A Splash of Paint

January 26, 2020January 29, 2020 David Greenway11 Comments

I’ve always been rubbish at art. At school, my earnest attempts at painting were contemptuously dismissed by the art master as “Greenway’s Daubs”. Not to be disheartened, at various times in my life, I have tried to persevere with: watercolours, oils, acrylics, charcoal sticks and even pencil – all to no avail. Perhaps I never had the right teacher to encourage me. But quite honestly, I’m just not good at it. Having said that, I do remember once trying to paint a sea view from a beach in Corfu. A lady came up to me, looked over my shoulder and said: “Wow! That’s fantastic – I wish I could do that sort of thing”. I was so shocked and flattered, that I quickly signed the painting and gave it to her with my sincerest compliments. She left me, in a state of elation, clutching my “masterpiece” against her very ample bosom. Luckily for my ego, I guess she wasn’t wearing her glasses that day. Nevertheless, in latter years, I have successfully taken to doing stained glass work and have been quite successful – I’ve even had a few commissions!

A hinged jewellery box made for one of my very good friends

A hinged scallop shell trinket box, made for my wife

I quite like doing stained glass mirrors too

I did four of these panels and backlit them for two alcoves

This is “Pig”…… my friend asked if I could produce him in stained glass

He turned out quite well, I think. The owner was pleased with the final result.

I love colour. My colourful, “loud” shirts are testament to that. I often wear them in the summer; they seem to have become my “trade mark” with many of my friends. They make a bold statement – even when the Town Crier is off duty!

I was therefore delighted to be asked to be involved with the Glastonbury Body Art Festival again this year. This annual event, held in the Town Hall early-on in January, provides Glastonbury with a welcome splash of colour and gaiety at a time of year when it is often grey and depressing, especially after all those Christmas decorations have been packed away.

The format for this yearly event is now well-established. Primarily, it’s a fund-raising festival for the very worthy “Children’s World” charity. It is also a wonderful opportunity for about thirty artists to let their imaginations run wild as they set about painting skin, with this year’s theme, “The Realm of Psychedelia”.

During the morning, the models and their artists start creating their masterpieces. The Town Hall caretaker is instructed to stoke the boilers in order to produce the maximum heat (rather difficult in a big hall in early January) to provide reasonably comfortable conditions for the scantily-clad models who, for obvious reasons, have to stand very still as the artwork progresses. Then at 1pm, for a small fee, the hall is thrown open to the general public, who come from far and wide to marvel at the art work taking shape before them. The event always attracts not only superb artists but also serious photographers – both professional and amateur. The next group of photos were taken by Geoff Corris, a very good photographer friend.

Then at 4pm, the public leave and the doors are once again closed. The Town Hall then has to be converted from art-studio to catwalk in just a matter of hours.

The evening catwalk show is the culmination of the day’s efforts, with models “strutting their stuff” to the accompaniment of individually chosen music, whilst a sea of flash guns fire away like one of those electrical storms that you might encounter in the tropics!

I was booked to publicise and open the event about a year ago, after last year’s involvement with the Body Art Festival. A few days before this year’s festival, I was contacted by Stephen, one of the creative geniuses behind Glastonbury’s winter skin-art extravaganza and was asked if they could “paint me under my regalia” so that, as first-out on the catwalk, at the appropriate time, I could unbutton my eighteenth century Great-Coat and henceforth, the Honourable Town Crier would perform some kind of “Civic Flash” in front of a packed Town Hall and, in the words of the late and great Kenny Everett, “all in the best possible taste”. I politely declined his very kind offer, explaining that, at my age, the more of my body that is covered up, the better it is for all! Even the briefest glimpse of my uncovered body – however much it might be plastered with paint – would surely send the assembled masses rushing for the exit doors faster than in a fire emergency!

I was once painted-up as a Town Crier Zombie in another fund-raising event in Glastonbury, a few years ago. A good friend once whispered to me, after: “Dignity in Office, .…….remember, Dignity in Office, Dave”. I’ve never forgotten his words of caution.

However, I did suggest a compromise. I proposed that during my evening appearance on the catwalk, I’d perform my usual “Cry” to start off the proceedings and then remove my tricorn, shouting my customary “GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!” On bowing, with head lowered, the assembled could then perhaps admire a piece of glorious artwork on the top of my bald head? Not much more was said about my suggestion at the time and I assumed it had been dismissed out of hand…….

