PREWD'S
PRUNINGS
Being those portions of the Mousehold Press book
'Prewd and Prejudice' deemed too long, short, irrelevant, irregular or downright
irreverent for inclusion in the original publication.
(cry
of the local fishermen)
1
May, Sunday
'Asking
for Sugar' involved knocking on the victim's door and using the traditional form
of words: "Give us a cup of
sugar". According to Doctor
Simnel Johnson, head of Ethnomusicology at Wells County Primary School, the word
"please" was occasionally added, though I would dispute the likelihood
of that. The custom was so popular
that records exist of it having taken place at other times of the year than
Maytide. A feature of the custom was
that it was considered bad luck not to give the askers some sugar, for they
would continue knocking and singing for some considerable time.
Was
it not I who said that Oscar Wilde only declared his genius in order to ensure
having his bags searched (he always wore the Oxford variety)?
Did I not dine out for a month on my declaration that if God was saving
the Prince of Wales it was difficult to see what He was saving him for?
Sid: It
was 960 rods all the way round the parish boundary, but they went further than
that, because they used to have to keep going back to the Old Goat for a drop of
neck oil, or into Demon's Wood to cut fresh sticks.
It often took all day, and they were proper worn out.
Still, it was just a bit of harmless fun.
The
Beating of the Bounders is probably one of the oldest of all the customs of the
area. The earliest reference I have
found is in the writings of a local cleric, the Veritable Bard, in the Eighth
Century. In his 'Historie of All
Thinges Interesting' he wrote:
"There hath been justice alway, though it be but the rough justice
afforded the beaten bounder, whose prosecutor is the ashen bough, and whose
executioner is his fellow."
Later,
in the Manorial Records for 1232 there is a bill:
"To ash bous suitable for beating, 3 goats (perhaps groats?).
Four such bous, being too week for the taske, were returned."
For
a brief time in the nineteenth century it became fashionable for the gentry, in
particular the Squire, to attend the ceremony and begin the event by roundly
kicking each bounder in person. However,
with the growth of the agricultural unions and radical ideas there came a time
when it was decided that if the 'nobbs' wished to take part they should do so
more fully, and three of them were unanimously voted that year's bounders.
The Squire, in particular, barely survived with his life, being unused to
healthy exercise. From then on the
middle and upper classes left the festivities well alone, often pretending to be
ill. Hence the local rhyme:
"Rotation day nigher,
More headaches for the Squire."
It
seems likely, then, that Mrs Prewd's man of "honour and courage" in
fact spent the day hiding at the Great Hall.
Uncle
Wesley's scheme is to place household items, such as the fire tongs, a bucket of
coal, and so on, over the door in such a way as to ensure that they will fall
noisily when the door is opened. This
they did during the night, and thus I knew that Maud had returned unharmed, for
I recognised her groans immediately.
**************************
The
affair between Maud and Doyley Silver-Darling caused him some suffering, since
in order to maintain the liaison he was forced to cultivate an acquaintance with
Miriam Prewd, which he found most distasteful.
In a letter to a friend (Sir Alfred Friend) he wrote:
"My dear old thing,
My little bolt hole here in Norfolk where, as you know, I try to get away
from the bores of London, now has it's own resident bore.
I call her the Artesian, if you get my drift, what?
What is more, and for reasons I cannot go into here on the ground of
delicacy, I have to have to do with the appalling woman.
I say: have to have to do -
rather witty, don't you think? Anyway,
must give this to Herring to have the spelling checked,
Someone's
Doyley."
It
should be noted that the phrase "stand to wait" is not to be taken
literally. Many of the adolescents
involved used in fact to sit, or lounge. Some
did this in a truculent manner for weeks before the event.
Indeed, I have to wonder whether the custom might not be of some use in
bringing some of our young people nowadays out of just such a state.
Others did indeed stand, while some took up an odd crouching position,
reminiscent of a sprinter in the blocks.
All
in all the Trunch area of Norfolk seems to have been unusually blessed with
Spring and early Summer customs. It
may simply be that more have survived here than elsewhere, or that, as Sid
suggests "You had to make your own amusement in the old days".
Naturally
I have accepted her invitation, and informed her of my little reputation for
Greek dancing which she might wish to take advantage of.
In Town, and in my youth, young men used to swoon to see me dance.
Perhaps I should warn her Ladyship to have some smelling salts to hand,
just in case.
"My
dear", said her Ladyship when she saw me, "You must have a funny sort
of maurice dancing down in London if that is the costume of your team".
I asked just what this maurice dancing might be, but her only reply was
to give me a long piece of wood and a handkerchief bearing the initials 'M.K.'.
