tadger alert

As Tickleford Gully's annual Tadger Fayre gets into full swing let's take a moment to find out about the Tadger, the mythical figure whose behaviour is somewhere between that of a mischievous elf and Satan's older, meaner brother depending who you talk to.

The Legend of the Tickleford Tadger is older than the hills with the first reference being a well known cave painting at Lashskow Hill, one of the oldest pieces of art in Britain.

Cave painting of the Tadger, photo by Mick Reid

 Legends of the Trickster abound in all cultures.  He goes by many different names, Loki, Eris, Weasley, Livingrock Olatunde; he may be a fox, like Reynard, a raven or coyote, a bunnyman, Brer Rabbit or Bugs Bunny, Batman's Joker, Lear's Fool or Charlie Chaplin's Tramp.  His wrongs tend to be malicious rather than evil, often shining a light on the foibles of the powerful, the supposedly wise, the elite.  

There are many tales about the Tadger but as with other legendary figures like King Arthur, the Rose Queen and Robin Hood it is not clear which are true and which have been appropriated from other sources.  

There is a tradition amongst the locals that as you cross Tadger's Bridge you should take a moment to "salute the Tadger".   Those who fail to show respect to the Tadger, by failing to salute, usually suffer some misfortune, maybe not today, not tomorrow, but some day.

Another representation of Tadger appears on the river bank itself where Romano-Britons created his effigy by removing clay from the bank.  Each year the image is repaired, restored and renovated by the locals during the Tadger Fair, held annually on Mayday.

aerial photo of River Tickell from Time Team tv programme

it is widely believed that the Satan represented on the Louvin Brothers' 1959 album Satan is Real is based on the Tickleford Tadger

The Crickleford Woodcut pictured above has been dated between 1400 and 1475 (note the absence of cross hatching) although the bonnets suggest it may be later.  The Tadger can be seen disrupting the harvest, encouraging two of the farmhands to forget their duties.  

If you look closely Tadger can be seen in both these photographs, taken 20 years apart, one at St Titus Church, the other in the back garden of Spiro Constantine, retired European porn star, and his lovely family.  Shortly after the Constantine photo was taken the oak tree next door fell crushing the shed and destroying Spiro's much admired video collection.  This was variously attributed to a storm, the lorry which reversed into the tree, or damage to the roots caused by boll weevils but Spiro knew it was because he forgot to Salute when crossing Tadger's Bridge.

Two of Tickleford's pubs are named after the Tadger: the prosaic Tadger's Inn and the Lamb and Tadger.  Many of the myths surrounding Tadger relate to farming life, reflecting the pastoral nature of the village.  The lamb in question is said to have come to a sticky end after giving Tadger some lip about representing renewal, gentleness, tenderness and innocence.  Little Larry ended up as Herb crusted lamb chump, liquirice comfit lamb neck served with caramelised fennel, capers and "spice of angels".  

Although the youngsters of the village, with their hippity-hop, ram raiding and old spice cigarettes might not think much of the local legends some of the more senior residents still hold to the old superstitions and chalk a corn poppy beside their front doors to ward off the Tadger.

Every year since Time Out of Mind there has been a Tadger Fayre.  The programme of events has varied over the centuries.  At one time lambs were thrown into a pit of fire to appease the Tadger but that tradition has evolved into the Lambaqueue, with a lamb spit roasted to remind villagers of the importance of respecting Tadger.  There is maypole dancing with all its phallic symbolism, facepainting - another evolution, from masks and masquerades to washable face paint - the Rose Queen and her King, symbolising The Right Way of Doing Things and the ducking stool, a reminder for those who forget The Right Way.

In Ingoldsby's Tickledford Legend, published in 1842, the tale is recounted of Mary-Anne's capture by the Tadger.  The innocent Mary-Anne, nowt but a young girl, was bound by "wire as fine as mandolin string glittering in the sun, strong as an oxer whose fun is done " and kept in Tadger's Castle until her rescue by Bloody Jack, or Broody Jack, sometimes Blobby Jack, sometimes Bloudie Jack, occasionally Onyer Jack.

