a builder of some repute.

The singer was exceptional, holding them all together well. As they got to know each other and tune their instruments to perfection, I took a cup of beer and I do mean a tea cup, from the barrel that had been laid on for the entertainers. Well I reasoned it’s not easy watching your child go out to perform on stage in-front of a large crowed so I had to steady my nerves.

I had to smile as I sipped and took in the construction of the stage, with a mound of earth to give the stage its desired height, while scaffold poles and planks made the stage itself. Old curtains (which I’m sure had been taken from windows near and far) with odd bits of heavy material, giving a fine and rustic elegance to the back drop. It was then, that I felt my uncle’s strong hand in the middle of my back, propelling me up to the stage. ‘Now Tina, you know the words’ and I knew it didn’t matter if I did or not, I was now the newest recruit in the just formed skiffle band. I didn’t put up a fight; after all I had just put my son forward for the experience telling him to live life to the full and stop taking himself too seriously.

But unfortunately the frustrated singer in me was unleashed; I hasten to add without a mike- (though my daughter recons that I could still be heard and it was embarrassing) and my son and I in public for the first time gave it our all. Each one of us on that stage, enjoying the experience possibly more than the now dancing and raving crowed. We ‘strutted our stuff’ to songs like ‘Great Balls of fire’ and ‘Jail House Rock’. Sadly, and I hope to the crowds disappointment, it all came to an end too soon.

As the saxophonist came off the stage, he uttered ‘Traumatised’ with a grin as wide as Niagara Falls and a spring in his step. We looked at each other, my son and I, we both understood what he meant. We also knew we would all be back to do it again next year, if they would have us, as we had been captured by the Derek spirit and the ‘Thurning Feat Skiffle Band ‘bug.