For those of us who love agricultural shows, 2007 was something of a washout. First the execrable weather turned show grounds into wallows and cancellation notices bloomed, as welcome as ragwort. Then Surrey’s Foot and Mouth outbreak put the kibosh on events that had staunchly withstood the onslaught of the elements, by emptying their livestock pens. Visiting rural shows with no animals is a bit like saving up to go to Rick Stein’s Seafood Restaurant and then only being offered the breadbasket, so anyone who loves a country show will be keeping their fingers crossed that 2008 will be the year to get their fix.
Summertime is show time. It’s when farmers take a rare day off to meet friends and neighbours in beer tents, get hustled and hassled by men in suits selling big tractors, and poke at the premium livestock on display. So many mammals are up for analysis, constructive or otherwise: the sleek human show-jumping and dressage fraternity; the eye wateringly endowed bulls, boars and billies; the ewes, sows and cows, some with endearingly capricious offspring at foot; the shire horse handlers, bowler hatted, knees rugged up with tartan, attentive to the job in hand.
The choice of agricultural shows in the South West, in all their varied splendour, is enough to keep you in holiday mood and off the farm for months. For sheer size there’s the Devon County or the Royal Cornwall. Then there are the more local offerings which I relish; the Okehampton and Chagford shows just one week and ten miles apart with different but equally staggering views of Dartmoor, and the Woodfair that focuses on all things timber, this year back at the lovely Roadford Lake. I’m tempted by the end of season Frome agricultural and cheese show, 131 years old, with jousting (I’ll spectate from a safe distance) and more than 500 varieties of cheese by producers from all over the country with thousands of willing tasters. 2008 is also the year I intend to turn left into the Holsworthy and Stratton showground, rather than driving past as I take the pigs to the abattoir, hand slapping forehead that I have, yet again, forgotten to put the date in my diary.
There will be events with heavy horses, plot to plate specials, poultry do’s for those with a love of the feather, and posh food fairs in Tavistock and Exeter. For the kids there’s usually a funfair, candyfloss and hotdogs with free giveaways in logo-laden bags from the tractor dealers. And everywhere Barbours, flat caps, leather cowboy hats, and dogs, dogs, dogs.
Showtime is when I inspect unfamiliar breeds of goat, pig and sheep and chat to breeders of the stock I prefer, carefully noting their contact details. I stare in admiration at the mighty cows and slide my hand over impressively shiny and strange equipment that I don’t understand; cattle handlers and machinery sales staff are always pleased to give you the time of day, imparting snippets of cherished information. Services and goodies you can’t unearth in yellow pages helpfully reveal themselves and I come away with armfuls of info to be stuffed in a folder that can never be found when I need it. Raspberry and fig vinegars and local cheeses fill my bag. I pat the donkeys and have a yearn for one of my own. Peter Purves soundalikes (or perhaps it’s the real thing) commentate boozily over the tannoy. I sample the cider and wonder if perhaps last year’s homemade was better. Half an hour disappears as I riffle through the antiquarian books, giggling at gems suggesting decidedly poisonous ways of treating your best mare or gun dog with mercury.
There’ll be a falconry display, competitive sheep shearing, eagle owls with orange eyes, optimistic chainsaw sculptures viewed with tilted head, bright yellow dancing diggers and sheepdogs herding runner ducks into a pen. This year the sun MUST shine. Bring it on.
Published in The Landsman June/July 2008 Issue 8
