While Jurnet is away wherever it is that a Mediaeval Jewish merchant would go for his holidays, we thought we'd show you that occasionally Undercroft folk do venture out into the sunlit world beyond his thick stone vaulting, and make just as big fools of themselves there as well.
This June there was a positive "group outing" to a new cultural event in north Norfolk, called FALCON (click the name & check it out!). A warm Saturday was spent in the green grounds of Holt Hall, amidst trees, birdsong and dozens of other performers, musicians & artists providing cultural nourishment to the families of Norfolk, while we just told our usual collection of unlikely tales, far-fetched fables & awful jokes (lies & stories, in other words).
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| The Yarnsmith a'fore his tent |
And we were grateful, nay, privileged & heartily glad, to have, by the kindness of his bearded heart, the fantastic story-telling tent of The Yarnsmith of Norwich in which to so do. This is a Burgundian style, bell-ended (can I say that?), red & white beauty, in which the good Smith creates a rich interior setting, with genuine fleeces to sit on and a marvellous painted hanging of mediaeval scenes, to enhance the whole experience of hearing tales of old(e).
If you look carefully you'll catch glimpses of the hanging behind us.
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| The Gobbo demonstrates the art of showing blank pieces of paper |
A spellbinding creation, this hanging has scholars & art historians in bitter disagreement over it's age & origin, when in fact all they really need decide is was it painted mainly in the kitchen or more in the back garden? Kitchen, I think myself.
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| Ms K's curiousity was tickled |
With only wooden pegs & hemp guy-ropes, putting up this substantial canvas structure on a breezy morn' was fun for those of us who live conveniently modern, (or modernly convenient?) lives, and Miss Kelly, farthest travelled of all of us though she be, was curiously excited by those sweeping curves at either end.
A new sport is created...
As FALCON (bet you haven't checked it out yet, have you?) is a new initiative, and we it's first storytellers, we conferred amongst ourselves to add a little spice to the mix. If you look at the first picture you'll see on the Smith's chalkboard the words "Hunt the Teller", at two o'clock. Yes, a new game, a brand new bloodsport for children - wouldn't a storyteller's beard, or blood spattered fancy waistcoat, be a great trophy for a kid's bedroom? Well, that was the plan, but in the end it had to be toned down, of course, typical of these days, and instead the tellers, when found hiding somewhere in the lovely grounds, would Tell A Tale Upon Request…!
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| Masters of camouflage: Ms K & The Gobbo vanish into the Hunt |
The hardy Undercroft tellers proved themselves adept at this "guerilla telling", a' roving through the green wood like spirits of Nature..! Except in my case, which was more just sort of idling about, really.
Anyway, aha, you say, and in each tale would there be a CLUE as to what were the MYSTERY OBJECTS in the pedlar basket, back at the tent?
And you'd be quite correct, and those who had listened sharply enough to gather ALL the clues & correctly guess them would win: a brand new Mini Cooper!
Well that was my idea, but upon emptying the Jurnet's collection box the night before, we found we were just a few pennies short, so we had to re-think that one, blast it. There's always some little snag, isn't there…
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| Obee Joyful & Tilly the T in perfect synchronisation |
So as well as telling tales in the accustomed manner, as here demonstrated by Obee Joyful & Tilly the Talespinner (prizes for incorrect guesses as which is which), Jurnet's merry band provided this new & exciting Sport Of Kings.
The winners were two fine ladies & one gent. Instead of a car, they got a cartoony pic of themselves, as historical characters of their own choosing, drawn upon the very spot, by The Gobbo (me). They had worked hard, you know; after all there were four tellers to hunt down & listen to, and they well deserved what in only a few hundred years' time will undoubtedly be worth a bob or three… Most particular' impressive was the international flavour of their chosen folk, being: Joan d'Arc, Robby the Bruce & Elizabeth I. Huzzah for such cultured children, I say.
As you can see, the 'Smith took a relaxed position during the Great Hunt, reckoning that someone had to stay with the tent in case of sneakies trying to peekies at the objects, and win by means most foul & dastardly. That's what he said, anyway.
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The Gobbo perfects
sleeping on your feet |
What a lovely, green place is Holt Hall, especially as that afternoon drew in, the audience relaxed, swifts whistled overhead as the last teller told, the Gobbo poured his final cup of tea, wondering how to avoid helping take down the tent, dogs dozing, ah... a summer day's bliss.
A great day out for all it was,
On which great deeds were done,
Nowt shall be recalled in song,
So count yourself among the wise,
If you so came along…
The Gobbo
As you can see, the 'Smith took a relaxed position during the Great Hunt, reckoning that someone had to stay with the tent in case of sneakies trying to peekies at the objects, and win by means most foul & dastardly. That's what he said, anyway.
Lucky for us she wasn't that easily gobsmacked, & we all walk tall because of her. There was a Flood Myth, where a man (who was also an eel) gave everything he had because he loved his wife, from which we all still derive bounty, as niu: the coconut. Hmm, maybe the concepts aren't always that alien and different, even half a world away: who amongst all the gods could overcome and calm the angry war god Ogun, but the goddess of love, Oshun..?
In her final tale, Kelly proposed the idea that stories seek to escape and fly around the world, like living things, ever eager to find new ears. Presumably they also seek strong voices to tell them, and those of us who know Kelly will vouch she is certainly one of those, as even being currently on crutches (with a broken ankle), she still can crack an evening of tales like this one.