"Jolly good thing I dug a few spares out of my son's
collection", she breezed, and with no further explanation led me to where
the 'ladies' were lined up in two rows. I
was placed at the end of one of these rows, and was absolutely astonished when I
looked across at my opposite number to find that it was Maud, who had the gross
impertinence to grin at me. Had the
event not been organised under the auspices of her Ladyship I should have
returned home at once. Instead I
contented myself with giving Maud a look so old fashioned as to be positively
antediluvian.
Maud
was holding in one hand a piece of wood similar to mine, and in the other an
identically initialled handkerchief. These
must, I thought, be issued to the whole assembly, but before I could look along
the line to verify the thought Lady Silver-Darling clapped her hands and turned
to a decrepit old man and an equally decrepit boy, who sat to one side holding
strange devices. "Music if you
please, Mr Kipper", she said, and they began enthusiastically to produce a
most fearful cacophony, one by squeezing and the other by blowing.
At
this point Maud's grin became almost demonic as, with a little leap, she raised
her piece of wood and attempted to hit me with it.
It must have been instinct which caused me to raise my own stick at the
last moment to fend off her blow. Before
I could retaliate, however, she skipped off, rather as if in a little dance.
I was beside myself with rage, as can be imagined, and may have taken a
few steps myself before she renewed her attack.
This time I was ready, and parried her blows with ease.
I replied with a few sallies of my own which, to my great chagrin, she
defended ably.
We
continued thus for some time, with periods of assault interspersed with circling
and shadowing, until, after what seemed an age, the 'music' stopped and so did
all the 'ladies', who I now realised had been engaged in their own private
combats. Maud laid down her stick
and turned to talk to her neighbour. Thinking
to catch her off guard I was about to raise my bit of wood again in order to
finish her off, when Lady Silver-Darling came up to me.
"My dear, I had no idea you were such an adroit stick dancer.
You must teach us all some of those movements for next year".
Then,
seeing the blood which trickled down my knuckles, she gasped and said that
perhaps they were not ready for such advanced dancing.
The purpose of the handkerchief now became apparent as she bound my
wounds with it. "We must dance
on without you, I fear", she said. "However,
you may be proud of Maud, for you have clearly trained her well, and that
reflects most favourably on you. I
feel sure that you will reward her appropriately later".
I assured her, with some feeling, that I would indeed do so, and returned
home much confused.
*******************************
Why
was it the women of St Just-near-Trunch who danced the morris, while in the rest
of the country it was a jealously guarded male preserve?
Sid Kipper claims that it was because "the men didn't want to look
like a load of fools, doing silly things in daft costumes".
I cannot accept that explanation, however, since such things never
worried the men of St Just on other occasions, or indeed the men of other
villages when dancing.
A
little research has revealed the fact that in 1862 the women of the village
challenged the men to a dance, such dancing having been 'men only' until then.
The following report from the Trunch Trumpet of May 30th of that year
tells the story:
A
TERRIBLE THING
Mr
Herbert Kipper yesterday called his wife a terrible thing, following a challenge
dance upon the village green. He,
and the rest of the local men, were entirely outdanced by the ladies of the
village, conceding defeat after only three dances, with several of the men
having to 'retire hurt'.
NEVER
AGAIN
"We'll
never dance again" declared Mr Kipper, aged several years by the
experience. The ladies were quite
imperturbed by the declaration, and Lady Silver-Darling promised to lead a team
of her ladies in the dance next Whitsun. "If
the men are not man enough to keep alive the old traditions then the women will
be", she told our reporter, even though she had not been asked.
TROUSERS
Mr
Kipper retorted that if the women wanted to wear the trousers that was alright
with him, but they would first have to mend a gaping hole in the crotch which he
had been trying to get his wife to see to for weeks, but which she had been too
busy practicing her dancing to do.
Lady
Silver-Darling is of a certain age.
Incidentally,
the musicians in 1904 were none other than the same Herbert Kipper and his
grandson, Sid's grandfather, William 'Billy' Kipper.
It seems that they tried each year to play so badly that the women would
be unable to dance to the music. However,
most of the locals swore that it was impossible to tell the difference between
this and their normal efforts.
It
seems likely that the dance Mrs Prewd describes was the old Trunch Plague Dance.
This was danced in pairs, and was basically symbolic.
The sticks, up to eight feet long, symbolised the poles which plague
carriers were forced to carry in order to stop others bumping into them - they
were known locally as barge poles. The
handkerchief was for placing over nose and mouth to prevent contagion from the
sneezes. The traditional dress was
also rich in symbolism, consisting as it did of a hat covered in flowers (to
mask the smell of the disease), crossed baldricks (representing the cross
painted on the sufferer's door), and bells (each victim had to carry a bell and
cry out "Unclean! Unclean!").
In Victorian times blouses and trousers were added.
The
origins of the dance itself are more obscure.
