Of Interest
Feather watch
“I am nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us—–don’t tell?
They’d banish us you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
Emily Dickinson
We all know that Nature has the power to improve the way we live It gives us a quality in our everyday lives and puts a smile on our faces when things go wrong
Just to hear a party of swifts racing around our chimney pots over the town, calling to each other, is to many the first sound of summer. The Victorians called them Jacky Screechers and Devil Birds and thought they spent the winter hibernating at the bottom of lakes and ponds We now know better…….that they fly up to 6,000 miles from South Africa to breed and nest under the eaves of our houses; that they feed, mate and even sleep on the wing; that they never land on the ground except by accident and, consequently, their legs are weak through lack of use; that they mate for life and can live for more than 20 years, sometimes clocking up 3 million miles during their lifetime. So it is important to think about leaving room for them under our eves. 0r putting up a nest box for their return next year.
Garden birds have had a good start and, as our summer is looking hotter than usual, reports are coming in of larger numbers of chicks hatching out, one reporting a long-tailed tit feeding a brood of eleven. These birds, like the wren, were particularly susceptible to the last unusually cold winter. So again we have some good news, which reminds us that Nature has great healing powers.
Peregrine falcons have been a success, with two nests with young on the Hills. Look out for their arrow-shaped gliding profile in the sky, as they hunt for pigeons over the area.
Many types of warblers are again with us, breeding on the Hills and in the gardens and sometimes difficult to tell apart…..so a birdwatcher’s pocket guidebook, along with trusty binoculars, may make a walk that much more special as the summer unfolds.
Philip Kedward.
Rogationtide
Three members of our congregation recently attended an unusual service for Rogationtide. The event was held on a local working farm in Hanley Swan led by the Reverend Robert Barlow.
There was a large congregation of mainly farming families plus many children from the local holiday home. We began the service in the barn yard. A reading followed by a prayer then a Taizé chant, led by a violin and a guitar. We processed through the milking parlour to see the cows being milked (some had been kept back from their normal time to be the stars of the show!)
The journey continued around the farm looking at all the aspects of a modern dairy farm, stopping at various places of special interest, such as slurry pits, pastures and an obsolete incinerator. At each stop we were told about the problems and issues connected to that particular aspect of farming, followed by a reading, a prayer and an accompanied hymn relevant to that place. There was time to talk to the farmer and his wife as we continued around their Farm. Many questions were asked and we all found that there was much more to modern farming than we had thought previously. (Did you know that there is a machine to measure the height of pasture land grass so ,knowing the number of cattle on the pasture, you can accurately assess the amount grass eaten per cow and calculate the amount of extra food needed. It also lets you know when to move to fresh land when the height of the grass is reduced to a height of about 4”)
Following the final prayer there was a pig roast in a very large modern barn, during which we given a score chart for us to put four cows in the order of suitability for milk and calf ‘production’. Watching the younger generation of farmers hard at work assessing these beasts was a joy to see, the love of farming seems to be thriving, in this area, at least .
It was a very uplifting and informative evening and, if it is local next year, I would encourage you to join in.
So if you faithfully obey the commandments to love and serve your God with all your heart and soul– then I will send rains on your land in due season, both autumn and spring, so you may gather your grain, new wine and oil. I will provide grass in the fields for your cattle, and you will eat and be satisfied. (Deuteronomy 11. 13-15)
Valerie Knowles
Unfold A Rose Bud
A new minister was walking with an older, more seasoned minister in the garden one day Feeling a bit insecure about what God had for him to do, he was asking the older preacher for some advice. The older preacher walked up to a rosebush and handed the young preacher a rosebud and told him to open it without tearing off any petals. The young preacher looked in disbelief at the older preacher and was trying to figure out what a rosebud could possibly have to do with his wanting to know the will of God for his life and ministry. But because of his great respect for the older preacher, he proceeded to try to unfold the rose, while keeping every petal in tact It wasn't long before he realized how impossible this was to do. Noticing the younger preacher's inability to unfold the rosebud without tearing it the older preacher began to recite the following poem...