The wire is as thin as a thread, Bloody Jack

The wire is as thin as a thread

Though slight is the chain

Again might and main

Cannot rend it in twain

Ingoldsby

Bloudie Jack, Thomas Ingoldsby

Each year the story is reenacted at the Tadger Fayre,right down to the part where Mary-Anne, aided by Jack, escapes down the tower by tying one end of the unbreakable wire to the window frame and then climbing out the window, round and round the tower, shedding the wire as she went.  Poor Jack was cut to pieces, hence his nickname Bloody Jack.

there's the world as it is 

and the world as we want it to be

All credit for photos to Mick Reid
unless otherwise indicated

and 1954 posters, from the author's private collection

Tickleford Gully Art Show

welcome back my friends 
to the show that never ends

Tickleford Gully Art Show is now open (Closes promptly at 5:00pm).  

Refreshments available.

 The Corn Poppy's silly sisters

The Unders 10s Portrait Painting Competition was won by Charlotte - can you tell which one was hers?  An appointment with the school psychologist has been made for Harry (can you guess which one is his?).

A world big enough for Andy Warhol and Jean Michel Basquiet is big enough for the Tickleford Gully Silver Surfers Art Group.

Henry Perky (above left) was disqualified for plagiarism, judges feeling that his picture of the window of the village pub relied heavily on the entry from Lionel Bloom (above right).  Can't see it myself, but, then, I'm no judge.

Lighthouses featured heavily in the landscape section, mainly because they're striking looking and relatively easy to paint - it's just a red strip, then a white one, then another red one and a poiny bit on top.

In the abstract department "Cakes for cancer" (above) was walkaway winner.

Winner of the Tickleford Prize was "Two Tiny Selves" (above).  Subtitled "(sleeping, side by side)" it caught the mood of the room perfectly.

Tales from Tickleford Gully

Scene: the public bar of The Corn Poppy, Tickleford Gully, earlier this evening.

 

A:  Evening.

B:  Quiet in here tonight.

A:  Aye.  That's the way I like it.  You should have been here last night. Bedlam!  Full of city folks and arty farty types.  It was like that time when Madonna moved into Tickleford Gully.

B:  Madonna? That was before my time.

A:  Aye, a year or two back.  She moved in to the Big House on the hill, Weston Towers. 

B:  Right

A:  Then she booked the church for a blessing for her parrot or something.  Brought all her friends and cronies in from that London and from Hollywood.  Bert and Gary had to come and help behind the bar - they were like kids with the keys to the toy shop - and we had to send out out to Lidl's for extra Ready Meals.  Made a killing that weekend.

 

B:  I'll bet.  So what happened yesterday?

A:  Well, it all started on Friday.  Some of us went out on one of Bert's magical mystery tours in his charabanc.  He just uses it as an excuse to take his wife shopping.  He dumped us in the middle of Brummagen, said "pick you up at five" and buggered off.   We wandered around for a while looking for bulls in the bullring but there weren't none.

I got lost in the market and eventually found myself at a custard factory.  Well, it said it was the Custard Factory but I couldn't see any evidence of it.  I kept on walking away from the hassle, found myself on an industrial estate.  Then I saw this notice:

It said NOTICE and then in smaller print Bill Drummond - The 25 Painitngs. 

 

Always been a fan of Drummond so in I went.  Funny old place, you'd think they would have tidied up a bit.  There's three big piles of books on the floor, a circle of chairs with some wool and knitting needles, a couple of timber bed frames, one with barrels under it, a desk with a couple of chairs, books, maps, shoe shine stuff.

On the walls there are maps, notices and paintings with odd words on.  Without an awareness of context they don't make much sense.  And then there's a real big deck of cards made out of 25 paintings (actually I can only count 23).