On the day of the Body Art Show, I arrived in Glastonbury a few hours before the opening at 1pm. I like to publicise events both before and during. I cried the length of the High Street – at all my usual spots. My good friend Michael Alexander Law took this photo of me outside the celebrated fifteenth century “George and Pilgrims” Hotel.

He came over to tell me that he could hear me, INSIDE the “Winking Turtle Café” about a hundred yards away. That’s music to a Town Crier’s ears, I have to say!

I’m very lucky to have such beautiful, historic backdrops for photographs in Glastonbury.

(Photograph by June Greenway)

On this morning, these were my first cries in well-over a month. I find that my throat dries out during the initial run of cries. Seeing that I was struggling, my dear friend Ria (seen above, filming me outside the G&P) took pity on me and dragged me off for some refreshments. But before that, she couldn’t resist a little photo-fun with “T.C.” as she now affectionately calls me!

Ria also introduced me to a beneficial honey and ginger drink that really works wonders on the vocal cords! I am very grateful to her for that.

I was much heartened, when I attended the Town Hall later on in the day, to hear from my good friend, Grant, who was “on the door”, that many people had paid to come to view the Body Art Festival because of hearing me cry in the High Street. Such is the nature of Town Crying…… we really do inform the “passing trade” in our towns – not everyone reads local newspapers, listens to the radio or follows social media. Sometimes, you just can’t beat the spoken (or should I say, shouted) word! Just like the “Good Old (eighteenth century) Days”.

It was a delight to meet up with old friends – models, artists, photographers and many members of the public that I’ve come to know since becoming Town Crier. I wandered around the busy, bustling and by now, rather steamy Town Hall, magically transformed into one massive art studio.

Besides the viewing and photographing public, there were also the artists and their essentially statuesque models, surrounded by discarded clothes, bags, cases, paints, brushes, half eaten meals, mugs, head-dresses, bulbs, wires, paper tissues and all manner of props.

Inevitably, a gang of photographers – all well-known to me – persuaded me to take part in a set-up shot, depicting me painting one of the models. We found a willing model who looked pretty well-advanced in her percentage of body paint coverage. I was given a clean paintbrush by a rather anxious artist and proceeded to pose, in artist mode. If only my school art teacher was still alive to see this photo! “Look Sir, I’ve done another Daub!”

(Photo by Geoff Corris)

I continued to wander around, marvelling at the diverse way in which the artists had interpreted this year’s theme, until I could contain myself no longer. It was 3:30pm and the doors were going to close at 4:00pm. My “inner photographer” could not stand it any longer, so I made a quick exit to the car park to remove my green coat and tricorn, swapping my brass bell for a Nikon! I returned to take a few hurried snaps in the failing light but at least I now had some sort of photographic record of this amazing event.

From 4:00 p.m. I decided to stay in the warm Town Hall, as my publicity job was now done. I was needed to make a proclamation at the start of the Catwalk Show, so had a few hours to kill. As I sat in a corner, at the back of the hall, I watched the models as they grabbed a bite to eat, practiced their routines, tested their light displays and photographed each other using their phones prior to a frenzy of social media publishing!

I was wondering where she kept the batteries……

The detritus of a day’s creative outpouring was swept up and cleared away in no time; I watched the hall’s rapid transformation in preparation for the evening show. The catwalk was soon assembled, surrounded by as many chairs as could be legally squeezed around it, for the evening show had been a “sell-out”. Men clambered up ladders, as spotlights were set up and sound systems tested. Helpful choreographic instructions were relayed to all the assembled models. Whilst all this was going on, I grabbed a bowl of delicious potato ‘n leek soup and a crusty roll. I returned to the hall to watch the rehearsal. The models were told that on the catwalk there were three “sweet spots” – the name given to areas of brightest illumination. These were the areas where the models should obviously linger to best show off the efforts of the day. This year they were trying out some ultraviolet lights as well. Given the right sort of paint, colours could be made to fluoresce very brightly under these sorts of lights.

As I sat there watching all this, a lady with rather painty arms came up to me and said: “Right, OK we’ve got some time to paint your head.” Her plan was to use invisible, ultraviolet-sensitive paint on my rather expansive bald patch, so that when I removed my tricorn and bowed, I would…….well…… sort of….. “glow in the dark”! The paint felt very cold as it went on but it soon dried.