"It is only a tiny rosebud, A flower of God's design; But I cannot unfold the petals With these clumsy hands of mine." "The secret of unfolding flowers Is not known to such as I. GOD opens this flower so easily, But in my hands they die." "If I cannot unfold a rosebud, This flower of God's design, Then how can I have the wisdom To unfold this life of mine?" "So I'll trust in God for leading Each moment of my day. I will look to God for guidance In each step of the way." "The path that lies before me, Only my Lord knows. I'll trust God to unfold the moments, Just as He unfolds the rose." Please share this poem with a friend if you enjoyed being reminded to let go and let God unfold your life.
Churchyard Chatter
Many thanks to all who helped tidy the churchyard in preparation for the visit of the "Britain in Bloom" judges. The judges enjoyed their visit and were impressed by our efforts to keep the churchyard tidy and at the same time to encourage wildlife and plants.
Our next Working Picnic will take place on Saturday 4 September starting at around
9.30 am. This will be followed by a "Bring and Share" picnic lunch. All are welcome, please note the details in your diaries.
Roger
Churchyard Flora
The churchyard is probably one of the few pieces of land which has remained untouched since the Benedictines were at Little Malvern Priory—no ploughing, no insecticides, just some gentle mowing and trimming. We therefore asked a local expert, Peter Garner, if he would do a plant count for us and we were amazed when he produced a list of 73 different flowers and trees growing on this small area of land– flowers with marvellous names such as common mouse-ear, Yorkshire fog and pellitory-of-the-wall. He identified a further 17 species in the car park opposite the church. (There is a copy of his research in the porch. Do have a look at it.)
We are enormously grateful to him for doing this for us.
Jocelyn
Monk’s path?
Britain is covered in the vestiges of these ancient roadways. Some are absorbed into our modern roads and others have disappeared completely. In wandering around our local footpaths, I question why these paths are where they are. The line of the old railway from Malvern to Upton via Malvern Wells is a more obvious route but what about the old track on Fruitlands that goes from Peachfield Road behind the houses in Walnut Crescent to emerge near Cherry Tree Drive? It links the bridleway that goes under the railway and across the golf course to the club house at what was Wood Farm. From here it crosses a field and you can pick up the route again near the Corner of Green Lane. You can follow this path southwards to join another path that comes out in Assarts Lane and with not too much imagination it would continue along the field boundary hedges on 19th century maps straight towards Little Malvern Priory.
Was this the route of an ancient Monk’s Path? There are parallel paths above and below this one along which travellers could vary the route according to the season. Trade and communication was by foot or horse-back with goods being carried by mules and pack-horses along these ancient routes.
If you trace the route back towards Great Malvern it goes across Malvern Wells Common into College Road and along modern day Abbey Road or Priory Road to Great Malvern Priory, built some 40 years after the building of Little Malvern Priory. Was it a Monk’s Path?
Returning to Little Malvern Priory, there are roads, paths and tracks radiating outwards leading to Deerhurst,Gloucester, Winchcombe, Tewkesbury Evesham, Pershore and Worcester. These places had something in common– they all had Benedictine Priories, sadly there are few remains. They were mainly founded in the 12th century and were dissolved by King Henry VIII in the 1530’s.
Great Malvern Priory was built for around thirty monks and the Church, Pool and Abbey Gateway are remnants of this bygone era.
Little Malvern Priory was built for a community of around a dozen monks in 1125 and was originally known as St Giles Priory. (is this how the Church at Hanley Swan got its name?) It was built as an annex to the Church Of Worcester with Worcester's Prior having the right to remove monks from Little Malvern and indeed being able to choose the Prior of Little Malvern.
There is a list of priors with their dates inside Little Malvern Priory. The earliest Priors are not recorded but there is a reference to one ‘William of Broadway being appointed in 1269. There was a ‘John of Dumbleton’ (appointed 1299) who resigned after one year.Henry Staunton took over in 1360 and died 9 years later. In 1378 Richard of Wenlock became Priory until 1392.
