As I came back from running round the village this morning I saw that there seemed to be a bit of a traffic hold-up approaching our crossroads. The cause seemed to be an articulated lorry, one of those big ones with a kind of double container/trailer. Goodness knows where he thought he was going. It would be difficult on any ordinary day but today is Whit Friday!
On Whit Friday everything gets disrupted around here. In the morning there are Whit Walks, processions from the local churches, with the Sunday School banners on display. They were already gearing up for it as I by-passed the village centre. People were heading into the village to see the procession go by and Delph Band was preparing to accompany them. I could hear the loudspeakers calling people to order.
So the lorry driver was going to have difficulty even if he just wanted to go through the centre of the village. I just hope he didn’t try a left turn just before the village centre proper, next to the library. The last time I saw a lorry try that it jack-knifed and blocked the road for several hours. That would be doubly unfortunate today as everything is being prepared for the brass band contest. From late afternoon brass bands from all over the country will be bussed in, walk through the village, play their selection, be assessed, and move on to the next village to do the same thing all over again. Imagine the chaos if we had a jack-knifed lorry in the mix!
When our children were small, the period in between the morning church processions and the late afternoon to evening bands arriving was filled with people drinking inside and outside the many pubs and hoards of children running around firing dried peas through peashooters. The peashooters suddenly appeared in the local shops in the week before Whit Friday. The rather dangerous pea-shooting appears to have disappeared in the modern safety-conscious age, which is no bad thing! I think the drinking continues. And the chippy does fine business.
According to tourist information the Saddleworth and District Whit Friday Brass Band Contests have often been described as ‘the greatest show on earth’. That’s probably true on a sunny day like today - less so on the many rainy Whit Fridays. But even then, it’s quite a spectacular event.
The earliest recorded contest was in 1884. In 2018 well over a hundred brass bands took part. On a number of occasions I have come across music teachers I have worked with at various schools and colleges accompanying their bands. My problem was always finding somewhere to park when I returned home from work as parking is always restricted so that the coaches bringing the bands into the village have unfettered access.
I didn’t grow up with brass bands. Most schools and colleges in this area have their own brass band but my school in Southport just had its orchestra. Not the same thing at all. Whit Walks were a different matter. Here’s a little Wikipedia background information:
“Whit Friday, meaning "white Friday", is the name given to the first Friday after Pentecost or Whitsun (White Sunday).
The day has a cultural significance in North West England, as the date on which the annual Whit Walks are traditionally held. By convention, the Whit Walks coincide with brass band with contests, held in Saddleworth, Oldham, Tameside and other outlying areas of Greater Manchester. Traditionally, children and their supporters from Anglican Sunday Schools 'walked' on Whit Monday, those from RC Sunday Schools on Whit Friday,and there was an element of competition in general display, dresses and banners. Outside Manchester city centre, other Sunday Schools walked on Whit Sunday and in surrounding towns on other days during (or in the weeks following) Whit Week. This period marked the height of their year's activities for many local brass bands.”
In my case, it was Whit Sunday. We girls always new white pleated skirts for Whitsun, matched with white blouses and cardigans and white summer sandals, which had to be cleaned with special whitener, the same kind of thing used for white plimsolls. The boys had to have sparkling white shirts with their best trousers (short trousers of course - this was the 1950s, after all). And we walked in pairs between ropes decorated with crepe paper flowers, behind the rose queen, selected each year from the 13 - 14 year old girls, and behind the Sunday school banner. The adults joined in the procession behind the Sunday School children.
Ours was a small church, catering for the growing housing estates in our part of town, still in a temporary building while we amassed funds for a proper church building. We were St. Mary’s, the sister church or daughter church of St, John’s, in an older part of town. We would march on Whit Sunday to join the older church procession.
My sister, one of the first to be baptised in our little church, always said she would be the first to be married there. That didn’t happen. She married in Spain. Church attendance fell away. There were never the funds to build a new permanent church and eventually the land was deconsecrated and houses built on the site. So it goes.
Life goes on. Stay safe and well, everyone!
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