Hartlepool Saturday
Oct. 13th, 2023 07:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustSaturday was the day my back - which has been complaining since that long drive to Surrey and home again - decided to go on strike. Perhaps it had simply reached that pont; or perhaps it hadn't enjoyed the previous day's seating; and carrying my bag and camera probably didn't help. It didn't stop me enjoying the Folk Festival, but it may hhave limited how much of the festival I was able to enjoy.
We started the day back in St Hilda's church, to hear Angeline Morrison 'Singing for Cesar'. Someone had turned up an entry in St Hildas parish records: "Cesar, a slave of Mr McDonild, baptised January 23rd 1750." That's all: nothing else is known of Cesar, what happened to him (presumably him, though even that is not known), whether he continued to live in Hartlepool, whether he died here... But the mere fact of his presence here was a jolt. We know that despite its reputation as an impoverished backwater, Hartlepool was once a thriving port; some fine houses on the Headland would have belonged to wealthy merchants. So we might have expected the presence of enslaved people - but we didn't. Angeline Morrison had decided to make a funeral / memorial ritual, drawing on the broadest themes of African practice, a song and a short procession, and a garland of roses. Short and sweet.
Undecided what to do next, we lingered for the start of Ciderhouse Rebellion's set: but after one tune, it was clearly not for us (too much boom mat and too freeform). Instead we went to a talk about the Museum of British Folklore. Wait, there's a Museum of British Folklore? Well, there'a a collection - or several - and an enthusiast (actually, two, but the speaker was Simon Costin, and his enthusiasm was unmistakable) and a guerrilla campaign of events and exhibitions. So all they need is a home ...
We bought samosas for lunch from one of the catering vans, and ate them in a marquee which we we sharing with DigVentures (I hadn't known they were active in Hartlepool, but of course they are) and some bees (I wish I'd had the energy to find out more about this project, and to take some pictures of the humans in bee costumes). After lunch, we went to another talk. This seems to have been our theme for the festival, that we attended and enjoyed a lot of talks; this one was Dave Arthur talking about Hearken to the Witches Rune, the record he made with Toni Arthur in the early 70s, and was more interesting than you would expect from a talk about a record you#ve never heard of before.
Finally, we had the Wilsons launching their new album: they seemed apologetic that it was only their fifth record in a 50 years career, but if you aren't that bothered about recording, and you can sustain a career without it, then why should you? I liked this reminder that there is still life in live music. I also liked their version of Leon Rosselson's Palaces of Gold "The BEST version," I thought - but then Martin Simpson sang it the next day, and no, as you were. Good to hear Close the Coalhouse Door again, too.
After which, my back was making it clear that it had had enough. Neither of us was tempted to stay late to hear Altan, so we came home via Morrison's pizza department.
We started the day back in St Hilda's church, to hear Angeline Morrison 'Singing for Cesar'. Someone had turned up an entry in St Hildas parish records: "Cesar, a slave of Mr McDonild, baptised January 23rd 1750." That's all: nothing else is known of Cesar, what happened to him (presumably him, though even that is not known), whether he continued to live in Hartlepool, whether he died here... But the mere fact of his presence here was a jolt. We know that despite its reputation as an impoverished backwater, Hartlepool was once a thriving port; some fine houses on the Headland would have belonged to wealthy merchants. So we might have expected the presence of enslaved people - but we didn't. Angeline Morrison had decided to make a funeral / memorial ritual, drawing on the broadest themes of African practice, a song and a short procession, and a garland of roses. Short and sweet.
Undecided what to do next, we lingered for the start of Ciderhouse Rebellion's set: but after one tune, it was clearly not for us (too much boom mat and too freeform). Instead we went to a talk about the Museum of British Folklore. Wait, there's a Museum of British Folklore? Well, there'a a collection - or several - and an enthusiast (actually, two, but the speaker was Simon Costin, and his enthusiasm was unmistakable) and a guerrilla campaign of events and exhibitions. So all they need is a home ...
We bought samosas for lunch from one of the catering vans, and ate them in a marquee which we we sharing with DigVentures (I hadn't known they were active in Hartlepool, but of course they are) and some bees (I wish I'd had the energy to find out more about this project, and to take some pictures of the humans in bee costumes). After lunch, we went to another talk. This seems to have been our theme for the festival, that we attended and enjoyed a lot of talks; this one was Dave Arthur talking about Hearken to the Witches Rune, the record he made with Toni Arthur in the early 70s, and was more interesting than you would expect from a talk about a record you#ve never heard of before.
Finally, we had the Wilsons launching their new album: they seemed apologetic that it was only their fifth record in a 50 years career, but if you aren't that bothered about recording, and you can sustain a career without it, then why should you? I liked this reminder that there is still life in live music. I also liked their version of Leon Rosselson's Palaces of Gold "The BEST version," I thought - but then Martin Simpson sang it the next day, and no, as you were. Good to hear Close the Coalhouse Door again, too.
After which, my back was making it clear that it had had enough. Neither of us was tempted to stay late to hear Altan, so we came home via Morrison's pizza department.
