British heritage offerings and an oddity

Apology/warning:  this is long.  The gist:  many historical sites in the UK now encourage visitors to play and experience the sites, rather than observe them. It's risky, but very nice.

Great Britain's heritage and cultural sites are operating differently than when I last visited, about 15 years ago.  What I remember from then is the classic standard of look but don't touch, read this, listen to this, walk here not there, observe and be impressed. In many ways, and in some places that has changed; visitors are encouraged and expected to experience the sites.

Steve sitting in the morning room, reading a paper.  We could sit anywhere,
work a puzzle, read a magazine, hang out.

Our first exposure was at Dunster Castle (Somerset, SW England), a grand formal National Trust castle/home and the site of a big civil war battle.  We were invited into things that were surprising.

We could handle the dining room's fancy place settings and fold a napkin to match the table's.  When I asked, it was explained that this wasn't the actual historical sterling silver, but silver plate made to resemble, but not as valuable.  A staff member was in the room to keep an eye on folks and stuff, but still . . .   

When we entered the Lord's office, the classic old phone rang, and we walked over to the desk and
were expected to answer it.  Some people ignored it, shocked at its ringing.  

We could hold, aim, clean hunting rifles.  

We could try on a number of hats from
servants' to gentry's.

This typical top hat was very structured and uncomfortable.  It was explained that this was standard fit and that they were rigid so they'd stay on.  Frequent wearers had dents in their heads.

 There were sounds of horses and grooms in the stables, of servants in the kitchens and hallways, water in the bath.

This civil war soldier loaded and fired his musket during a presentation of the lives of civil war (1640s) soldiers and support folks (women, doctors, etc).  The civil war presentation was fascinating including lots of  hands on, lots of real-people humor -- historical, but so real.

The castle included a recently opened (and unretouched) 50s kitchen upgrade.  Keeping it real if not so pretty.

There was also lots of emphasis on the lives of the people who served as well as the people served, rising interest resulting from Downton Abbey.  Also, there were privies readily visible in almost every historical place we went -- these were real people who had real needs.  Not old style historical, which has always bothered me in how they'd hide the privies.  I grew up wondering whether historical folks actually had the same needs as my contemporaries.

Thinking Dunster Castle was a fluke, we went on to a number of other historic sites (abbeys, manor homes, forts, industrial sites), and were surprised to have similarly experiential visits.  We later learned from a Welsh national park employee that the mission of most British historical institutions is now being stated as something along the lines of increasing understanding of the heritage, to encourage valuing that past. The National Park mission also includes an element of protecting cultural and natural beauty, and of aiding understanding and promoting the special qualities of the local area.  So they are much more about engaging, and through enjoyment and understanding, encouraging buy-in, rather than protecting and displaying.  Enhancing absorption and affection through participation and understanding.

At Tretower Castle and Manor we were allowed to walk all around the grounds, climb the castle, etc.  Granted, they have ruins to spare.  There were sheep grazing in this field and an aggressive very pregnant ewe wanted Steve to stay put .  While in Somerset a local was trampled to death while walking through a neighbor's field of cows who'd recently calved.  Maternal stuff's strong. 

In the kitchen we could play with the pots, look into the
 cupboards, set the table, work with the herbs, etc. 

Pull up a seat, at the lower table or the upper table (below).
Fake food here, but they do full-on-accurate
 medieval banquets, too.  Sorry we missed it.  

I was surprised at the easy accessibility (hence vulnerability) of the artifacts available for use and play.  Furniture, too.  Apparently the accessible things are mostly reproductions, done with full accuracy as to craftsmanship, and in a state of newness that reflects the occupants' use of them -- the items would have been in good shape, new when they lived there and used them.

And yes, things are occasionally pinched, but not very often and since they are replicas, they are replaceable.  This also keeps modern-day craftspeople engaged with the old methods and styles, keeping the crafts alive.  They build the cost of the occasionally stolen item into the budget, and consider it a reasonable investment.

My view while sitting at the upper table.  

Each glass at the upper table was  beautiful and different, and totally "pinchable".  I wanted this one.  

 At Blaenavon, an industrial site museum on the iron industry in southern Wales, we could wander through workers homes which had been assembled to represent different time periods of the site's history.  Again, we could look in cupboards and closets and in drawers, sit in the the rooms, lie on their beds, read their books, hang out at the table, etc. 

Me, reading a 1916 domestic dictionary.

Looking into the closet of a 1930s home.  Could take out the clothing, try it on.  

Steve reading in the kitchen by the fireplace.  

A bedroom for two young workers, 1870s.  Climb in bed?

Me in a WWI era home, wearing a gas mask (not too uncomfortable, surprisingly).

And an oddity:

 

The Vaughan (owners of Tretower Castle) family crest.  Legend has it that the patriarch was born with a snake around his throat.  Interesting birth story.

A point of origin: Flora Festival/Furry Dance

Helston's honorable Furry Dance leader .

The beauty of Cornwall and the town of Helston's ancient ongoing annual Flora Festival were an early impetus for our long-term travel plans.  My Aunt Millie and Uncle Ed had traveled extensively in Cornwall in the 70s-90s and always talked fondly of this joyous and beautiful annual dance with its medieval roots.  I wanted to see it, but also wanted to be in the area long enough to better understand Cornwall's rhythms, to be here long enough to hang out.  So here we are . . . or were.  It's now about 2 weeks later, we're in Snowdonia NP in northern Wales -- lovely.  Can't seem to catch up with where we are.

