Sharon’s festy blog: Tolpuddle Martyrs Festival

“Tell your friends to come next next year – but don’t tell too many of them!” *

On a weekend that saw thousands of ravers descend on our home town of Winchester for the Glade Festival at the nearby Matterley Bowl, Family Festivals took the executive decision to sidestep that event and head instead into Dorset for the inevitably more sedate, quieter and family-orientated Tolpuddle Martyrs Festival.

Due to a wrong turning we arrived later than planned and found ourselves separated by traffic officers and the car directed to a car park a good mile away from the main festival. Eventually after much confusion and running about, we were reunited, laid out our substantial picnic, bought cold beers and started to enjoy the afternoon.

An interesting folk act was playing the main stage when we arrived. The Shee were reassuringly Scottish, but with worldwide influences that kept the music fresh and interesting. This was but the warm-up for the big parade through the village following the band and union flag of your choice, and there was no shortage of either, with an Irish pipe band, a samba band and a colliery brass band all positioned at various locations throughout the line – and acapella singers at the back trying to make themselves heard above it all.

After our earlier exertions, we gave the parade a miss and instead took Son #1 to check out the kids’ area, which appeared to be all but closed. One marquee was empty, its side panels instead blowing in the lively breeze. Another was dark and uninviting and a third was busy with adults trying to cajole children to do some painting. But Son #1 was having nothing of arts and crafts – after over an hour cooped up in the car he wanted action. This he found in the bouncy castle (£1 for a very long five minutes) but this was marred slightly by the constant reproaches from the castle supervisor to not bounce near the front (it was on a bit of a downhill slope) and for no rough play. He was, in fact, just bouncing with one other little lad. They didn’t seem to mind the constant warnings and they certainly got their money’s worth. It’s just a shame that we missed all the other promised children’s activities.

In the Woodcraft Folk corner of the main field, we found a bunch of kids making water bombs with some trade union balloons they had found – they weren’t actual Woodcraft Folk, they explained, but the Woodcraft Folk had a tap they wanted to use. Noting their sodden appearance, I steered Son #1 away from this particular form of sponteneous play as he didn’t have a change of clothes and instead we embarked on a tour of the stalls.

It’s amazing just how much booty a six year-old can gather when he goes up to a succession of stall and asks if they have any free stuff. Stickers and badges are passe – at this event he blagged packets of seeds, a pair of sunglasses, a kitbag, bottled water, a DVD, tons of sweets and lollipops, postcards, a lanyard with a flashing green light on the end and a free Che Guevara temporary tattoo, all from various union stalls. (Later we met an adult who told us how he had blagged free food and beer all day from various union stalls, so it’s not just the children who are at it).

Heading back to the picnic and the mainstage, the marchers had returned and we were treated to  the customary inspirational speech from Tony Benn (who called for the festival to be prescribed on the NHS for treating depression), Cuban and US trade unionists and others. None spoke for long – soon we had the p.a. cranked up a few levels as Transglobal Underground took to the tiny stage.

TGU are always a surprise because their line-up is never the same when I see them. At Tolpuddle we were treated to some uplifting dancey sounds faced with political rap - I believe it’s known as world fusion. I t was great, got people dancing in the cramped space between the front of the stage and the road (it’s essentially a festival in a front garden), but scared off some of the older trade unionists who had presumably come more for the politics than the partying.

The music closed with Billy Bragg’s regular headline spot – he arrived onstage sporting a beard (“it followed me home from Glastonbury”) and immediately apologised for not performing last year. In between renditions of old favourites like “Between the Wars” and “Sexuality”, he bigged-up his Jail Guitar Doors project that rehabilitates prisoners through music, and gave stage time to a protege whose name escapes me. This languid rapper promised to try not to swear onstage then launched into a rhyme about prison life which was peppered with fairly robust language. Oops. Back to Mr Bragg for more favourites ending, of course, with “There is Power in a Union” and a short singalong “The Red Flag” and the festival was over.

Well, not quite. The fun continued in the Martyrs Marquee with punk-folksters the Clay Faces well into the rainstorm which had politely held off until the outdoor activity was well and truly over. Ten quid for parking, bring your own picnic – instant festival and political awareness top-up in the space of one afternoon. Fab.

* Oh and that quote at the top of this review? That was from the organiser at the end of the festival. Our tip? By all means go along, but DON’T TELL ANYONE ELSE about this tiny festival. It’s absolutely bursting at the seams already…