Henry Morton was the Prior in 1480 and it was during his time that the remaining monks were sent to Gloucester Abbey whilst Little Malvern Priory was refurbished. They were able to return two years later. It was at this time that a Refectory known as the ‘Prior’s Hall’ was built there . Thomas Colman came next (1484) then there is a gap until John Bristowe is recorded as the Prior in 1529. On August 31st 1534, Prior John Bristowe and his remaining six monks were required to surrender the buildings and their lands with the dissolution of Little Malvern Priory (probably the smallest Priory in the land) as part of King Henry’s programme. In 1536, John Bristowe was awarded a pension and the Monastery buildings were already beginning to fall into disrepair.
This land was purchased by the Berington family shortly after the dissolution of the monasteries. They had Little Malvern Court built around the ‘Prior’s Hall’ and also on the site of the Monastic Cloisters. The ten acres now surrounding the Court (the house and gardens are open to the public on certain days) used to be part of the monastic grounds. Over the next three centuries the Priory Church deteriorated to a point where the barrel vault roof caved in and the Berington family had this repaired in 1864. Since then there have been a number of refurbishments and the remaining Priory Church and nearby ruins are listed as an ancient monument.
In 1954, The Society of Friends of Little Malvern Priory was formed and since then nearly a quarter of a million pounds has been raised towards various projects to maintain the building for all those who call by to visit or to worship at the regular services ( at least once a week, often more) held in this very special Priory Church.
As for Little Malvern Priory itself, it is just beyond the Parish of Malvern Wells but those who live there cannot help but feel that it is a very special place. If you have never been inside it is definitely worth a peep. If you are interested in its detailed history there is an excellent little book for sale in the entrance to the Priory Church.
There are examples of 14th century tiles in Little Malvern Priory that were made in the Grounds of Great Malvern Priory. Were these transported by horse and cart through the Parish of Malvern Wells along the old Monk’s Path mentioned here? Malvern tiles can be found in many local Churches and Cathedrals and as far away a St. David’s Cathedral in Pembrokeshire. This is further evidence of how far goods were transported along these ancient trackways.
When you are out and about walking the local footpaths and country lanes, spare a thought for all those who have gone before you and wonder, as I have done, why these tracks are where they are.
Glynis Dray (2009)
Listen!
On one of the seats in the churchyard is carved the word ‘Listen’. At least that’s what I thought it said when I first saw it. Then I wondered if it said ‘Lister’ and was the name of the man who had made it, but I prefer my first interpretation because it is exactly the right place to sit and take in all that is happening around —–- the call of a blackbird, the song of a robin, grass being mown, the cry of a buzzard overhead ........... all the sounds of country life.
Why don’t you try it? Who knows, you might even hear the voice of God.
Jocelyn Bailey
John Roberts was a sea captain and wrote this, his interpretation of the 23rd psalm, during one of his voyages
The Lord is my Pilot, I shall not drift.
He lighteth me across dark waters.
He steereth me in deep channels.
He keepeth my log.
He guideth me by the star of holiness, for His name’s sake.
Yea, though I sail midst the thunders and tempest of life,
I will dread no danger, For thou art with me,
Thy love and thy care shelter me.
Thou preparest a harbour before me
In the homeland of Eternity.
Thou Anointest the waves with oil, My ship rideth calmly.
Surely sunlight and starlight shall favour me in the voyages I take,
And I will rest in the port of my God forever.
John Roberts 1874
1
We’ve been planting, we’ve been stitching,
For the New Millennium.
We’ve been planting, we’ve been stitching,
And its really been quite fun.
2
Beside the Yew tree in the Churchyard
Near the ancient pillar,
We’ve lifted turf to push in bulbs,
Crocus, anemone and cilla.
3
Some crouching and some kneeling,
Some in less elegant pose,
Provoking rather cheeky comments,
Which I’d better not disclose.
