21 June 2004

Beautiful Britain with sunshine

As I drove up to Bildeston to pick Cat up from an afternoon at her friend's house I was suddenly overwhelmed with how beautiful the small towns are in Britain when you add sunshine. Each one is like a picture postcard filled with thatched-roofed houses and climbing roses of orange or red or yellow. All that beauty makes it tough to keep the car on the narrow winding road.

The doorways and windows of old buildings are dripping in the hanging bluish white blossoms and clinging green vines of wisteria. White and yellow rose bushes climb up to the top of three story ancient buildings. Window boxes full of begonias and fuchsia look rather pitiful right now, but in another month their white and pink and wine-colored blooms will dangle over the sides.

Maybe it is the sudden onset of regular sunshine, but I am feeling extremely grateful for every drive through these towns and the scenes along the country roads. Around every curve there are grain fields bright with yellow flowering rappe grain, and peppered among the yellow blooms are masses of red poppies.

There are marvelous "shows" every weekend. These are actually fairs, but not like our fairs in the States. These events would be like going to the most pristine farm you've ever visited. Imagine cattle that look like something that was computer generated so they have no flaws. Herefords have brown wavy hair that could have been curled in a beauty shop. And the Charolais, well, all I can say is that they are the biggest, whitest ones I've ever seen.

There are horse-jumping and dog-racing contests, plus women in velvet hats and jackets driving donkey carts.

Late in the afternoon there is a horse-drawn wagon competition. Elegant women in fancy hats with veils guide their carriages and wagons around the field while their carefully placed gloves rest on the seat beside them. As they drive across the green grass they each lift up their right hand in a grand gesture as if showing off that they can drive with one hand holding the reigns.

The fox-hunting families also put on a show. Fox hunting has become a very controversial activity in rural Britain these days, so at the fair they put on their best act. Red-coated riders on proud elegant horses ride around the ring with their packs of dogs. One group has about 30 beagles. Forty big, black bloodhounds follow another group, including a guy blowing a bugle signal. At the end of their ride they invite all of the children to come onto the field to pet the dogs and ask questions of their owners. Suddenly the field is full of people who have jumped over the fence, and happy dogs jumping up to give a lick in the face. Fox hunting in Suffolk is safe for another generation.

The massive white tents called "marquees" are on either side of the field. They hold the exhibits from the local garden society, the Women's Institute ("WI", which is like the American women's clubs), and young farmers associations. Another tent houses sellers of local food like pastie meat pies and aged cheddar cheese. The ice cream stands are sold out long before the day is over. Men in little round-top hats with small brims direct traffic and answer questions. Some of them are the third or fourth generation to wear this hat.

So far I haven't been disappointed with any of my choices for weekend adventures. That new dose of daily sunshine probably influences how much fun it is to drive through the villages, walk around the "shows" and enjoy the local flavor. Whatever my excuse for enjoying life here, I don't plan to waste one single day.

Annie Warmke lives in Hadleigh, England. She writes a weekly column on life in a small town. Someday in the not too distant future she intends to return to live at her farm near Philo, but for the time being she is a world citizen making friends in small towns wherever she goes. You can be in touch with her at http://www.bluerockstation.com.