From Gretna Green to Land's End: A Literary Journey in England.Bates, Katharine Lee
General
From Gretna Green to Land's End: A Literary Journey in England.
Bates, Katharine Lee
England -- Description and travel
A Quarry holiday that, by the grace of Sabrina, fell within the brief
limits of our sojourn, was the Shrewsbury Floral Fête, vaunted on the
pink program as "The Grandest Fête in the United Kingdom." Our
landlady earnestly vouched for the truth of this description. "There
is them who would have it as York Gala be the greatest, but York Gala,
grand however, ben't so grand as this."
On Wednesday, August twenty-second, we took aristocratic tickets at
two and six, for Wednesday is the day of the county families. Thursday
is the shilling day, when, by train, by coach, by barge, by wagonette,
by farmer's gig and carrier's cart, all the countryside comes
streaming in. The weather had been watched with keen anxiety. "Rain
spells ruin," the saying went; but it was clear and hot. Men, women,
and children lay on the grass around their luncheon baskets--we had
hardly expected this of the county families--all through the wide
enclosure, making the most of every disk of shade. From the central
bandstand and from the encircling tents--refreshment tents, flower
tents, fruit tents, vegetable tents, bee-and-honey tents--drooped rows
of languid pennons. The fountain in The Dingle sent up a silvery tree
of spray, while the white and yellow water-lilies in its little pool
blinked like sleepy children. Within the tents the heat was stifling,
but a continuous flow of flushed humanity, as whist as in the County
Store where even the awed shop girls are instructed to speak with
bated breath, passed in admiring review the sumptuous masses of
heavily fragrant flowers, the great black grapes almost bursting with
wine, the luscious plums and cherries, the amazing platoons of
plethoric onions, exaggerated potatoes, and preposterously elongated
turnips and carrots, the model beehives and the jars of amber honey.
The gold-medal exhibitors, perspiring but beaming, stood by their
red-ticketed products, while the silver-medal folk viewed their blue
tickets with a pleasant sense of superiority to the subdued
white-ticket battalion and the invisible yellow-ticketers who were
only "commended."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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