4
Meanwhile in houses various
Ladies have collected,
Some working quietly confident
Others more directed.
5
Concentration on their faces,
Needles at the ready,
Forward girls, we must be brave
And strong and firm and steady.
Marian Tosello and the new stained glass windows
As I hope many of you know our lovely new stained glass windows celebrating William Langland were given in memory of Marian Tosello.
What many of us don’t know is much about is Marian Tosello herself.
Her mother, Mrs Phelps Penry, came to Little Malvern from Bournemouth because of the war and rented Little Malvern Court from 1940 -1945 when Marian Tosello was a little girl. She then bought Moorlands in Malvern Wells in 1946. Marian therefore spent her childhood at the Court and in Little Malvern.
Mrs Phelps Penry took in unmarried mothers and their babies and looked after them in the Court as part of her “bit” for the war effort. There are 5 babies in the baptism register that must have been from that time. I think it’s rather lovely to imagine the prams outside the Court and the Mums being cherished in such special surroundings, especially during the war.
One of the babies was adopted by Mrs Phelps Penry and became an adopted brother to Marian and her brother John.
Marian went to school initially at Kirklands on the Wells Road, next door to St Wulstan’s, (This school has now moved to St Richard’s in Bredenbury), and then on to Lawnside in Malvern.
One ongoing connection with Marian is that Ursula Tremlett (nee Mortimer) went to school with Marian and was Veronica (“Log”) Hall’s sister. Log still attends Little Malvern Priory. Ursula married Caspar Tremlett, the headmaster of St Richards School, and moved to Bredenbury. She continued to look after Mrs Phelps Penry’s grave in Little Malvern Priory churchyard for many years when Marian was in Switzerland, until Log took over as she lived so much nearer. Sadly Ursula died a few years ago.
Marian met Mr Tosello (a catholic) on the steps of St Patrick’s Cathedral in New York in 1949. They married on 17th April 1950 and shortly afterwards moved to live in Switzerland. Eventually they had a house built in a small village called Corminboeuf. There Marian created one of the most beautiful gardens in the canton of Fribourg , reminiscent of the English gardens she was so fond of -and so far away from. However, she kept in contact with Little Malvern as her mother is buried in the churchyard. Henrietta, her daughter, was born in Malvern and christened here, but being catholic is not in our registers. She was apparently christened by the priest who looked after the Nuns who were at the Court then. They were the Little Sisters of the Assumption and were evacuated here from Birmingham after the war. Her sister Manuela ( Manou ) came next ( she was born in 1953 ) and Thibaut is the youngest and the only one to have been born in Switzerland
Apart from gardening, Marian had another passion, which was collecting antiques together with her husband. She also had a very strong sense of justice and founded the first Amnesty International Group in Fribourg. Although she spent most of her life in Switzerland, she never adapted to the Swiss mentality and way of life. Her youth in England had been too different, she was too independent to feel at ease there and therefore created a world of her own at Pré St George (the name of the house in Corminboeuf), her home from home.
Our knowledge of Marian is rather sparse and if anyone has any further information about her or her family it would be good to have it for the archives. We can then honour her more knowingly in her beautiful windows.
All Marian’s children and their spouses are coming to the dedication of the
windows by the Bishop of Worcester which is to take place during evensong on March 28th.
Do come and rejoice with us in this new embellishment of our lovely old church building.
Alex Berington has been given some photos of Marian by her brother and these will be on display in church when the window is dedicated.
Anne Burge January 2010
Memories of a Girlhood Friend of Marian Tosello
Mary Weaver nee Hughes, came to live at Mayall’s farm in 1938 when she was 4 years old. She was a little girl who always loved ponies and riding. At the age of 7 she was a competent rider and got to know Marian Tosello at Little Malvern Court. Marian was about 5 years older and was pleased to have Mary’s companionship and another person to ride with and to exercise the ponies at the Court.
