Old Friends

Last week I spotted a small sign outside the neighbouring farmer's gate saying 'Barn Dance'.  If you craned your neck and looked onto the other side of the notice, it said 'Open to All', June 21st.  That was yesterday, for those of you who didnt notice how long the day lasted.

So I was faintly appalled that I knew nothing about it, and was not aware of anyone I knew going to it. No one had mentioned it.

Kind Neighbour, bringing round yet more delicious eggs for my B&Bers, advised me that it had been organised to raise funds for my children's old village primary school.

I've mentioned before - I'm a bit of a pariah around here.  It must look a bit odd - this woman keeping going, running this large house in the middle of nowhere, alone with just her young daughter for company. Most jilted wives would probably have wanted to move as far away as possible from their Nemesis, into the safety and security of their family's arms, in a small house without draughts where everything didnt break all the time.  

I dont really care if they think I'm Mad Mary of the Moor, but I do find it hard to go to these social gatherings full of indigenous local people, all of whom have partners, and most of whom are related to each other, one way or another.  I've been here nearly twenty years now, but I'm not part of the soil.  Not even rural really - I still don't know the names of the fields, tors or birds. And you're more likely to catch me going for a walk in a swimming costume, sarong and flip-flops,  than boots and those stupid sticks that scratch the roads and mess up the moor. Anyway - that's why I have horses. So you can sit down going uphill. 

I just like it here, that's all, particularly in this extraordinary weather.  It is utterly, utterly, utterly stunning!  I lie in the sun and just drink it all in!

My daughter felt the same about the Dance as I did. She didnt want to go.  She hasnt seen her local friends since Widecombe Fair when they came up to say hello and she rushed off to the dog show, looking and sounding like a 'too posh and arrogant for words', when in fact she was just suffering from an eleven-year-old shy-on.

"We're Hadows" - I said.  "Best foot forward.  We're good at this sort of thing."  So we went.  And thank God that we made ourselves do it.  I would have died to have heard about it afterwards, and to have missed it.

This part of Dartmoor still holds events verging on the celestial from time to time.  There is an annual Cricket Match, Widecombe vs Poundsgate; the first match of the day is played by women and children, and the second by the men. X once hit heads with a jockey while fielding, got severely concussed and ended up in an ambulance.  This match is held in a stunning natural amphitheatre with views towards the sea; everyone is in their whites, drinking beer and wine, bringing along barbeques, garden furniture, marquees and even hammocks.  It's like Dartmoor's version of Henley.

Well this Barn Dance last night was held in Near Neighbouring Farmer's field and barn.  His son is in his last year at the primary school.  The large field was mown and in the evening sunlight were a bucking bronco and several bouncy castles.  The barn was huge and immacuate - about 100 metres long, featuring a succession of local jazz, soul, blues and rock bands, and even local children, playing and singing, none of it overly intrusive.

Children were everywhere,  and virtually every person I have ever met since living here was there, and I am definitely still part of it all, however vicariously.

After a shaky start,  and a little word in a few little girls' ears from me, Beloved Daughter ended the evening happily sitting in the family car of her best old friend from her old school, turning elastic bands into hair attire. It was as if they had never been separated. 

It was the most perfect evening imaginable.