A BURLY, bearded man rumbles through the winding streets of the little Devon town. His face is streaked with soot and sweat. On his shoulders, an 18-gallon sherry cask soaked with tar crackles, spits and flares. 'Uppard! Uppard!' the man bellows as the crowd parts and he gallops on. Comet trails of orange and yellow sparks follow him, swirling up into the night sky like a murmuration of hellish starlings. It is November 5 in Ottery St Mary, an annual day of flames and explosions that dates back to at least the early 17th century. 'The smell of the tar and the heat of the flames gives you a real adrenaline rush,' says Andy Wade, president of the Ottery St Mary Carnival committee. 'It's a feeling you can't explain.'
Some historians and folklorists trace the festival in Ottery back to pagan fire festivals, the fumigation of plague-ridden streets or the beacons lit in 1588 to warn of the approach of the Spanish Armada. Mr Wade-who has close to six decades of experience of the tar barrels behind him-believes it all goes back to Guy Fawkes and the Gunpowder Plot. "There were a number of towns in Devon where they rolled burning barrels through the streets on November 5, Mr Wade explains, 'but it was only in Ottery that people decided to pick them up and carry them.'
The Ottery St Mary Tar Barrels is one of dozens of genuine folkloric celebrations woven into the English calendar. It occupies a place alongside the Hallaton Hare Pie Scramble and Bottle Kicking in Leicestershire, West Witton's Burning the Bartle in North Yorkshire and the Horn Dance at Abbots Bromley in Staffordshire as an annual reminder of a time when the English countryside was a stranger, wilder, rowdier and less governable place.
Denne historien er fra November 01, 2023-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra November 01, 2023-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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Tales as old as time
By appointing writers-in-residence to landscape locations, the National Trust is hoping to spark in us a new engagement with our ancient surroundings, finds Richard Smyth
Do the active farmer test
Farming is a profession, not a lifestyle choice’ and, therefore, the Budget is unfair
Night Thoughts by Howard Hodgkin
Charlotte Mullins comments on Moght Thoughts
SOS: save our wild salmon
Jane Wheatley examines the dire situation facing the king of fish
Into the deep
Beneath the crystal-clear, alien world of water lie the great piscean survivors of the Ice Age. The Lake District is a fish-spotter's paradise, reports John Lewis-Stempel
It's alive!
Living, burping and bubbling fermented masses of flour, yeast and water that spawn countless loaves—Emma Hughes charts the rise and rise) of sourdough starters
There's orange gold in them thar fields
A kitchen staple that is easily taken for granted, the carrot is actually an incredibly tricky customer to cultivate that could reduce a grown man to tears, says Sarah Todd
True blues
I HAVE been planting English bluebells. They grow in their millions in the beechwoods that surround us—but not in our own garden. They are, however, a protected species. The law is clear and uncompromising: ‘It is illegal to dig up bluebells or their bulbs from the wild, or to trade or sell wild bluebell bulbs and seeds.’ I have, therefore, had to buy them from a respectable bulb-merchant.
Oh so hip
Stay the hand that itches to deadhead spent roses and you can enjoy their glittering fruits instead, writes John Hoyland
A best kept secret
Oft-forgotten Rutland, England's smallest county, is a 'Notswold' haven deserving of more attention, finds Nicola Venning