There’s something quintessentially British about May Day celebrations.
I attended my daughter’s school event just before the half-term holiday.
The skies periodically blackened over, but thankfully it stayed dry, unlike last year when rain stopped play completely.
There was Maypole and country dancing, a picnic lunch with a vintage tea party theme – sandwiches and cupcakes on little stands etc – with the girls wearing pretty frocks and the boys smart trousers and shirts.
It was lovely, just what a traditional May Day should be.
At my primary school we also had Morris dancers who used to whack each other with ceremonial staffs with probably a little too much glee.
That tradition seems to have died out, I can’t think why.
Some things never change though and we remain at the mercy of the great British weather.
I remember driving through a nearby village over a Bank Holiday weekend and seeing the following sign with reference to their annual fete – ‘If wet in Village Hall’.
I think that should be our motto, it sums up most of our Summers and the spirit to carry on regardless.
The half-term holiday was pretty much a wash out. Many hardy friends were camping for the week, setting off with hope in their hearts and a tent in their roof-box.
There’s nothing quite like the sound of rain bouncing off the canvas when you’re trying to sleep, then putting on wellies to stomp across a field to the nearest loo in the dark and driving rain.
I’m relieved I stayed at home.
Back to the May Day celebrations, my daughter’s name was drawn out of the hat to be an attendant for the King and Queen.
This is an achievement that I never managed – I was never an attendant, or May Queen, or Carnival Queen.
At my primary school, the kids were allowed to nominate and vote for each other, and it was always the same people who got chosen – you know the ones, the ‘cool kids’, and the ones who bribed their peers with sweets in return for votes.
Needless to say, I wasn’t in either one of those categories.