Mary particularly remembers the great kindness that Marian showed when they were out riding up on British Camp with other older members of the Malvern Pony Club. Mary’s pony stumbled, presumably in a rabbit hole, and broke his leg (and subsequently had to be put down by the vet). Mary was very shaken and Marian got off her own pony, Pat, and put Mary on her and led them back to Mary’s home. Marian was very comforting and sympathetic, knowing that Mary would realise that the pony would have to be put down. From then on they became firm friends. Pat, the pony is the one in the photo of Marian in the display.
Mary and Marian had great fun playing in the Court and shrubbery (where they made dens) and on the lake. They also spent a night out in a tent together, as a dare, to try and see the resident ghost, Mrs Dee, who wanders round the far lake. No ghost was seen, but the girls evidently had a good time!
Mrs Phelps Penry, Marian’s mother, wanted Marian to show jump and bought two ponies for her with this in mind. They were “Nothing Fancy” and “Shameless”, stable names George (the bigger one) and Jimmy (the smaller one). Marian was told she had to have lessons, but firmly refused until she was allowed to have Mary with her for the lessons. So Mary had free lessons and they both became very good at show jumping and had a lot of successes.
When Marian was about fifteen she qualified to compete in the North of England Championships in Blackpool. Petrol was rationed at the time, so nothing daunted, Mary and Marian rode the two ponies to Malvern Wells Railway station where they got loaded onto a cattle wagon (with a separate space for humans!) It was a long and complicated journey but all went well. In Blackpool there was very little motor traffic, so the two girls rode the ponies up the Promenade in style to the showground in Stanley Park. What a wonderful memory!
Marian did very well at Blackpool on George, coming third in the Championship.
After the championship in Blackpool, when her mother moved to Moorlands, Marian stopped doing much riding. George was sold and Jimmy was retained for Mary to ride. Mary continued to ride Mrs Phelps Penry’s ponies successfully in competitions, including a new addition, “Restless”, with a stable name of Billy. At the end of 1948 Mrs Phelps Penry gave up show jumping and “Restless” was sold and “Shameless” (Jimmy) was retired to a good home. A sad time for Mary.
Mary lived at Mayall’s farm until she married in 1960 and still lives locally in Castlemorton. Her father is buried in Little Malvern Priory churchyard. Bert Lashford Hughes is the inscription on the gravestone.
So the connections live on through both the Court and the Priory, as is fitting.
Bald Statements
There was an exhibition of sculptures at St Richard’s Hospice under this title in March. The sculptor had recently experienced a diagnosis of breast cancer and the sculptured heads were her expression of the emotional roller coaster she had been through.
It was basically a portrayal of grief and would be similar for loss of any kind, eg bereavement, loss of good health, divorce, unemployment, retirement etc.
I found it an amazingly powerful and challenging experience and one that left me feeling moved by the courage and endurance of the sculptor. I was also profoundly grateful that she was so articulate, both in words (there was an accompanying DVD) and art.
Each sculpted head demonstrated one of the emotions she went through, and was accompanied by text describing the physical situation, some penetrating questions for the viewer to answer, and a story to illustrate that part of the grieving process.
It started with denial, went through despair, rage, depression and questioning before getting to some form of acceptance and assimilation and finally peace (which I think is a truly beautiful sculpture).
It was too much to take in during a single session so I was pleased to be able to go several times. I found that taking patients round the exhibition was a very rewarding and humbling experience. It made me enormously grateful for “Life”.
I was so impressed by the whole presentation that I have bought the “pack”, which contains the DVD, photos of the sculptures and the text and questions etc. There is also a book to help facilitate group discussion. I bought for my own use, but if anyone is interested in looking at it I would be only too pleased to lend it out. As you have probably gathered it is not for the faint hearted and is best gone through with a friend or supporter. I will gladly take anyone through it who is concerned about their own reaction to it.
Anne Burge
March 2010 016840569225
WHY MEN ARE NEVER DEPRESSED
Men are just happier people………..maybe because of the following observations!!!