I'm looking at the walls, reading some of the notices when in comes The Artist.  "Hello Bill" I say.  There's a subtext here that says "I've followed your career since Big in Japan, got a complete set of Zoo singles, bought you a drink in 1979 after a Teardrop Explodes gig at the Nashville Rooms when none of you had any spending cash, read all your books, collected Scores, explored Penkiln Burn, monitored the ramblings of the Jamms, the KLF, the K Foundation and the rest.  45, the17, $20,000 are all on the shelf". 

Of course Bill doesn't know this and just says "Hi" politely and goes about his business, adding that he's just popping out..

I carry on looking around and see that rather than just popping out he's preparing for some painting.  So, I say, not just nipping out for lunch then.  Gamely he says I can come along.  He tells the gallery staff that he's "just going outside, I may be some time".  His quoting my namesake makes me feel quite proud.  Out we go, Bill carrying a roller and a paint pot, me carrying another pot.  Finds a site, does a spot of painting, adding to the greyness of Brum.  Some people pass by, admiring the art. A passing rasta takes some pictures on his phone, taps away, and already the work is being shared. Discussion has started. Job done, art made, conversation initiated, we return. 

When we get back Bill makes tea and coffee for everyone and says he wants to interview me.  I say yes but only if it is limited to four questions that I haven't been asked before. This is a new venture.  Interview 40 people, each for 40 minutes.  I'm (one of) the first.  Part of the concept is that the interview is a self contained event, which the interviewee can use as they want but Bill won't be using it, recording it or making a sculpture out of it.  We sit down at the desk in the gallery and start the interview.  Bill asks questions. He also puts forward his views, occasionally stopping himself to say this is your interview. Pretty soon we're talking about topics we have a shared interest in: Elvis, Dylan and the Beatles.  His favourite Dylan album is Nashville Skyline, mine is Blood on the Tracks.  He's a good bloke. 

 

B:  What does this have to do with how busy the Corn Poppy got last night?

A:  Well, I told a couple of people about it and showed them a picture.  They shared it; some of the people they shared it with shared it again, then some of them did too.  Some of them, tho' not all, credited the source of the picture and this site.  So there were nearly 1000 people in here last night.  Some of them were still here this morning, sleeping on the sofa.

B:  All gone now?

A:  There's just a few left.  It'll soon be back to normal.  Just you, me and the usual suspects.

B:  Thank goodness for that.  Make mine a double.  Have one for yourself.

A:  Don't mind if I do.

Into the Gully

Deep in the heart of nowhere lies Tickleford Gully. The River Tickell rises in the north of the county, on the chalk downs, winding its way to the sea.  It isn't spectacular but has moments of extreme picturesqueness.  The fishing is good, the fields are irrigated and there are only a few sections where serious flooding occurs.  And then only very occasionally.

The village grew up on at a bend in the River Tickle where, when conditions were right, the river could be forded.  The Romans crossed here, the Saxons too.  There's evidence of a Viking presence in nearby placenames (the village of  Nearby for example) and the Normans built a castle in nearby Castleton.

You could walk from one end of the village to the other in five or ten minutes, although it will likely take longer because someone is sure to stop and talk to you.  There's a church, a pub (The Corn Poppy), woodlands, a manor house, cottages - some old, some newer, a village green with cricket in the summer. And  a bunch of farms.  The pub does better business than the church.

 The village pub, The Corn Poppy

The River Tickell 

Tickleford High Street

Pulling out of Beeching Halt, Tickleford

Farmhouse, Tickleford Gully

The Hills of Zimmerman

Tickleford Gully locals

Farm, Tickleford Gully

Bridge over the River Tickell

The Gully

Another dog, Charley dog

Sunset over Tickleford

Tickleford Moor

Looking out from Zimmerman Hill

Looking towards The City

The Lake

The High Street

Chocolate Box Cottage