There was a photo-call in the lower hall of the town hall for all the models to be photographed professionally. My good friend Mark Pickthall, a truly gifted Somerset photographer had been given the job and he had set up his photo studio there. A giant black backcloth and untold numbers of flash lights, spotlights and reflectors had all been painstakingly set up during the afternoon. I went down to watch. Mark wanted to test out his lights and so I stepped up and obliged…….

Thirty models (some with huge sticky-out bits) had to be squeezed into the hall and each one, in turn, was photographed in a variety of poses. At the very end, before they disbanded, I got to stand with the assembled models and tested out the art work on my bald patch, under the U-V light. It worked!

Infront of a full house, as the Town Hall clock stuck eight, I strutted forward onto the catwalk and after carefully locating the first ultraviolet “sweet spot”, took a few deep breaths, rang my bell and launched into my Opening Cry:

OYEZ, OYEZ, OYEZ!

Citizens of Glastonbury and visitors to this fine Town from near and afar…….

On behalf of the organisers, may I extend to you all, a warm “Glastonbury Welcome” to the Catwalk Show of the 3^rd Glastonbury Body Art Festival, whereupon, I guarantee you will be enthralled by the creative, polychromatic, culmination of today’s hard work, by an incredible team of talented artists and models from around the country. Backstage, right now, it looks just like an explosion in a paint factory!

Thank you for attending “The Realm of Psychedelia” and for generously supporting Children’s World.

Enjoy your evening…….and take lots of photographs!

Long May Glastonbury Flourish!

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!

I removed my tricorn, took my bow……….. and fluoresced!

(Photo by Mark Pickthall)

Avalon · Bells · Uncategorized

My bell’s a “Dead-Ringer”

June 11, 2019June 11, 2019 David Greenway4 Comments

My bell’s a “Dead-Ringer” – it really is!

Although this is another blog post, in which, of course, I hope to entertain you, as well as dazzle you with my unparalleled literary genius (my wife often says that I live in a “Dream World”) there is another motive for writing it. Allow me to explain.

As I’m sure you are aware (especially if you managed to read my blog “Getting their Attention”) I have this large bell. It is in fact, a very large, shapely and beautifully shiny bell. I think my owl friend agrees.

(Photo by Mark Adler)

It always looks impressive when I am carrying it, upturned, in my right, white-gloved hand, as it rests against my chest, at Civic and ceremonial functions.

As bells go, with its curvatious lines and ample diameter, it has to be the most handsome bell in Somerset. My wife bought it for me a year or so ago. Its noble-looking profile, as presented on an Amazon web page, clearly seduced my good lady into clicking on a mouse, thus instantly parting with her hard-earned cash to “aid and abet” her husband’s crazy hobby of dressing up in old-fashioned clothes and shouting at the public in the street.

(Photo by Vicki Steward)

There’s only one snag about buying a bell on-line. Yes, you’ve guessed it. You can’t actually hear the sound it makes. And there we have it – the aural equivalent of …..“The proof of the pudding is in the eating.” Although the bell looks really splendid, it’s sound just doesn’t “cut the mustard”. OK, I’ll stop being polite…..it makes an absolutely dreadful, noisy din. It is more of an ear-splitting “clang” than a sonorous “dong”. Although the loud sound travels well and it does get me heard, the quality of the sound is just not there. I think there are a combination of reasons for this. I don’t think the metal is actually brass at all; the metal is quite thin and the actual bell is not all that wide for most of its profile.

My wife found a smaller bell in an antique shop in Marlborough. It has a beautifully rich sound with a delightfully higher pitched “tinkle”, but its sound does not carry so far. However, it is very well-suited for inside Town Crier jobs, such as announcing the arrival of the new Mayor at our “Mayor-Making” Council Meeting.

Right, I really must get to the point:

I NEED YOUR HELP IN FINDING ME A NEW BELL!

If you are passing an antique shop or the like, in the UK (and if you have the time) could you please venture in, look around or better still, ask if there are any large hand bells for sale. If there is one, if you have a chance, please ring it and take a video of it ringing and then send the video to me! Please send me details of the shop’s location and perhaps an idea of how much they are asking for the bell. I’m working on the principle that a few hundred pairs of eyes are better than one! I do hope you can help Glastonbury’s Town Crier find a truly melodious bell to ring out throughout Avalon.

