Fête

Freeverse

Into the lane come wind, impetuous rain. Trees are now a threat, gesturing wildly, angry, promising to snap, eager to pounce, to crush in an embrace of leaf and crusty bark. The village fête, though, is like the show: it must go on, it must go on. It’s fixed in time, it’s preordained. Brave souls staff the stalls and serve, to raise the funds to fix the roof. Spattered souls - pulling their cardigans closed, tugging their knitted hats further down their heads - bravely measure out the day in collected coinage dropped into biscuit tins: the target must be reached. Cricket’s off - rain stopped play; back to the crease another day. But the ladies of the Guild fête the thinning punters with bric-a-brac and homemades, with orange juice and lemonade. It’s a parallel world - the other one’s not here today. This is all there is. For this day only, this is our fête. (Jul 2022)

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

The good old church fete and many I have attended over the years particularly when the children were young. I always admired the fortitude of the organisers. Come rain or shine, the fete went ahead indoors or out. Thanks for some memories Good day to you.

Chris