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A Fair to go Cuckoo About

We moved to the countryside to enjoy
life at a slower pace, but from the moment Susan took up pottery my
quiet life seemed to drift out of control. Suddenly, the house was full
of empty vases and unused dishes, each one requiring my seal of approval
before being put in place on newly-built shelves. Although I
appreciated the fact that my wife had discovered a hidden talent, it was
becoming increasingly obvious that we had to find some use for her
creations before we ran out of space completely. Susan's brightly
coloured ceramic plates and dishes made ideal gifts, but birthdays and
special occasions didnt come around often enough to save us, so I was
delighted when she suggested renting a stall at a local craft fair.

We
live a few miles from the village of Downton, near Salisbury in
Wiltshire. It's a lovely, quiet village on the River Avon that's full of
strange customs and old traditions, such as the Cuckoo Fair at the
beginning of spring. Since the 16th century, people have been coming
from miles around to marvel at this medieval festival. These days,
around 20,000 people enjoy live entertainment from brass bands, street
performers and Morris dancers. For those of us who were brought up in
the city it seems like a lot of quaint countryside fun, but the fair
also has about 250 stalls selling handmade crafts and local produce, and
that's why Susan and I set off for Downton in the early hours of the
morning.

Even at 6 am, Downton was a hive of activity. As the sun
crept across the village, our fellow stall holders were laying out
their wares on stalls that lined Downton's main street just as they'd
done hundreds of years ago. However, this was an entirely new experience
for Susan and she was strangely silent as she arranged and rearranged
her display. For Susan, this was far more than an opportunity to make
some money from surplus handicrafts. She was like an artist preparing
for her first public exhibition and her critics would have to show their
approval by parting with some cash if the day was going to end well.

As
a crowd slowly formed, the homemade honey on the stall next to ours
seemed to be selling well. The old couple who'd produced this tempting
treat offered Susan a supportive smile, but by mid-morning we were still
waiting to make our first sale.

A few potential customers
hesitantly asked about the prices, but most were too distracted by the
hustle and bustle to make a purchase. I confess that my own attention
had started to wander when I suddenly heard the wild, enthusiastic
shrieks of a delighted American tourist. I turned to find a group of
elderly ladies gazing at Susan's display as though they had just
discovered buried treasure. They were generous in their praise and eager
to hand over their money for as many bargains as they could carry. The
attention drew in yet more customers and we were soon struggling to
cope.

By the early afternoon, we had nothing left to sell and we
were finally free to explore the rest of the Cuckoo Fair. The children
dancing around the Maypole looked adorable as they weaved around each
other in their bright costumes. Then we followed a street procession to
the crowning of the Cuckoo Princess. Although I cant say either of us
fully understood the significance of this ancient ceremony, we both
applauded. We wanted to prolong the fun, but it was time to go. As I
drove home with my own cuckoo princess asleep in the passenger seat, I
wondered whether this would be a regular feature of our quiet country
life. For all the satisfaction the day had brought, I certainly hoped
so.

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