Happy hunting and my sincere thanks in advance! Oh…….. and don’t forget to “give me a bell”. (Sorry!)

(Featured image photo by Kelly Malcolm)

Engagement · Glastonbury · Glastonbury Abbey · Town Crier · Uncategorized

Appearances at the Abbey

September 6, 2018October 6, 2018 David Greenway4 Comments

Since moving to Glastonbury in 1980, I’ve always enjoyed my visits to the Glastonbury Abbey and long before I became Town Crier of this lovely town. Actually, there isn’t a complete Abbey there now, only ruins. After the carnage and mayhem seen here in 1539, presided over by King Henry VIII, clinically referred to in the history books as “The Dissolution”, Glastonbury Abbey was targeted for state robbery and destruction, its last Abbot, Abbot Richard Whiting meeting a most miserable end. He and two others, after sham “trials”, were dragged up the Glastonbury Tor and executed on the top of it. He was later “hung, drawn and quartered”. In November every year, we remember him, usually with a short service on the Tor with the laying of flowers. The last one I attended, as Town Crier, was quite moving.
But the ruins nevertheless have a great appeal to tourists the world over.

The massive grounds are home to quite a lot of wildlife too.

My wife and I have bought yearly membership to the Abbey. We often drop in, sometimes with our grandson, and enjoy the peace and space of this historic location. Guides, in costume, are available to show visitors around.

As happens every year, the Mayor, Town Clerk, Macebearers, Town Councillors and myself are invited to attend two big Pilgrimages.

One is a Roman Catholic Pilgrimage the other, an Anglican one. Sometimes they occur in the same weekend. My parade associates refer to these as “Back-to-back” Pilgrimages! They are significant events in the Glastonbury Calendar and attract thousands of worshippers and spectators. Slow processions through the streets of Glastonbury also take place.

The macebearers and I often share our little joke at these times. At Pilgrimages, we either find ourselves sitting in puddles of rain (usually) or very occasionally, in puddles of sweat (as happened this time, during our exceptionally hot summer!)

But this year, I had two other Town Crier jobs in the Abbey. Firstly, I was contacted by a gentleman called Nico, who wanted me to “cry” at his engagement. His plan was to “pop the question” to his good lady in the grounds of Glastonbury Abbey and then to have the local Town Crier, standing by, to shout out the glad tidings, if she said “Yes”. What an inspired decision, I might add, to utilize the Town Crier!
After the initial contact and explanation had been made, a flurry of secret text messages followed concerning the date, timing, exact location and my “choreography” before crying.

When the big day came, I parked in my usual spot that’s reserved for me when on “Civic Duties”, just behind the Town Hall, which is conveniently next door to the abbey. As I was climbing into my regalia, a lady passed by and said, “You’re hear for the engagement then?” I nodded. Clearly, Nico’s plans were not entirely top secret.
Once robed up, I flashed my yearly entrance card at the girl in the foyer, before making my way towards the outdoor café in the Abbey grounds to try and be as inconspicuous as possible – well as much as a man wearing frilly lace, white tights, buckles on shoes, triangular feathered hat, an eighteenth century great coat, yards of gold braid and shining brass buttons can be! It was a good spot with a clear view of the planned “Engagement Zone”. I stood and watched. My good friend Ali passed by -she happened to be visiting the Abbey at the same time – and she kindly agreed to take a few photos of the events as they unfolded. We took the obligatory selfie.

We watched carefully. After about ten minutes I was beginning to feel that the Vicky had decided to shun married life with Nico by replying negatively to his question.
Then suddenly, in the distance, there was a flurry of activity.

I could hear and later see a solo violin playing near some steps, joined shortly after by a lone guitarist. The melodious music wafted across the lush green grounds. Then I saw the couple. He was reaching for the ring!!

I said to myself: “This guy will go far! He’s chosen Glastonbury Abbey, arranged some live background music and even booked a Town Crier….this chap has got it well and truly sorted!” Ali felt much the same. The big question was this. When do I advance prior to a Town Crier announcement being made? We waited and watched. Then I saw the smiles, hugs and long passionate embraces – all the clues I needed to step forward and introduce myself to the blissfully happy couple.