It may derive from the time when plague sufferers would process down the
street together to go to the stream for water.
The banging of sticks and the jingling of bells warned others of their
approach, and all decent people would hurry away to avoid meeting the.
Much
the same effect can be seen today when a team of morris dancers parade down any
street.
This
morning Maud woke me with a cup of tea. As
she stripped the consequently sodden linen from my bed she seemed quite
unconcerned that she might so easily have scalded me, and chattered on in her
usual inane fashion. "Are you
going to the filch today", she asked. I
assured her that I would have nothing to do with any form of larceny, be it
called filching, borrowing or daylight robbery.
Indeed I was so shocked that she could think to involve me in such a
thing that I forgot to punish her for her clumsiness.
I was still musing that matter as I polished the aspidistra later in the
morning when the Vicar called around.
"Mrs
Prewd", he said, twisting his cloth cap in his hands.
"I wonder if you would do us a favour?
We have been let down at the eleventh hour, and must find a third judge
to join Her Ladyship and my good self this afternoon.
Will you do it?"
I
have always wanted to be a judge. I
feel that I would be very good at sitting on high, looking down on those below
me, listening to the stories of their pathetic days, and pronouncing sentences
that would ensure that they never saw the light of those days again.
I am a great believer in British justice.
Of
course, Rev Mullett was not offering me a chance to sit at the quarter sessions.
The judging is to be of 'The Trunch Flitch'.
Not, as Maud had said earlier, 'filch'.
This flitch, or half a pig, is given, it seems, to any couple who can
demonstrate to the court that they have been married for a year and a day
without argument. I can assure them
that I shall be strict but fair. Nobody
will get half a pig from me without a great deal of persuasion.
Incidentally, I must remember to ask the Vicar what happens to the other
half of the pig.
This
afternoon the Court met to judge the Trunch Flitch.
Lady Silver-Darling, Rev Mullett and Myself processed to the village
hall, where we were installed on a rather precarious podium erected at one end.
Quite a crowd had gathered, and I was forced to use my umbrella more than
once to maintain a distance from the rabble suitable for one sitting in
judgement. Many of the crowd had
come straight from the New Goat Inn, which had just closed.
Their attendance may have had something to do with the fact that a bar
had been set up at the far end of the hall.
This was attracting its own crowd, who were being served by the odious
Ernest Spratt.
Mr
Clerk, acting as Usher to the Court, stood up and called for silence. He
did this no less than seven times before order was achieved, by which time his
legs must have been quite tired. Eventually,
however, he was able to make himself heard, and called for any couples who
wished to be considered for the Flitch to step forward.
Three couples did so, and the trial commenced.
The
first couple, Cyril and Coral Cockle, did not detain us long.
When Lady Silver-Darling asked them how long they had been married they
could not agree on their reply. This
led to a falling out between them, and eventually they had to be dragged
physically from the hall, to conclude their fight outside.
Clearly this disqualified them from the competition, as they were not
available for further questions.
The
second couple lasted a little longer. Wally
and Wendy Whiting were clearly out to impress the Court.
They billed and cooed like a pair of turtle doves, whatever they may be.
It was quite repulsive. I
decided at once that they must not win, although Rev Mullett and her Ladyship
seemed quite taken by them, and by any fair means they seemed to qualify.
What, I wondered, would uncle Wesley have done.
The answer came at once. He
would have used foul means. With
this in mind I turned to the Whitings.
"I
put it to you that you are lying. I
believe that you have in fact had one argument after another all year.
Do you agree?"
"Oh
no", they cried, as one; "We disagree absolutely".
This
was just the answer I had hoped for. Now
was the time to deliver the coup de grace. Fixing
them with my eye I said "You have come before this court and sworn upon a
solemn oath that you have not disagreed all year.
Now you have the temerity to tell us that not only do you disagree, but
that you disagree absolutely". I
banged my umbrella on the floor for emphasis, and concluded "Fined one
hundred pounds". I was a little
disappointed when Mr Clerk pointed out that we had no power to impose fines, but
it certainly put an end to their case.
Now
the third couple stepped forward, and I knew at once that here was a real test
for my mettle. Before us stood Lady
Silver-Darling's own daughter, Cynthia, and her husband, Ffreddy Ffooks-Ffordyce.
Now the Ffooks-Ffordyces are noted for their total failure to hold any
opinions whatsoever, and Ffreddy is known in the family as the indecisive one.
The more intelligent reader will realise at once that if a man has no
opinions then he will be quite unable to hold an argument.
If, in addition, his mother-in-law is chairman of the judges, then he may
be held to have a considerable advantage in a contest of this nature.
I girded my metaphorical loins in preparation for battle, but I need not
have bothered. As soon as Her
Ladyship saw who the third couple were she squared up and rounded on them at
once.
