Still a winner - Shakespeare and me

Okay, so I ended up with a dismal showing in the Village Show Fruit, Flower & Veg competition. :(
I did not even place, in a single category. Not one out of four! Oh, well, heigh-ho, there's always next year.

And, it appears that poor ol' Will Shakespeare is being given a bit of a bashing these days too, with the release of yet another (YAWN!) conspiracy theory that "Shakespeare wasn't Shakespeare". I mean, really, why don't these people take up knitting or something! Find a hobby, get a life!

Thankfully, all else seems rosy in Shakespeareland, and my stock as a scholar of said Bard seems to finally (FINALLY, FINALLY!) be on the rise. As I type, I am dashing off to catch a train to London for one of three (!!) upcoming Shakespeare-centred job interviews.

More later, wish me luck!

Everything's coming up Roses

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” – Romeo & Juliet

If procrastination were an art form, my level of genius would rival Mozart. These days, my preferred method of whiling away an hour or two is that most serious, most wonderful, and most British form of procrastination of them all: Gardening.

Of course, pride of place in any English garden belongs irrefutably to the Rose. And, at the moment it seems I do very little else beyond fretting about my roses. With good reason – I am aiming to win a ribbon in this year’s Village Show Flower competition. I was too timid to enter last year, fearing that a novice such as myself would stand no chance in the fray. More fool me, as the blooms in last season’s yield were profuse and of such lovely quality they earned even the praise of my chum and rose expert, Paul Smith, at Charlecote Park.

That lesson being learned, I ‘screwed my courage to the sticking place’, and was determined not to allow the floral opportunity to elude me twice. I tested the waters by entering an arrangement in this year’s W.I. Corsage Competition. The Corsage competition, though smaller in scale than the Village Show, is just as friendly and just as fierce. Perhaps, even a little more so as the coveted Barford W.I. Rose Bowl is at stake. The Rose Bowl remains in the possession of the winner for 12 months - a sterling reminder of the victor’s horticultural achievement. I yelped with glee when I was declared this year’s winner, feeling truly a champion amongst champions.

After such a remarkable success, I felt ready for an even bigger challenge: the Barford Village Show Flower, Fruit, and Vegetable Competition. I was ready, but what about the roses? To my utter dismay, the darling buds of May, June and July had all disappeared without a trace by early August. The prolific flourishes of last year, had given way to a meagre struggle for any colour at all.

I was beside myself, but not alone. Outside the Village Shop, I chanced upon my friend Kate, a stalwart of the annual Flower, Fruit and Veg competition. She and husband, Ian, were off to Scotland, she said. “But, you’ll miss the Village Show!” I gasped in disbelief. She looked forlorn, and replied sadly: “Nothing’s growing like it should.” I knew exactly how she felt. My own holiday plans (or lack of them) have been shaped and altered by many things, but I can honestly say, that roses have never been one of them. Until now.

Since ancient times, roses have enthralled poets and writers (there are at least seventy references to roses in Shakespeare’s works), as well as artists, monarchs, apothecaries, lovers, and, of course, gardeners. The queen of flowers and national emblem of England, roses are as temperamental as they are beautiful. When they are ‘happy’, all is right in the world, and they offer an abundance of flower and fragrance; when they are ‘discontented’ there seems no remedy, and their bare, yellowy, spiky and skeletal appearance seems a harbinger of impending doom. Without a doubt there are few joys more sublime than that of being the possessor and cultivator of a healthy, ‘happy’ rose.

Noting of the hazards of the invasive Wickwar rose (Rosa ‘Wickwar’), Sir Roy Strong once admonished gardeners to “Beware the Rose that will Engulf your Garden”, I think he may have gone one better, and offered would-be green-thumbers more apt advice: “Beware the Rose that will Engulf your Life”!

My (non) Award-winning Rose

I'm very proud of my first English roses, not least that I managed not to kill them!

Had I been more prepared, this is the rose I would have submitted to the Village Show Flower competition.

...oh well, there's always 2014...

Simple pleasures, or, the 'Barford Century'

“What century are you living in?” – a blog observer jested recently.

To be sure, there are times when I am uncertain myself, and find myself pondering, rather delightfully and blissfully, this self-same question. Perhaps, the best and most accurate answer is: “A kinder and gentler one than the present.”

