Part of the reason for going to the show was wanting to see spinning and weaving being demonstrated, interest having been sparked on 1st September last. And as luck would have it the tent occupied by the West Surrey Guild of Spinners, Weavers and Dyers (see http://www.wsurreyguildspinweavedye.org.uk/) was one of the first things we came across. And, in a small way at least, we were able to see both spinning and weaving in action, and very interesting it was too. I associate to the wealth generated from textiles over the years, in Norfolk, in Florence and during the industrial revolution; an important part of human life almost everywhere, once we had abandoned our caves and settled down to growing sheep, goats and wheat. One of the claims made in the tent was that, in the olden days, just before the industrial revolution, one spinner could more or less keep one weaver going. I had always thought that it took several spinners to keep one weaver going, so if we ever make it to another such tent I shall ask again. (My own knowledge of the matter is more or less restricted to what can be gleaned from Silas Marner, who was able to service a number of farmers' wives, but who were only part-time and so do not bear on the present question).
Next stop was the tent of the chickens where we were able to admire a great variety of caged chckens. I decided that those with feathery feet should be disqualified as being unhealthy and impractical and that I like the Rhode Island Reds best, associating here to the childrens' books from North America of my childhood. Large chickens of a conventional shape with a ticket claiming descent from the Malay stock, stock which I learn this morning is a fighting stock, a variety of the Kulang Asil stock from southern India and not to be found anywhere in Malaya. All this chicken lore which I did not know was out there. We also learned something about the niceties of judging eggs, including the fact that some classes of eggs were judged from the outside and others were judged from the inside, this last being a destructive form of judging. Furthermore, a lot of the judging of chickens, eggs and other animals was to do with their breeding capabilities, so the egg, for example, had to be the right shape for a hatching chick to be able to break out of. And we never knew that there was such a shape! I tried meeting the eyes of some chickens which had been caged at the right height, but one did not seem to be able to do this. The chicken could clearly see you, but one got no sense of a meeting of minds. Not even that which you get from something like a lion when it is eyeing you up from the point of view of lunch. And nothing like a dog when it is eyeing you up, from the point of view of lunch or anything else. The chap next to me said that it was probably all down to having a bird brain. One should not expect to be able to make contact with such a being.
And so on to the flowers, the goats, the sheep and the cows. We passed on the pigs as their tent was rather crowded. We supposed that there was a special class of farmer which made their livings by appearing at suburban shows of this sort and that a proportion of our ticket money went towards paying their expenses. Or is it just a hobby for the older farmer? An excuse to travel about a bit and see foreign parts, in much the same way as some model train enthusiasts tramp the country with their prize layouts?
BH lunched off a hog roast roll, that is to say a large recently thawed bread roll, long rather than round, filled up with warm shredded pork and with the option of various kinds of goo to pour over to supply extra flavour. Some people were making full use of this option. Shredding the pork did not seem quite right to me, hardly the way to make a proper hot meat sandwich, but did have the advantage of meaning that the thing could be eaten outdoors standing up without too much strain and without lumps of meat, skin, fat or gristle hanging out of either mouth or sandwich.
And so back to London Road. A good day out, if a trifle wet. Sadly we missed the musical drive of the King's Troop of the Royal Horse Artillery, so we never got to find out why we have a King's Troop when we have had a Queen for more than half a century. I suppose I should have asked one of the many soldiers wandering about - in fatigues rather than the fancy dress I assume would have come with the musical drive.
PS: http://www.army.mod.uk/artillery/regiments/24679.aspx unhelpful on the matter of king or queen but does tell me that they have six men or women deployed in Afghanistan at any one time. What an odd number!
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