England is not the best country to visit for festivals, though our ancestors, the Celts, must have been real party-people. The Romans gave us some great party venues like the Hippodrome, Colosseum and Lyceum, but we turned them all into cinemas or bingo halls. Then came the Christians who cancelled most of our parties, but at least they had Saints and Feast Days (literally holy days or holidays). Henry VIII's Reformation robbed the church of its entertainment budget and then the Puritans made fun illegal. Despite the Restoration of the Monarchy, and some particularly fun-loving (not to say mad) Hanoverians; things were never the same again.
Now we just go shopping. Christmas shopping starts in July and you can get Easter Eggs and hot cross buns in January. Then there's Mothers Day and Fathers Day, so you can do some more shopping. We were once 'a nation of shopkeepers' but now we are 'a nation of shoppers'.
Halloween probably stopped being a religious event here in the 17th century, but it obviously travelled well to the New World where it became the party opportunity that it is today. Of course, it's another retail-led occasion, but people really do have fun as well. We certainly do.
Our son Dan has diabetes so 'trick or treating' is not an option. If we stay home we get hundreds of visits from packs of diminutive witches and warlocks, all wanting sweets, so we go out.
This year our big son Nick was playing halloween gigs with his band, but our grandchildren came over with their parents and we carved pumpkins and dressed up for the occasion.
We went to Wicken Fen Nature Reserve, which is owned by the
National Trust. It lies out in the flat, marshy area which surrounds the Isle of Ely; once the home of the Icini Tribe who held off the invading Romans. The villages have names like Wicken, Witcham and Covenham, all associated with witchcraft. (So not a good address for your CV.)
There are very few settlements out in the fens so there is no light pollution. The sky may be full of stars, but down in the reeds it will be pitch black. We were sent out onto the unlit boardwalk that encircles the sedge beds; told to stay in the middle of the path and avoid the edges, and most definitely not to follow anyone who might beckon us off the boardwalk.
We first met a nice lady who seemed a bit upset because she had lost her brother who was the village policeman. Apparently he walked off into the fen 100 years ago, and didn't come back. The villagers didn't advertise for a replacement as they knew no-one would apply. The place had a bit of a reputation.
Passing the windmill, we could just make out the suspended body of the miller, hanging from the sails. Did he jump, or was he pushed?
An elderly couple warned us to turn back as there had been a sighting of 'Black Shuck' who took the form of a big black dog. To gaze into his red eyes brings certain death. We saw him behind us and ran on, but of course this took us deeper into trouble. Marsh Wites tried to lure us off the path several times and some snatched at our ankles from under the boardwalk.
We had to go through a graveyard where three zombies were busy digging up their neighbours and we disturbed a werwolf at a freshly killed victim. It looked like the poor lady who had lost her brother. Anyway, she was well past saving. I'm sure her convulsions were just caused by her nerves twitching: No-one who was that mutilated could still be alive.
At this point our collective nerve broke and we ran to the distant lights where we could get hot chocolate and help from the parish ghost hunters.
No comments:
Post a Comment