The annual Northumberland County Show used to be held at the rugby ground in Corbridge. But a few years back those who knew about these things decreed that it should be transferred to Bywell, and it was at this point that I sat up and took a little more notice because Bywell is only a couple of miles from where I live.  So that’s why, on Saturday last I found myself in a field, staring at a camel. 

But first things first. I had had the foresight to buy my ticket in advance via t’interweb and as a result saved myself the princely sum of five pounds on the entrance fee of £18 at the gate. Being over 60 helped as well, mind. My stepson David, his girlfriend Annie and their dog, Rio, were planning to go too, and I quickly took up their offer of a lift. Especially as it came with a picnic.

There was a cash point just inside the entrance, and I thought it might be a good idea to pocket some readies in case the stall holders card machines weren’t working. I joined the queue, wondering why so many people were walking away from it, shaking their heads and tutting. A classic example of middle class British people being furious. I found out why after I my turn came, as it was charging £2.35 to withdraw cash. I walked away from it, shaking my head and tutting. I added to my protest by vowing not to use it, so that’ll teach them. 

First port of call was the cattle show. Blimey, there were some big bulls there, I don’t mind telling you. I’m glad I wasn’t wearing red. The announcer cheerily told us that this particular breed of cow – a Hereford, I think it was, but don’t quote me on that – was “good at turning grass into meat.” Good job the cows didn’t speak English, we could have had a stampede on our hands if they’d heard that. 

That Bull is thinking…”What did the announcer just say?

At the Gymkhana (is that the word?) Annie explained the rules to this uncomprehending novice. It was basically people on horses jumping over fences in a field getting points for doing it quickly and losing points if they knock the fence down.

I’ve only ever ridden a horse once, and neither of us felt it was an experience that we’d like to repeat so I was impressed by the riders who not only managed to climb up into the saddles, but then hung on as the animals ran and jumped all over the place.

 

The rider is much braver than me. Come to that, so is the horse

While David, Annie and Rio were all enraptured by the pigs and goats showing off in a pen, I spied about fifty people in black T shirts hovering near a temporary stage, which was actually a lorry trailer with a cover. I thought I should go and have a word to see what they were about, what with me being a nosy parker and an old ham, with a keen interest in all things theatrical. They turned out to be The Rock Choir from Ponteland, and they were due to perform in the next ten minutes so I grabbed a seat and settled down to listen. 

Their choirmaster, who was one of only four men involved in the operation, herded the choir into groups and then up on to the stage in order, I assume, of vocal ranges. And he carried it out with the sort of efficiency that you could’ve seen just two hundred yards away in the sheep pen. Sopranos to the left, altos to the middle and the bass in the corner at the back.  

Eventually, the music started, and the choirmaster became even more animated as they launched into “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” the Whitney Houston song. I’m no fan of Whitney, and I know that’s sacrilege to many, but this choir were really good and it was an uplifting experience listening to them. You could tell they were having a great time, and that’s why they didn’t panic when, just after they declared that they “wanna feel the heat with somebody” the music abruptly stopped. They carried on, obviously happy, confident and well rehearsed. They deserved their applause. 

Ponteland Rock Choir, not panicking

After all that excitement, it was time for coffee. We followed our noses to the part of the show ground where all the food and drink was being sold, but our hearts sank when we saw the two thousand people in the queue at the specialist coffee van, all salivating and shoving each other in attempt to get to a mochaccino before they ran out. (Well, maybe not two thousand, maybe nearer twenty. And they were all perfectly well behaved. And they would probably have settled for an Americano. But I’m given to hyperbole when I need caffeine). 

David then had a brainwave, smart lad that he is, and we went to the much less busy Fish and Chip van 20 yards away. The owners of this van, bless ‘em, didn’t just serve fish and chips, oh no siree. They’d had the foresight to include coffee on their menu so we bought one there from a woman who seemed very pleased to see us, and strolled away from the ever growing queue next door with a smug grin and a jaunty step.

Heading towards the giant tortoises, I was approached by a large ice cream. As it got nearer I realised that there was a child behind it; and then I saw that it was one of the lovely children who get on my taxi to school every day. I recommended that they go and see the tiny black sheep that I had noticed earlier. (David wanted one at the time, and was trying to persuade Annie that they should take one home). The animals were no bigger than a labrador puppy, and I suggested that they should get their Mum – who was standing right next to me – to buy one and take it home. They are already a sheep farming family so one more wouldn’t make much difference, especially the pocket sized one that David had his eye on. The little girl seemed enthusiastic, but their Mum raised an eyebrow at me. I bid them good day and scurried off, chuckling to myself. 

They have been known to spit, which is why I took this photo from a distance

After a couple of hours, and a hearty picnic lunch of chicken pitta and Scotch eggs, it appeared that there was only one area left to visit. We had seen camels, giant tortoises, various breeds of sheep and cattle, horses (including the shire horses pulling carts), goats, pigs, alpacas and tractors. We had heard the screams from the funfair, which I prefer to think were screams of joy, not terror. But now it was time to visit the craft and food tents. 

My wife Rachel couldn’t come to the show today, as she was earning money on overtime while I spent it at the show, enjoying myself. To compensate for this apparent injustice, I bought her a hat. (I’m sure the Ideal Husband Award is in the Post). She loves hats, the more characterful the better, so I plumped for a brightly coloured, flowery  “festival” hat. I’m sure she’ll love it…

The final stop of the day saw us all in the food tent, a specific interest of mine and indeed Rio’s. I was immediately drawn to the “Mad Jam Woman” selling jars of – well, jam, obviously, but also marmalade and pickles. It stood out from the rest because one of the two women running it sported bright red hair. I asked which one of them was the mad one. It turned out to be the one with red hair, unsurprisingly. They also turned out to be very friendly, not really mad at all, and creators of the loveliest marmalade I’ve ever tasted. The lady with the red hair pointed proudly to a picture of herself with the King, who had graced their stall with his presence on a previous occasion. So if it was good enough for Charles, it’s good enough for me and I ended up buying two marmalades (the one flavoured with rum, the other with whiskey) and a lime pickle. So despite being attracted by the word “jam,” I didn’t actually get any. Not this time anyway. 

And that was it for this year. I have to say I enjoyed the day and I would recommend it to anyone who is thinking of going next year. The weather was kind, which helps, but don’t be put off by the weather if it rains. 

Just wear some wellies, and maybe a hat. I know where you can buy one.