When I went through the village this morning, somewhere around 9.15 to 9.30, people were beginning to line the main street. One chap who lives in a house that I swear was a greengrocery when we moved to Delph in the 1970s was setting up chairs in his front yard/garden. Prime position! Ladies in garden party frocks were wandering about, small children in their Sunday best were trying to wander off, and teenagers in Delph brass band uniform - smart black blazer, crisp white shirt, grey tie with the band logo - were buying fizzy drinks from the coop. A bunch of ladies, mothers of local primary school children I think, set up a table, bedecked with yellow balloons. If this were Spain they would be preparing to sell packets of sugary biscuits and dough nuts, great favourites at street events. But this is Delph and I think they were setting up to sell ducks for the duck race which will take place on Sunday.
For a pound you purchase a plastic duck, or rather, its number. Numbered plastic ducks are released into the water somewhere further up the River Tame and a barrier is set up close to the bridge in the village centre. The first duck to arrive wins its sponsor a prize. The proceeds go to the local school fund. Yesterday my five and a half year old granddaughter read for herself (proud grandma moment!) a poster for the duck race and asked what it was. After I had explained it, she said she would like to take part and, by the by, if you get to keep your plastic duck! We’ll have to see whether her mother wants to bring her here on Sunday.
Today’s first event is the Whit Walk, organised by the church. The brass band leads regular church goers, the children from the Sunday school and, of course, the Sunday school banner in procession through the village. It’s a “Procession of Witness”. Canon Jim Burns, a retired churchman apparently did a bit of research. Here’s something I found:
“Canon Burns dates their origins back to 1800 and the beginnings of the industrial revolution. Then children would be labouring for six days a week from four in the morning until six at night.On Sunday’s, the day of rest, they would relax by running wild. Gang fights, gin drinking and cock fighting were prevalent as was the lure of Whitsuntide of the Kersal races.
As a consequence, The Church of England Sunday school committee was formed, in part to keep them away from the races and decided to gather at St Ann’s Church in the centre of Manchester. Inter church rivalry intervened, the Collegiate church, now the Cathedral, taking exception to being excluded and as a compromise, it was decided that the children would assemble at St Ann’s and be led by a band to march to the Collegiate.
Thus a tradition was born. The first drew around eighteen hundred but the tradition grew quickly.By the late 1800’s over fifty thousand people with more than one hundred bands would take three and a half hours to complete.
St Ann’s could no longer contain them and the start of the procession moved to Albert Square. The Catholic Church joined, their procession would walk to Piccadilly where the bishop of Salford would bless them and people would gather along Market Street from six in the morning in order to get a good view.
Canon Burns tells of the tradition of the march.These were the working classes of the town who lived in the back to back houses and worked long hours. The Sunday schools were the only places of education and the Whitsuntide festival relieved them of the monotony of working class life.
Whit week became a festival week.The churches would organize excursions to the seaside and the countryside.In the evening dances would be organized in the church halls and on the Sunday of the Whit Week, the walks would take place around the parish and afterwards the marchers would be given cherry buns and milk.
Children would be given new clothes. After church, Canon Burns says, you would go round your relatives and show off your new outfit before partaking in the family tea. On the Monday, you would rise early and in another set of new clothes, march to Albert Square. People referred to it as the most magical of experiences.
As society changed in the second half of the twentieth century and the inner city churches began to close, the walks fell out of favour.They continue most strongly around Saddleworth.”
I remember Whit Walks in our bit of Southport when I was a child. We always had new white pleated skirts and white blouses and cardigans for the occasion and white sandals, which then were worn for “best” all summer and needed cleaning with a sort of white paste. Led by our Sunday school Rose Queen ( we didn’t have a brass band), we walked in pairs between ropes decorated with paper flowers, from our little church, St Mary’s, to the larger mother church, St. John’s, where a service was held and we sang the songs we had been practising for weeks. We don’t have any photos of the Whit Walks I took part in but somewhere in our collection of family snaps we have photos of a small Phil, dressed in his Sunday best in the same sort of “walk”.
I don’t know whether the tradition continues elsewhere but the Saddleworth villages are small enough communities for such things still to go on. As Whit Sunday was the Sunday before last, I am pretty sure Whit Friday should have been last Friday but there were other things going on nationwide and presumably our affairs were put on hold.
Our village centre is closed off to through traffic until midnight tonight. There will be Morris dancers. Later today and into the evening the brass band will travel from village to village to take part in the Brass Band Contest. Bands from elsewhere, the other villages, works’ bands from textile mills and factories all over the country, and even bands from other countries, will arrive, march through the village and play a selected tune to be judged by the officials. Awards will eventually be given.
Our village featured in the film “Brassed Off”, with a band marching over our bridge. A small claim to fame. Nearby Dobcross featured in the film “Yanks”. Another small claim to fame. Picturesque northern villages!
It is not a day to drive around Saddleworth casually. When I was working on the other side of Manchester I always had great difficulty getting through the last few miles of my homeward journey, only to find that there was nowhere close to my house to park my car. However some people do go from village to village to sample the atmosphere in different places and to hear different bands. Village centres will be packed. Lots of beer will be drunk, fish and chip shops will do a roaring trade. Even if it rains, and it often does, although this year it is forecast to be dry but blustery, a sort of carnival atmosphere keeps everyone cheerful.
We probably won’t go into the village. In years past we have met friends for a drink and a brief time of listening to a band or two. But we’ll hear it from our house, no doubt.
Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!
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