Your last name stays put
The garage is all yours
Wedding plans take care of themselves
Chocolate is just another snack
You can never be pregnant
Car mechanics tell you the truth
You don’t have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt
Same work, more pay
Wrinkles add character
People never stare at your chest when you’re talking to them
New shoes don’t cut , blister or mangle your feet
One mood all the time
Telephone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat
You know stuff about tanks and engines
A five-day holiday requires only one suitcase
You can open all your own jars
You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness
Your underwear is £9.50 for a three-pack
Three pairs of shoes are more than enough
You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes
Everything on your face stays its original colour
The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades
You only have to shave your face and neck
You can play with toys all your life
One wallet and one pair of shoes—one colour for all seasons
You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look
You can ‘do’ your nails with a pocket knife
You have freedom of choice concerning growing a moustache
You can do Christmas shopping for 24 relatives on 24th December in just 24 minutes
Smile Awhile
Q. What do they call pastors in Germany ?
A. German Shepherds.
Q. Who was the greatest financier in the
Bible?
A. Noah He was floating his stock while everyone else was in liquidation
Q. Who was the greatest female financier
in the Bible?
A. Pharaoh's daughter. She went down to the bank of the Nile and drew out a
Little prophet.
Q. What kind of motor vehicles are in the
Bible?
A. Jehovah drove Adam and Eve out of the Garden in a Fury. David's Triumph was
heard throughout the land. Also, probably a Honda, because the apostles were all
in one Accord.
Q. What kind of man was Boaz before he
married Ruth?
A. Ruthless ....of course!
Q.. Who was the greatest comedian in the
Bible?
A. Samson. He brought the house down.
Q. What excuse did Adam give to his
children as to why he no longer lived in Eden ?
A. Your mother ate us out of house and home.
Q. Which servant of God was the most
flagrant lawbreaker in the Bible?
A. Moses. He broke all 10 commandments at once.
Q. Which area of Palestine was especially
wealthy?
A. The area around Jordan . The banks were always overflowing.
Q. Who is the greatest babysitter
mentioned in the Bible?
A. David He rocked Goliath to a very deep sleep.
Q. Which Bible character had no parents?
A. Joshua, son of Nun.
Q. Why didn't they play cards on the Ark ?
A. Because Noah was standing on the deck. ( Groan.)
PS... Did you know it's a sin for a woman
to make coffee?
Yes it's in the Bible. It says . . 'He' -brews'
KEEP SMILING!!! GOD LOVES YOU Friends are God's way of taking care of us.
...Faith, Hope & Love -- but the greatest of these
is LOVE.
1 Corinthians 13:13
THE OUTER HEBRIDES
At Anchor off Scarp
Lapping waves and dark mackerel skies,
The hills, dotted with rocks, or sheep,
Stand sentinel,
Our guardians from the night.
The stars pale. Black
Fades to purple.
We wait …..
Then a wren rips the silence
And, as dawn breaks,
A cuckoo calls.
Visiting Taransay
A bright white strip of sand -
Enough to land on,
While swooping terns
Called out a warning.
A winding path
Led to the ruined church,
Where graves - opened by winds -
Exposed their dead.
Standing in soft rain,
We thought of those who’d gone,
While curlew
Cried a mourning overhead.
Evening Fireworks
A flap of wings, a glide, a turn,
A feathered arrow drops,
Down, down into the water
And white spray
Shoots up ………
Against a darkening sky
A hundred gannets,
Falling, falling like downward rockets,
And as they fall,
White spray
Shoots up ……..
Jocelyn Bailey
Pakistan
Pakistan? For a holiday? You must be mad. Yes, probably, but that’s just what I did this May.
I had spent an academic year teaching in Lahore between school and University. I had never wanted to go back, partly because it seemed such a sad country with such difficult problems, probably because it is one of the few theocracies in the world. Israel doesn’t fare much better in many ways. When I was there I travelled a bit, but the places I really wanted to go to were the high valleys in the far north of the country, bordering Afghanistan, the USSR (then) and China. I didn’t manage this as roads were bad and I didn’t have friends in the Pakistan Air Force who could perhaps have taken me.