In so many ways, my life in Barford does seem to be caught within a time warp. My experiences here are light years from the life I led not so long ago in New York City. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

“Visit the sunny village of Barford where you can experience a little taste of the country.”

So read the advertisement for the Barford Village Show. And the advert did not lie! The Village Show is a massive undertaking that occurs here on the August Bank Holiday weekend, but only happens every four years - such is the magnitude of its scale and scope.

This year was our first experience of the Village Show. And, the DEB and I were both staggered and amazed by the level of commitment, drive, energy, enthusiasm and creativity displayed and required by everyone involved.

The village truly came together and pulled off quite a remarkable show. “This is just one of those things that we do very, very well.” So said my fellow WI-er, June. And, by golly she was right!

Visitors to our tiny corner of Warwickshire were treated to an array of funny scarecrows; home-made cakes and pies; skits and sketches; performances on the village green; strolling musicians; characters in costume; allotment tours; competitions for Best Vegetables, Flowers & Painted Stones; “Guess the weight of the Piglet” contest; a series of indoor and outdoor entertainments; pony rides; Hog Roasts; BBQs; art exhibits; antique stalls; local produce sales; and two historical exhibitions of wedding dresses and drama group costumes. There were also special church services, and prize-winning, guest bell-ringers from across the County ringing the church bells over the course of two full days.

The DEB and I contributed – exhausted though we were, having just returned the day before, from our two-week holiday – to the Village Show efforts of the Drama Group, Church and WI.

On Sunday, I served on the altar at the 8:00 am service – in my new alb, which FINALLY arrived!! This meant being up, awake, alert and at the church by half 7. (Oy vey.) Thank goodness, it’s just across the road.

In the afternoon, we both performed at a matinee of “Songs and Verses” the proceeds of which (over £200, I think) went to the Warwickshire and Northamptonshire Air Ambulance. The DEB sang and played two numbers on his guitar (he has such a beautiful voice *SIGH*).

I panicked for 24 hours, and fretted about what to do and in the end, realised it’s always best to stick with what you know. So – I donned one of the Drama Group’s Elizabethan costumes (with a gorgeous hat, of course!) and performed a selection of Shakespeare sonnets. After that, a stroll about the Village as a “costumed character.”

The highlight of the Village Show for me was the “Wedding Dress” exhibition sponsored by Barford WI. I mean, who doesn’t love wedding dresses? But, more importantly, our display of wedding dresses also provided a very unique illustration of social and cultural history in the live of the Village.

It was also just really fascinating to see how each dress expressed the style, persona and personality of the owner. Sue Tompkins’ early 1990s ensemble – complete with a cotton dress in dark green floral pattern ; and a pair of large, black, leather Dr. Martens boots – was the real show stopper of the exhibition!

This was one of those truly lovely WI moments, as we all gathered on Saturday, armed with our boxes, treasures, pictures and memories. Talk of how times and styles have changed – or not. And how society has changed.

For example, I recall one woman musing as she regarded another’s elaborate gown: “How lovely. Yes, I couldn’t wear a dress like that, ours was a second marriage in the 1970s.” Times have changed for the better, in some ways at least. And of course, it was just nice to be able to give the dress a second outing!

The organiser of the “Scarecrows” had asked us if we might participate in that event, but we decided that we rather wait, and see what it was all about first. I’m glad we did.

The Scarecrow displays were very serious business! The art and skill that went into them was incredible. There was one scarecrow modeled on our wonderful, wonderful postman, Steve.

The “Postie Steve” scarecrow was amazing! It had been masterfully painted, and looked just like him. When you walked passed the scarecrow, the motion was detected, and activated a sound system that began to play that old hit: “Wait a minute, Mr. Postman.”

Very clever.

My one disappointment from the Village Show experience was that I did not have my act together enough to submit an arrangement to the Floral Competitions. For some reason, when I had previously read through the Village Show materials I had failed to spot the “Best in Show” for Flowers.

I knew lots of people who were submitting veggies to the competition, but didn’t notice anything about flowers! Which is a shame, really, as my white, antique rose has done so well this year. I have no doubt I would have garnered a place!

Oh, well, there’s always 2014…

I think the greatest thing about the Village Show was, and is, well, the village itself and the people in it. People really came together, went all out and gave ceaselessly of their time, talents and resources to make the Village Show a success. That comes down to pride, I think, and a real love of this timeless place we call home.

(And here's mine!)