Durham Miners' Gala 2009

Courtesy of the wonders of modern technology, here's a clip of a video taken at yesterday's Miners' Gala in Durham.

Don't ask me how it got here - that's all down to Jasper's wizardry with the computer.

The Big Meeting

Only 24 Hours to Salsa. That's right. Saturday, 11 July 2009 will see Bill tootling up the M62 and A1(M), on what has now become my annual pilgrimage to Durham City. Destination: the Miners' Gala - or Durham Big Meeting, as it's fondly known in the area.

I'll be waving at 70's Teen and Crofty as I make my journey, as I pass close to both of them en route to the north east.

Truth be told, there won't be a lot of salsa (although one or two of the brass bands can get quite inventive in their repertoire). But there'll be lots of fun to be had, and lots of memories to be stirred, as you can see from my previous postings on the topic. I'll keep you posted.

The Passage Of Time

When you get to my age - the kind of age for which discreet veils were invented - it would be nice to think that the passage of time didn't play an unduly influential role in one's life.

But the truth is, like most other people, I spend more time than is probably healthy worrying about a future that hasn't yet happened. My old uncle Jesmond used to say "Yesterday is a cancelled cheque; tomorrow is a promisary note. Today's the only cash you have - so spend it wisely, son."

And so it proved when I made the trip north to attend the 124th Durham Miners' Gala. All my anxieties about whether it would rain were in vain. The sun had his hat on, and the pac-a-mac stayed dry. A year on from my last visit, here are one or two photos of the 2008 Gala, which I hope you enjoy. I must confess I enjoyed my cup of Labour Tea. Even though the price had gone up due to rampant inflation, I think they met the Government target of selling more than last year.

Don't Rain On My Parade

It's around this time of year that I get excited about the prospect of attending, once again, the Durham Miners' Gala. It's become something of a tradition that I turn up at this celebration of all that is great and good about the north east working class. Just because I shop at Sainsburys doesn't mean I have forgotten my roots.

Next Saturday, 12 July, therefore, I'll be strutting my stuff in the streets of Durham City, following one of the brass bands as it winds its way past the Royal County Hotel. In my mind, previous visits to the Gala are always associated with a day of wall-to-wall sunshine. It's July, after all, and the British people have every right to expect a bit of sun now and again. The reality, however, is often not quite so comfortable. Many's the time I've sheltered under my pac-a-mac as the relentless drizzle fails to lift.

I've been around the block enough times to know that selective memory comes out to play whenever we look back on our own Blue Remembered Hills. Our mind has a nasty habit of censoring out the bleaker parts of our life, and that includes the dismal rains which so often accompany the Great British Summer. However, the British psyche is nothing if not optimistic. That's why we are the country in Europe which apparently buys more cabriolets than any other: the triumph of hope over experience, I suppose. And that's why I'll be packing shorts and a t-shirt - just in case.

Meanwhile, I contemplate a visit to my allotment which, after the recent rain, will most probably resemble something like a World War I battlefield. Somehow, I don't think I'll be needing any of Mystic Veg's wonderful, patented Soil Improver.

Durham Big Meeting 2007

There was always a certain inevitability that I would find myself attending the 123rd Durham Miners' Gala today (that's 'gay-la', by the way, not 'ga-la': it pays to get the pronunciation right when you're in this neck of the woods).

After waxing lyrical on the exhibition of paintings and photographs at Bishop Auckland Town Hall, my daughter Barbara had insisted it was only right that I make the journey north to sample the 'real thing'. I'm glad I did.

The people of Durham are a sociable lot, who have never let the fact there are no longer any mines in the county stand in their way of enjoying their annual 'Big Meeting'. The event has, instead, become a celebration of the heritage of the Durham Coalfield, of which local people are justifiably proud. There's a certain sadness attached to the nostalgia: the closure of the coal mines brought tremendous social dislocation, unemployment and community upheaval to the area.


And yet, the resilient north-easterners have bounced back. It's not a bad place to live, by all accounts, and Barbara seems to have settled there well. Today was a chance to sample all that is good about the sense of community: families enjoying themselves on a day out, having a picnic on the racecourse, or watching the seemingly endless parade of banners and brass bands; meeting old friends and acquaintances or simply wandering the streets and enjoying sun and the music.

A previous British Prime Minister tried to tell us there was 'no such thing as society' by which, so many commentators told us, Margaret Thatcher meant 'community'. I'm glad to say she was wrong then, and she'd be wrong now. Community may have disappeared in whole swathes of our land, but it can still be found, alive and kicking, if you look for it.

Listening to Thornley Colliery Band playing the miner's anthem, Gresford, fair brought a tear to my eye. It's as well that we are reminded, occasionally, of the price that has been paid for our communities, however fragile they may now be.

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Shoe-ly Not!

I am sure that readers of my blog will be as surprised as I was to learn that there are people in the world who spend their time worrying about Tony Blair's shoe size.

I only know this because of assiduous work by young Jasper Blunt, who has tonight furnished me with his latest report on how my blog is faring in attracting readers.

It makes intriguing reading, I can tell you. Fully 25 % of recent readers stopped by when they searched for information about Durham Miners' Gala. That's fair enough - and, I imagine, one or two more may drop by before next Saturday's 'Big Meeting', as it is euphemistically called.


I'm not sure what to make of the French visitors who were using the power of Google to discover what they could about 'enemas blunt' - and I, for one (on a Sunday night, at least) wouldn't want to pry much further.

It's certainly been a while since the Walthamstow Dog Track Statistics people popped by, however, even if my expertise on the Prolectrix MP3 Player continues to be recognised the world over.

Jasper still seems to think it's something to do with how my posts are being labelled by Tommy Hamburger - so I'll have to have words with him when I next see him. Personally, I just think it's a case of 'talent will out'. I can't, though, pretend I'm not flattered to be the first port of call for people curious about our ex-Prime Minister's shoe size. Who wouldn't be?