Imagine my confusion at seeing a trip to Pakistan going to just these places. I was beguiled, but unsure about the safety aspects. After two 30 minute chats to the Tour company, I decided it was safe enough and they knew what they were doing.
So…. I set off from Birmingham airport as, I think, the only white person on board, to fly to Islamabad. My next door neighbour was delightful and everyone seemed thrilled that I was visiting their country.
Islamabad was hot and our hotel carefully guarded by armed men. A bit of a shock, but soon accepted as the norm.
The city is all new including the mosque, which is unusual in having no dome, as the architect was from Saudi and had modelled it on a tent. It was very beautiful and felt a wonderfully spiritual place.
The next day we were to fly up to Chitral (a magic name for me) and checked all our luggage through, only to have the flight cancelled at the last minute because of bad weather. We then had a long journey going north initially by minibus, then jeep. It took ages and towards the end it was cold and sleeting going over one of the passes, not helped by one of the jeeps breaking down. The last part of the journey was in the dark along roads that were pretty adventurous even in the daylight!
Eventually we arrived, worn out, to be greeted by the Prince, as we were staying in his house, which he ran as a private hotel. What a relief. He was a superb host and the gardens full of scented roses lovingly tended by his father.
We went and saw the village below and admired the stunning scenery, and then were off to the Kalash valleys on the edge of Afghanistan.
What an amazing place. Arid mountains and green painstakingly irrigated valleys, roaring small rivers, ravines, and the people! They were “Pagan” , in the context of Pakistan non Muslim and celebrating the seasons , “high” places and animal deities as well as the ancestors.
We were there for the spring festival of Joshi celebrating the return of green trees and fields, and release from the confines of cramped winter accommodation.
The women and girls were doing lots of washing and the men were decorating the doorways with flowers and greenery. Lots of cooking too!
The girls and women were washing their hair in the river and treating it with pulverised gum from a particular tree. When it was all done and parted and plaited in the right way it looked splendid. And then the colourful beaded head-dress went on, which they wore all the time when out in the fields, cooking, washing, looking after the little children etc. Quite amazing, especially together with their long, full, black woollen dresses profusely decorated with boldly coloured embroidery at the hem, cuffs and shoulders. How they managed to negotiate the steps and terraces without tripping was a mystery to me.
For the festival itself the women added another head dress on top, decorated with lots of cowry shells. Miles form the sea so where did they come from? We presume from the silk route years ago when cowries were “money”.
The festival was basically lots of chanting and dancing. The old men (only one at a time!) chanted stories of the tribal history with the younger men joining in the chorus. This was done to the accompaniment of amazingly complicated drum rhythms and a high oscillating drone from the women. Everybody danced. The old women were particularly beautiful, and wonderfully tolerant of the rumbustious little boys! And everyone seemed to be laughing and smiling, maybe because it was one of the occasions when the scattered communities came together and met old friends (and perhaps made new ones if they were young!)
The whole event seemed to be a celebration of life and community and felt very respectful both of people and the environment. I felt our society could learn a lot from them.
During the preparations people were busy, but no one seemed to be rushing about or “stressed”. With no washing machines, cookers, Hoovers etc this seemed a remarkable achievement. I think because “9 to 5” wasn’t a concept they used, and also because everyone did a bit, including little ones of 5 or so. But not as child labour, just as part of the wider community. Similarly the children were looked after communally and none seemed under nourished or frightened or lacking in confidence.
I was very impressed by the whole culture where money was a new thing and community was everything. A sense of joy and fun pervaded their lives and even without a common language links were established. They may be “pagan” and “under developed” but I feel they have a lot to teach us about sharing work and responsibilities, honouring the earth and being joyful. I’m glad the British saved them from being converted to Islam at gunpoint, as happened to similar groups just over the border in Afghanistan.
Anne Burge July 2010
The Past is History
The Future is Mystery
Today is a gift
Which is why it is called "The Present"