News from Nowhere

Saturday was the Gala, the annual Big Meeting of the Durham Miners - and, these days, of anyone else who cares to attend. This year it was cold and grey and rainy, and our attendance was minimal: blame lack of stamina as much as the weather - or perhaps they go together, because it wasn't a day for taking a break, finding somewhere to sit and watching the procession go by... Instead we called in at Elvet Methodist church, open for coffee again after missing several years, and agreed that neither of us wanted to go much further. We did linger a little longer in Old Elvet, and then cut through to the river, crossing Baths Bridge and walking along the riverbanks. The procession was still crossing Elvet Bridge when we reached the Boathouse, and we could hear the bands all the way: the usual tunes (YMCA, Sweet Caroline) and some less usual (was that really Raglan Road?). I didn't hear Gresford at all, though.

Tomorrow we set off for a week's jaunt: driving across country and seeing people. No, of course I'm not ready. Bedtime now, though.

A performance from the Durham Brass Festival (online version).

ETA, three years on: Well, that's very mysterious. I'm sure the video was public when I posted it; and this year's Brass Festival programme doesn't tell us much, either. I wonder what this was about...

Durham Miners' Gala 2005: my first, and probably most detailed, post on this subject.

Tagged posts (a work in progress)

It's been a Big Weekend: the Miners' Gala, also known as the Big Meeting, on Saturday, followed by Sunday's Big Lunch, organised by neighbours one street over, and attended by people from our very local neighbourhood. I was surprised, on Sunday, at the extent to which people - whom I didn't know well, and with whom I thought I was making small talk - regarded the Gala as 'not for us', even 'to be avoided at all costs'. Even in years when political differences can be a bit prickly, I'd hate to miss the brass bands and the banners:



It's an opportunity to show off my deficiencies as a street photographer: this should have been a perfect juxtaposition of the portrait of Ellen Wilkinson with the baby in the pushchair (matching shades of blue courtesy of education union NAS/UWT): The past we inherit, the future we build. Instead two additional heads intrude into the composition - children, admittedly, and therefore on-theme, but not part of my plan. Still, the dominance of royal blue, not to mention the noise of folded paper clappers (and a few plastic ones left over from previous years, before plastic was widely seen as Evil) told us we were nearing NAS/UWT Central, and we caught up with samarcand and family for the briefest of hugs and greetings...

( More photographs, and other things )

That was it, really. Here's the best report I could find of Jeremy Corbyn's speech. Looking for that, I also found this, which really isn't helpful.

Previous years: 2005 (with explanation); 2006; 2007; 2008; (2009: we were in Iceland) 2010; 2011; 2012 (briefly; 2013; 2014; 2015; 2016 (briefly)
DMA Website
Guardian report

The promise was that this year's Gala would be the largest since [insert your comparator of choice here], that Jeremy Corbyn, fresh from his triumph at Glastonbury, would pull in a massive crowd. This is a good thing. It's great that the Gala, which at one time seem likely to disappear like the mining industry itself, is going from strength to strength. And if my heart sinks when I'm promised a massive crowd, well, that's my problem.

Paradoxically, our first impression as we set out on Saturday morning was that the town was emptier than usual: we could hear no music as we walked down the hill, and the North Road was empty, blocked by a council truck parked across the end (someone had stuck a blue NASUWT flag in the back, so we knew they had passed this way). Usually we'd be running into crowds as we climbed Silver Street, but this year we reached the Market Place before we ran into the banners and bands, and it wasn't difficult to make our way past Magdalen Steps, usually a pinch point. That's where I took this picture:



There were plenty of people wearing red, and the NASUWT's blue was everywhere, but I appreciated the effort Unison representative had made to wear purple (and handling phone, banner and coffee at once shows real skill).

( More of the same: more words, more photos )

And that's all for another year. We accompanied samarcand and co. to their hotel, and had a drink and a chat, and then we made our way home...

Previous years: 2005 2006 2008 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014

Yesterday, once again, was the Durham Miners' Gala, the Big Meeting, a day out for all the family, with brass bands and banners, a funfair and political speeches.



We set off after breakfast, down the North Road, past the Scottish dancers of the Morpeth Pipe Band, starting to meet bands standing, waiting their turn, on Framwellgate Bridge. We were looking for the NASUWT, and in previous years we've caught up with them in Silver Street, but no -

Through the Marketplace, stopping by Magdalen Steps for a particularly spirited version of the Proclaimers' 500 Miles (something like this, but heading in the opposite direction). We couldn't have chosen not to stop, the crush was so great, so we waited and enjoyed the music, and when the band moved on, we moved on with them -

On to Elvet Bridge, where we found a different kind of band, a bunch of folk musicians marching with the Harraton banner, which has portraits of Jack Elliot and Jock Purdon, two Harraton miners and folk singers - I'd never seen this banner before, though it is ten years old -

And finally on Elvet Bridge we caught up with the NASUWT, and samarcand and family, and marched very slowly with them, which gave us plenty of time to chat, and an excuse to be right there with the band when their turn came to play to the guests assembled on the balcony of the Royal County Hotel (another thing I've never done before, and quite an experience).

We took a break in the shade on the bank by the prison, opposite the man selling bubble guns, and watched the bands marching past, and the bubbles drifting by; and then we went down onto the racecourse, to listen to the speeches. Jeremy Corbyn, invited to speak briefly, told us what we wanted to hear, and was applauded at the end of every sentence (and sometimes in mid-sentence as well); the other speakers were fine, but there were no surprises, and when Owen Jones came on, I decided I'd had enough, and wandered off for a look round. Most years we see people we know, but not this year, although now it's over I'm hearing from people who were there...

By now it was mid-afternoon, I was hungry, and I could feel the sun burning the back of my neck - so we headed for the Café Continental, which has become part of our Gala day tradition, for a late lunch within sight and hearing of the bands heading homewards. The fine weather had brought them plenty of custom, and there was a very reduced choice of sandwiches, but there were chips and beer to go with them, and a ringside seat. And then home, through streets still crowded and sounding with brass.

Woman to man carrying Barnsley Miner's Wives' banner: But you're not a miner's wife. Where are the miners' wives?

Man carrying banner: The bosses are in front of the banner.

Quite right too.