It was a delight to be the first to congratulate the newly-engaged couple and to kiss the lucky bride-to-be. I spun round, took a few paces forward, unrolled my scroll, took a deep breath and announced their good news to passing visitors and a professional photographer who had also clearly been hired, to photographically capture the event!

As I said, this chap did it with style!

A rather similar secretive stream of messages and texts between myself and my very good friend, Heidi, preceded my appearance at the Abbey to “Cry” at a 25th Wedding Anniversary party a few months later. Again, I lurked in the grounds of the Abbey until being summoned to spring a surprise on the couple and their guests with a “Proclamation”!

That’s one of the terrific things about being a Town Crier – I’m often able to share in the happiness and joy of others. It’s the best job in the world!

Glastonbury · Town Crier · Uncategorized

Competitions

May 26, 2018May 27, 2018 David Greenway2 Comments

Town Criers, by definition, tend to be rather solitary figures. Wearing brightly-coloured regalia, white tights, yards of gold braid, frilly lace, white gloves, buckles on shoes, ringing bells and shouting their collective heads off – it has to be said, they do stand out in a crowd. Our dress is designed to do exactly that. Even though we may be surrounded by an admiring public, clicking away on their cameras, iPhones, iPads, iPods and the like, in some respects, we stand there very much alone, as pieces of bellowing, animated living history – or at least, until people come up to us and have a chat.

So, it is therefore, quite heartening, every once in a while, to meet up with other Town Criers and their escorts. Town Crier Competitions provide a means of doing just that.

Yeovil Town Criers’ Competition, April 2016

Observing how other town criers manage the whole business of “crying” can be quite illuminating and at times instructive.

For a start, the way they ring their bells is fascinating. Some ring their bells “hell-for-leather” in what you might call “fire alarm mode”, (I probably come under that category!)

Others simply perform gentle, deliberate, measured and quite frankly, economical bell rings.
Some do all the bell-ringing first before shouting the “OYEZs” three times. Others intersperse bell ringing with the obligatory, introductory shouting.
One crier from South Gloucestershire, a most informed and jovial gentleman, showed me his bell over dinner. He owned a bell that came with a fascinating and positively romantic history, of which he was keen to impart. The bell was once used on a horse-drawn fire engine!

How’s that for a piece of history! His pre-cry bell-ringing action was pretty engaging too.

Before his cry, he would hold the bell up and ring it from below, as you can see in the photograph. (I managed to restrain myself from shouting out: “Where’s the fire?”)

Then there’s the shouting of “OYEZ, OYEZ, OYEZ!” which is French for “Hear Ye!” One delightful lady Town Crier engages in a ritual of flinging her arms out, at full stretch and follows on by actually the singing the words with full operatic abandon!

It wouldn’t have sounded out of place in a Wagnerian opera! This was quite a novelty, I thought, although perhaps an afternoon of it, on the High Street, could become a tad tedious for shopkeepers? Each crier seemed to have an idiosyncratic way of shouting out the words. That alone made the contest interesting – even before we got on to the contents of their cries!
As I mentioned before, some criers are female and very pretty they look too, but inevitably, they do not generally have the lung capacity and strength of projection possessed by their male counterparts.

The most successful of them are those who do not try to match the men, but develop their own individual style, within the limitations that evolution has bestowed upon them. If they over-shout they tend to screech.
Personally, I shout “OYEZ, OYEZ, OYEZ!” long and loud but without the frills or silly antics.

I look for some spectators in the distance and imagine that I am trying to shout to the people beyond them!
I couldn’t help but notice that the “message” of a few Town Criers became very fragmented and a little hard to follow at times. This is simply because they took numerous pauses for breath and only managed a few words at a time in between huge gulps of air. I have realised that convincing and effective “crying” has to strike the correct balance between breathing to stay alive, trying to say a full sentence without breaking it up and maintaining a creditable volume throughout. Crying almost continuously for several hours (not in competitions, I hasten to add) is quite physically exhausting. I often return home from a Town Crying session, totally drained and with a deep husky voice reminiscent of Barry White!
For most competitions two cries are performed. Firstly, a “Home Cry” is made, extolling the virtues of our respective towns.

