Jilly Cooper always calls them fetes worse than death, but we disagree fundamentally and had a great Saturday morning July 20.
We drove up to The Hub to support a little craft fair, showcasing lots of clever hard-working stall holders. We bought a couple of small items, and denying poor Willy a delicious Hub coffee, we crossed the road to Playden church summer fete.
We walked up the leafy driveway to the church, and emerged into the graveyard and well, back into the last century.
The joy was acute at seeing old-fashioned, low-tech game stalls of bean bag throwing, golf ball count guessing, along with tombolas, rummage tables, raffle stalls, cake and jam stalls, clever plant stalls, delicious tea and cake selling in the church and not to forget a book stall that we revisited three times that morning, coming home with three hardbacks and five paperbacks. Good old Agatha Christie and Ngaio Marsh.
I remember so well when I was a child in Burwash Common being handed two ten bob notes (a king’s fortune, I’m sure) and ordered to go and spend every last threepenny bit at the church fete. Bliss.
Actually, the morning got even better. There was a stall selling beef burgers, which included fried onions and tomato ketchup. I had two! And to raise the happy-stakes, they were washed down by a Pimms. First of the year. We sat happily on the mown grass eating and drinking, while the very long dead saluted the efforts of the living in raising money for the fine old church.
The sun was out, and in and out again, so not too hot and not too cold. No wind. So in a word, idyllic, with lots of old chums to chat to. Well done everybody. I got quite nostalgic.