"Cynthia",
she said, in a voice which could have cut diamond; "Take that wet fish away
before he begins to smell. Your
father and I opposed your marriage from the start, though I don't see what it's
got to do with him. I will certainly
not have you coming here and showing up the family in front of all these common
people. Case dismissed, on the
grounds of ...." She ground to
a halt as she searched for some grounds. Her
eye fell upon the vicar, and she seemed to gain inspiration.
"Disqualified on the grounds of insanity.
Case dismissed".
So
our deliberations were ended, and we had successfully defended the flitch.
I returned home feeling that I had finally contributed something really
worthwhile to village life.
*****************************
Mrs
Prewd need not have worried about that other half a pig.
The Trunch Flitch, which has been offered on and off since the thirteenth
century, has never actually been awarded. I
asked Sid Kipper about the matter, but he was much more interested in the
question of judges in general:
Now my uncle George is the one you ought to ask about judges.
He's met a lot of them at one time or the other, in the way of business.
Their business, that is. As a
matter of fact he's still suffering from the last judge he met.
He wrote a song about it, called 'You Know That Was The Last Thing On my
Mind, Your Honour'. That did him no
good, either.
Mind you, judges today aren't what they used to be.
In them days they used to have what the called the 'No Quarter Sessions'.
They used to send Judge Post up from London to North Walsham, and he used
to hear all the cases that had been saved up for him.
I say he used to hear the cases, but he weren't really listening.
That was what they called deaf justice.
He waited while both sides argued back and forth, then when they'd
stopped talking he found them all guilty. He
was very even handed. He always gave
everyone 30 years. Of course most of
the jury got out on parole fairly quick, but one persecution lawyer served the
full term, because he was so badly behaved in prison.
Mind you I could see old Post's point the other year when I was a
celebrity judge for the Trunch May Queen competition.
None of them was innocent, I can tell you!
The
Trial of the Flitch was not always as orderly as it was in the Edwardian era.
Over the centuries it had been banned many times following the disorder
and riots which often attended it. In
his book on the subject, 'Bringing home the Bacon', Doctor C.O.D. Roe questions
whether or not the flitch was, on balance, a good thing:
In the several centuries of its existence the Trunch Flitch has claimed
at least fifty-seven lives, not including the dancing bear which perished in the
peculiar happenings of 1772. It has
also led to innumerable divorces. It
might then be argued that as a symbol of peace and harmony it has not been a
great success. Some scholars have
tried to balance this against the hundreds of pigs which have not been halved as
a consequence, but I, for one, find the argument unconvincing.
One
reason why the ceremony was continually being revived was its popularity with
the Lords of the Manor. It allowed
them to demonstrate their potential generosity without having to actually give
anything away. As the good Doctor
points out:
Half a pig is not something to be sneezed at, and today this is truer
than ever, modern health regulations being what they are.
The Lord of the Manor was able to argue that he would be exceedingly
generous if only someone could convince him that they deserved it.
He would then refuse to allow himself to be convinced.
All, that is, excepting the 17th Lord silver-Darling, 'Geoffrey the
Generous'. He awarded the flitch
every year of his reign. He awarded
it, however, to every couple that entered, so his good intentions were always
confounded by Rule 4, paragraph 6, which states that "In the event of more
than one couple satisfying the judges, then none shall receive the prize".
Thus Geoffrey was always confounded by the writer of the rules, his
ancestor 'Lionel the Loophole'.
In
conclusion I should mention that at the most recent sitting of the court George
Kipper came very close to winning the flitch for the first time in history.
In the end he failed only on the technicality that he had not been in
residence in the parish all year, as he had been continuing his enforced, and
prolonged, stay in the Isle of Wight, and his wife had been unable to visit him.
********************************
24
May, Tuesday
A
social worker from Islington has taken early retirement and turned part of the
building into a pottery. He sells
his wares through such glossy magazines as Cromer Life, under the slogan
'Traditional Country Wares at Modern City Prices'.
Sid:
We don't want a whole lot of people coming in here and spoiling the place
with their second homes. What's
wrong with their first homes that they have to come here and ruin our village?
They should stay in their own villages.
That potty bloke should go back to Islington, wherever that is.
Mind you, he's not the only one. There's
loads of them moving in round here. One
farmer over Knapton way got thousands off some rich fool from London the other
week for an old barn that he's done up. He
must think a lot of his cows, that's all I can say, buying them a place like
that.
The thing is, they spoil everything.
Next thing you know they'll want the street light turned on, and that'll
put an end to the poaching. Then
they'll want to get on the Parish Council, even though it's not their turn.
And then they'll start going on about how we ought to have community
events. Well, we already have
community events. It's just that we
don't invite those people because they aren't part of the community, are they?
Let them all go back home, with their flash cars and their compacted
discs.