At least, in part – the outdoor part. No ‘Midsomer Murders’ veggie, produce and craft competitions this year, because they take place indoors and, by the time August Bank Holiday rolls around (OK so it’s only a fortnight, but still…) there may be ‘restrictions’ – again.
So this year we shall be out on the field. I shall be walking through early morning mist to help put up gazebos – albeit fewer than usual. Then I have the Community Orchard stall to look forward to – and a turn round all the other stalls to see what’s on offer.
A new venture for the show this year is the ‘give-and-take’ – bring along any things you think others may use, and help yourself to any you fancy.
The Japanese drummers will be there, and the band – the New Notes – who played two years ago. So will the food, the bar and the Sports – including Fancy Dress and Tug o’War.
I’m raising a glass of wicked home-brew (not for exhibition this year) to the success of Fulford Show!
It also has to be said that the temperature had finally reached the upper realms of single figures, and the weeks-long gruesome wind had died down; so off we all went.
The Moors are heather and peat, and sparsely inhabited. At night, they offer some of England’s darkest skies.
The milestone here was put up in 2000. We sat for a bit of a rest and noticed the lamb near the sheep on the left there wasn’t moving – the sheep kept returning to it hoping for better luck each time. Eventually the lamb got up on shaky legs and started to feed. Life isn’t always easy.
This hole i’th wall was Lastingham’s village well.
The land for Lastingham Church was originally consacrated by St Cedd, who also took part in the Synod of Whitby (which, among other things, set out how the date for Easter is calculated.)
Cedd died of the Plague in 664. Of a party of monks who travelled all the way from Essex to mourn him, all bar one met the same fate. What with that and the Saxon crypt, the church is kind-of Metal…
The village, under the moors. Ever noticed how it’s the most recently-built houses in Northern villages that have the best views? The older ones nestle to keep out of the wind – and their inhabitants would probably have had enough of the Great Outdoors by the time the working day comes to an end!
Vintage postbox (Note ‘V : R’ embossed at the top!)
We now come to one of the flatter parts of Yorkshire…
…which led us, finally, to Kirkdale, and the 11th century sundial whose inscription mentions not only Edward (‘the Confessor’) but also Tostig, at that time Earl of Northumbria. Tostig’s later support of Harald Hardrada at the Battle of Stamford Bridge contributed to King Harold’s defeat at Hastings in the same year.
In the wake of that battle, and wanting to stamp out any possibility of Northern rebellion, William I sent mercenaries north. They exterminated three quarters of the population here.
What is your attitude to Time? Do you let the past, the present, or the future dominate your headspace? And are there any bad – or good – consequences of this?
Philip Zimbardo (yes, that Philip Zimbardo, of Stanford prison laboratory fame) grew up in a Sicilian family, in New York. At the tender age of six, on starting school, he was struck by the contrasting attitudes to time at his home and in the classroom. The Sicilians lived for the pleasures of today – food, friends; cultural experiences, whereas classroom discipline focused on the future – work hard today to be rewarded by mastery of a skill tomorrow.
This, then, is truly a lifetime’s work.
Zimbardo makes no bones about which perspective he personally prefers as the key to a successful, happy life: the Future perspective, that he learned at school. It gives people the motivation to set aside the immediate pleasures, or the maudlin attachment to the past, enabling one to become everything from a successful businessperson to an enthusiastic environmentalist – not to mention a top professor of psychology.
But even the good Professors admit that a Future perspective has its downside: over-work, the neglect of one’s family and social life and the absence of culture and heritage; the shock, on retirement, of a bleak landscape devoid of work and status. They note that many top figures in business privately admit their lives are ‘empty’, and that a very low ‘Past’ perspective can make one feel rootless or even antisocial.
The second section of the book, then, sets out how you can find some balance in your life. This takes the reader through a personality test (The Zimbardo Time Perspective Inventory), to find out where you are, followed by a series of ‘How To’s’ for if you find yourself worryingly short of one of the ‘perspectives’ – Past, Present or Future. Ironically, some of the ‘future’ remedies – those involving money and investment – appear a little dated now, as the book was written during the opening throes of the financial crash of 2008. Similarly, mention is made of the ‘marshmallow test’ (can a five year old resist the temptation of one sweet now if promised two in a few minutes) as a predictor of success in later life, but it has since been found that the ability to resist temptation correlates pretty precisely with one’s parents’ social status.
The part I found most interesting was the application of the Time perspective to common problems in the human condition. Many campaigns against self-destructive behaviour (drug abuse, unprotected sex…) are designed by people with a ‘future’ perspective and will sail ineffectively past those who do not share that mindset – the very people, in fact, who are most in need of the advice. A campaign convincing young people that the act of smoking makes them look stupid or ugly, for example, is going to hit the mark much more effectively than one which says they might get cancer in the future.
My only slight beef with this book is that a number of the early chapters sum-up with paragraphs along the lines of, ‘this book will help you…’ – which I found a bit ‘too American’ for my tastes, and that some of the recommended actions seemed a little simplistic and perhaps didn’t take resource constraints – time as well as money – into account as much as they should.
Walking there from our house – so no battling with Bank Holiday traffic!