Anyway, the Furry Dance.  It's clearly a pre-Christian spring celebration, asking the gods for a glorious growing season. The town is decorated -- doorways, lightpoles, windows, that includes gorse, bluebells, laurel, lilies of the valley.  And the dance is a long string of dancers, led by a band, that winds through town, in and out of shops and businesses (bringing luck), on a 2 mile route. It's performed 4 times on the celebration day (usually May 8th):  at 7AM by townsfolk, at 10AM by the town's children, at noon by the local gentry, and again at 5.  And the band leads each and every 2 mile dance -- talk about yeoman's duty! -- it's the same 16 measure musical phrase repeated over and over and over and over.  

Decorated cottage, and city hall, below.

Below, the 7AM dance starting.  The band splits in half, with one half followed by the dancers, winding through stores/businesses; the other half of the band waited for the store-front winders to catch up before they marched on.  

The dance is simple, lovely -- 8 shuffling steps, then 8 with a roundabout hopstep, changing partners in a foursome.  

Musicians, dancers, officiants all wore lilies of the valley boutonnieres; men's right side up, women's upside down.

The 7AM dance winding through town on its two mile course, about 800 dancers.  

Then came the re-enactment of the town's patron St. George slaying the dragon, with singing and dancing, booing the dragon, cheering the slaying, high camp.  Big crowd participation.

After that it started drizzling, still about 50 degrees.  And the band was up again, for the school children's dance  (ages 7 - 15 or so, well over 1000 of them), in order big kids to little.  All in white.

Hair decoration colors indicate school affiliation (school ties for the boys).  These kids were pretty wet.

A few of the younger boys were in short pants.

Loong day for the band, who ranged from about 8 (this horn player looked like my Uncle Ed as a boy), to about 80, mostly men, but with occasional young women.   They took turns --  played 32 measures, then rested for the same. 

Onlookers got pretty excited occasionally.

And at noon the formal dance began -- men in morning coats, tophats, gloves; women in long formal gowns with hats and gloves.  The rain was getting heavier then, temp still about 50.   Winding through storefronts, doing the same dance, to the same music.  What troopers.

By the numbers, it seemed like the whole town must be taking part, but there were lots of watchers in town, hanging out of windows, taking photos.   We spoke with several other watchers, and it seems its an honor and  participation is a sought-after honor -- one woman's son comes annually from London to dance. And there were lots of us tourists, too. The guys below were having a few pints and a good time while watching the dancers go by.  No shortage of beer, ales and good Cornish pasties (meat pies).

And lo and behold:  there was a Dalek in a small shop in town -- built by a local guy who loved the Dr. Who series.  It even spoke to Steve in its Dalek voice.

We were tired, and didn't stay around for the 5PM dance, although I understand anyone and everyone who wanted to dance could join in.  

Spanish bits

We're far from Spain, but can't seem to find the time to add new photos, get the blog going in that direction.  We're now in Wales, and have been enjoyed the beautiful countryside south of London, a week in a tiny surfing town in Cornwall (SW Atlantic), Somerset (Essex NP), and are now in Wales in the Brecon Beacons NP, about to set off for hiking in the waterfalls portion of this park -- the waterfalls should be spectacular after all the rain the country's had.  But there were a couple of posts begun in Spain that want to be aired, so here are a few things about Spain that were unusual or telling, or beautiful. 

The two photos below are of children's clothing for sale in Seville; on the left, for first communion, on the right for younger kids' 2-6 or so, for dressy occasions.  Seville was a very formal city, especially during our time there, the April Faire.  

Store front reading Sex, Fun & Love.  Banana, ladies' lips, so subtle.  

 Interesting zippers on the dress to the left.  I thought it was a nursing dress; Steve thought otherwise.

Street artist in Seville.  He annointed donators with Duff. 

Very narrow streets in Granada.

Spaniards call the ham we're used to here (pink, relatively bland and salty) Jamon York because the type originated in York, UK; my dad's name was John York, and I found it constantly amusing.  

They called this sculptural structure in central Seville the Sunbrella.  Made of steel, assembled  waffle style just a year ago, it stands out amid the ancient architecture.  There was a walkway above, very cool.

Bullfighters travel with their own horses; this was parked outside the bull ring while Diego Ventara was "fighting".  We attended a bull fight while in Seville - don't know whether to write about it.  Gruesome, oddly compassionate, interesting,

Seville's orange trees were ready for picking.  The city has more than 200k orange trees.  Over 400 years ago bitter orange trees were planted for the use of orange pith in gun powder production (or so we were told).  The trees continue to thrive, but most of the oranges are considered inedible, and only a small portion of the crop is exported for use in marmalade production.  We weren't there for the rotting stage, but the concurrent orange blossoms were delightfully fragrant.

This horse was grazing right in the middle of Seville, in a not-so-little fenced off pasture.

More evidence of the communal nature of the white storks, southern Andalusia.  Four above, and below.

This Catholic vestment was unusually Asian in theme.  From Ronda.

Book exchange in a park in Seville, tucked in a dry spot, folks were encouraged to take a book and after reading to leave it for another.  

Cork trees harvested and left to grow more for future harvesting.  It takes awhile to grow a new layer, and the black bark underneath is a stark and beautiful contrast. 

I went for a walk in the countryside early one morning, and these two watchdogs kept a close eye on me as I passed their farm.  That morning's sounds were memorable:  first silence, then birdsong, then the roosters, then the alarms sent up by dogs passing word of my walk down the road, then the clanging of cow bells as they went in for milking.

A friendly looking fire hydrant in Granada.

Ah, the wisteria!  Blooming extravagantly in many Andalusian cities.  So fragrant, so beautiful, and tasty (the flowers are edible; the peas are slightly poisonous).  Usually in purple, occasionally white.