Here is my “Home Cry”, written for me by Lisa Goodwin, Glastonbury’s celebrated wordsmith:

OYEZ, OYEZ, OYEZ!
I bring sincere salutations
from the town of Glastonbury.
A magical, mythical place
a celebrated sanctuary.

Everyone knows the famous Tor;
it won Olympic recognition,
yet there is so much more
to our history, myths and tradition.

Waters of chalk and chalice well,
rich in myth and story.
Saints and Kings, the Holy Grail,
tales of heartbreak and glory.

Our Abbey on the Isle of Glass;
still considered the holiest earth,
though many years have passed
since the mother church was birthed.

Men who walked these hills of green
rooted a tree, most auspicious,
the Holy Thorn, a bough to the queen,
presented every Christmas.

In Glastonbury we recognise
so many faiths in unity,
and from the heart we harmonise
unity through diversity.

LONG MAY GLASTONBURY FLOURISH!

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!

After an interval, our “Own” cries are done. Sometimes we have a free choice and on other occasions, we’re given a theme. “Birds”, “Grandad”, “The Queen’s 90th Birthday” have been some recent topics!

The Town Crier competitions are run according to the rules of the Ancient and Honourable Guild of Criers.

Anxious Town Criers and Escorts wait their turn

The rules are quite strict too. Here are a few of the more interesting ones to give you an idea of the limitations that exist:
• The length of the cry must be between 100-125 words.
• Props, including the use of animals, must NOT be used by Criers whilst a competition is in progress.
• A crier may only take one means of calling attention onto the crying platform and carry a scroll for their cry.
• The order of the cry will be decided by a draw.
• The draw will take place in the presence of a majority of the participating Criers.
• All competitors must be available within 1 minute of their name being called.
• Criers must not wear badges, awards or medals relating to previous championship wins, or any such decoration that could influence the judges.
• Any Crier encouraging crowd participation may, at the discretion of the Competition Co-ordinator, be penalised or disqualified.
• All cries must be non-political, non-religious, and in good taste.
• If, during a cry, there is an exceptional noise or distraction (for example Low Flying Jet, Helicopter, Motorcycle, Explosion, Peal of Bells etc.) the Crier may stop their cry and restart, either from the position in their cry that they had reached, or from the beginning of their cry, without loss of points.
• Town Criers will be judged on:
– Diction (The pronouncement of the words)
– Inflection (The pitch of the voice and it’s variation)
– Volume (The output of sound)
– Clarity (The ability to be understood despite the volume)

The Judges

The all-important “Draw”

My escort or “consort” for Town Crier competitions is Councillor Denise Michell, a member of the Glastonbury Town Council.

Councillor Denise Michell (ex Mayor of Glastonbury) – a worthy prizewinner!

I’m often asked why I don’t bring my wife along to these events. I should explain that my dear wife, June, is quite a private person and prefers not to get involved in Town Crier Competitions and I totally respect her wishes. However, June is perfectly happy to see me attend these events with our very good friend Denny. Denny enjoys dressing up in historic costumes very much.

She is very successful at it too, winning the “Best Dressed Escort” prize at the recent competition in Yeovil. (We also won the “Best Dressed Town Crier and Escort” prize at the 2018 Ilminster competition, by the way).

Our recent successes have been keeping the trophy engraver busy!

Denny and I have attended four competitions to date……we’ve been in the prize winners every time. Long may it continue!

After the competition is over, a three-course meal, alcoholic drinks, chats with fellow town criers or escorts and of course, the presentation of prizes, is a lovely way to round off the day.

During the course of a year, I receive numerous invitations to attend town crier competitions. Town Councils and the like tend to put them on to boost tourism. Seeing and hearing 25 town criers walking down a main street is quite a spectacle and cameras are usually out! Unfortunately, they generally occur on Saturdays in the summer months, when town criers are inevitably at their busiest, opening fetes and so forth. If I’m at a town crier competition then I cannot be available to serve Glastonbury, when called upon to do so. Clearly, there has to be a limit and so I usually support our two nearest ones every year

At the end of recent contests we were enthralled by the performance of an eight year old boy (grandson of one of the contestants!) – believed to be the youngest Town Crier in the UK. Since some of us are not in the “first flush of youth” shall we say, it was good to take a glimpse into the future!