Early morning mist on the expanse of field as we get there first thing to help put up the stalls and gazebos
Being one of the few ‘veterans’ who knows how to put up an old-style gazebo! Getting all the numbered poles in order, and raising the edifice in such a way that its legs don’t drop off at the crucial moment is a Black Art.
Bacon butties and coffee for helping
The queue at the Social Hall door: people carrying everything from giant beetroots (complete with leaves) to bottles of wine, floral displays and model castles. I have to get there with our wine and fruit before the doors ‘close for judging’ at ten – it’s almost apocalyptic.
Fulford Community Orchard stall – I generally put my name down on the rota for the whole day. The produce we sell there – jams, chutneys, cake and cards with arty pictures of the trees in all seasons – helps pay for tree maintenance and insurance. Barry brings his apple-press and we hand out juice to the kids, who always want to know how the almost steampunk-looking device works.
The other stalls! We take turns away from our own stall to amble around. I’ve bought some amazing (and very cheap) things over the years: big planters, winter pyjamas, an entire set of bed-linen – deep purple with a design of cursive letters (for £1), lego Vikings, numerous books and even a book-case. One year someone came selling nothing but root ginger. We bought enough to keep us in stir-fries for months.
The actual ‘show’ part: seeing everyone else’s beautifully-crafted work, seeing if Dee or Azzie have won in the Jam (‘Have you got your jam ready? Let Midsomer Murders commence!’) and finding out what I’ve won for my wine. It always wins something because so few folk enter wine. It’s a bit of a cheat, really, but it’s nice to say ‘my prize-winning wine’…
The ‘auction’ – well it’s a bit more like a free-for-all. Everyone has the chance to buy any exhibits that haven’t been ‘reserved’ in advance. I’m afraid I reserve our wine, but not the fruit or veg.
The takings! For our stall these help keep the Orchard going for another year. For the show as a whole, they keep the whole thing on the road – the show pays for itself.
Taking down the gazebos – it means it’s all over for another year. Worse still if it’s raining and they’re all sodden wet.
Weather lottery! We’ve sweltered in 30 degree heat (and none of us was used to it), and braved freezing squalls. Some August Bank Holidays it’s blowing enough for a poorly-anchored tent to get airborne. More than one year we’ve been in pouring rain – not too terrible by itself, but grievous if it’s also windy and you’re having to wrestle putting up the gazebo ‘sides’ before everything gets wet. But then, at least it’s something to boast about afterwards.
The field is silent this year, and I’m at home. The Social Hall is locked and empty – I checked, moved by that strange way you think that if you return to a place where you once lived, then you’ll also go back in time to the years you lived there. Or just in case someone had decided to go ahead with a few informal stalls anyway. I have no idea how long a tradition the show is, but I like to think it’s one of those things that ‘Hitler couldn’t stop’ back in the day. We even had a Spitfire flyover last year, for the 75th anniversary of the D-Day Landings. But this year, Plague has done what War has never managed. It makes sense to hold off at the moment, but it’s too sad. To cap it all, Barry – our apple expert and Custodian of the Press – passed away in March. Of a heart attack – not Covid. He always was a one-off. We have a bottle of his home-made cider waiting in the kitchen. This evening we’ll drink to his memory, and to the Return of Fulford Show.
The more Metal among my readers may recognise the phrase in this title, but we now turn from the apparent perversity of people’s decisions to the even more uncanny matter of the mechanics of how they’re made.
In 1983 Benjamin Libet of the University of California San Francisco set up an experiment to determine the speed with which people take decisions. His volunteers were asked to perform a simple movement, at a time they chose, while a pickup measured the ‘readiness potential’ – a signal in the brain’s motor cortex known to precede physical movement.
Readings by the volunteers of the timing of their decision, from the second hand of a clock, showed that the signal in the motor cortex – of which they were not consciously aware – came half a second before their conscious decision. In other words the decision was made subconsciously and only afterwards did the subjects’ brains construct the perception of freewill.
Argument at once began to rage over how accurate the subjects’ timing readings could be, given that their attention should have been focussed on whether or not to make their move. Experiments in other fields of brain study have shown how a single line of ‘time’ is reconstructed by the brain ‘after-the-fact’ so, it was argued, we still have freewill – it just doesn’t look like it in that one experiment.
In 2009 Jeff Miller and Judy Trevena carried out a new version of Libet’s experiment in which volunteers had to listen out for a tone before making a 2-way decision: press the key or leave it. The experimenters found a ‘readiness potential’ building-up in both cases – press or leave – and concluded that the potential just signified attention, and not decision-making. Our state of attention is not something of which we are fully conscious, though it can of course be controlled with practice.
Libet’s own conclusion about his findings was that the readiness potential signalled preparedness to push the button but nevertheless a person could decide, within the final tenth of a second, not to go through with their decision.
But it could be said that this view – which acquired the nickname ‘Free Won’t’ (as opposed to ‘Free Will’) – just pushes the question one step along by leaving the mechanism for the final ‘restraint’ decision unexplained.
Improvements in measurement equipment – including siting the pickups within the brain – have in some cases shown even longer intervals (up to two whole seconds) between ‘trigger’ signals and apparent decisions.
Arguments still rage then: do we have fully-conscious freewill, or do our decisions bubble up, mostly uncontrolled, from depths we cannot reach?