The big night had arrived. Banquet time. The park owners had asked us if we intended to dress up. I pointed out as politely as I could that a suit of armour or other medieval garb was not something one would normally find in the wardrobe of a travelling couple but eyebrows were raised notwithstanding! When we arrived at the York Mill and joined the expectant throng in the entrance queue we soon found out why.
We were amongst the very few who were not togged up to the nines. In fact, as we approached the line-up we were roundly derided by a few of the young worthies with cries of "peasants approaching". Fortunately another couple, similarly 'undressed', sauntered up and took the immediate heat off us. Coincidentally they were seated next to us at the banquet and proved to be good company.
As it transpired, I estimated that of the some 200 folk who presented at table for the evening, probably 90 percent were in costume. It was extraordinary to see the extent to which some had gone and it was clear from what we later discovered that many toddle all over the countryside to similar bashes.
I have to say that the whole thing was very well organised. At the appointed hour we presented ourselves to the two doorway guards, our tickets were inspected and admission was granted. Seating was formal with a name plate for each guest.
The feasting hall was set up magnificently. Fruit and nuts were scattered on each, the candles were glowing and loaves of bread were already in place on the wooden slats on which food for six was later placed. And there in midst of all this splendour was the 'belle of the ball'.
Apparently there were complaints after the previous year's festivities that the quantity of food provided had been somewhat sparing....the organisers obviously took this criticism to heart as was quite evident at the 'nibbles' table where we were invited to take a tot of mead and then tuck in.
It does rather look from this shot as though I had taken more than my allotted share of mead, but it was the only way I could fit in the entire spread. And when they said, "help yourself" that's exactly what they meant. There are some decided advantages in being on time.
However we did not disgrace ourselves and retired to table after a moderate assault on the nibbles to allow others to do the same. We were soon joined by other revellers and within no time at all the hall was crowded, all were seated and the first course was served.
Each wooden table board catered for six guests on a 'tuck in' basis. Out came the serving wenches with plates of interesting fare, to say the least. Our first course consisted of a large, sliced terrine, hard boiled eggs, a Watsonia style cheese and, of course, hunks of the bread already on the table. There was oodles of it. Drinks were available from the nearby bar at reasonable prices (by WA standards) so off we went.
And no sooner were we tucking in than the 'entertainment' began. These two village lasses were at each other over a man. They set to with surprising gusto
until they were finally separated by a squad of nearby knights (don't know what caused the speckles in these photos..sorry) and order was restored.
out it came. A salad bowl was followed by a platter of roasted veggies, a whole (boiled...bit different!) chook, thick slices of roast beef and large portion of roasted boneless pork which was incredibly tender. And once again, it was hop in. Any concerns about quantity were soon dispelled. No complaints this year! In fact the amount which was returned to the kitchen after we were all well and truly sated was almost embarrassing. I was looking around for a medieval doggie bag!
Just before our mains arrived, the MC, pictured centre in full armour, gathered this group of knights together for what I though was merely a display of their costumes. Not so.
Within no time they were at it in what I have to comment was one of the best mock sword fights I could imagine. It could have been a movie set. I am particularly peeved that none of the photos of this battle came out....light problems.
No sooner had the main course been cleared away than the chap who had previously juggled his way around the hall reappeared in a very different garb. After setting up all his paraphernalia, he went on to present an incredible 'fire' act. His ability to 'baton twirl' fiery brands, juggle flaming orbs and perform all sorts of acrobatics in conjunction with an array of different flaming objects was breathtaking.
Again I am significantly annoyed with my photographic efforts...this is the only shot which 'took'.
Sweets...who had room? Liz did! Who could resist the marvellous chocolate torte roll or the accompanying large bowl of trifle? I felt obliged to ensure she did not feel on her own in her efforts to do these goodies justice!
And then it was time for the band to take to the very colourful stage area (obviously pictured before they arrived)
and for the 'knees up' to begin. We did not feel the urge to join in. The Irish balladeers who entertained us were skillful musicians, but frankly the concept of jigging about to Irish and other folk songs was not enough to get us out of our seats.
We were quite happy to watch for a while and quietly make our farewells. It had been a spectacular evening but it was time to repair to our van and check on the welfare of the ship's cat.
Did you miss us Max?......you be the judge!
More medieval shenanigans awaited us on the morrow at the 'Medieval Fayre' which was staged at the river side park in central York. We did debate the value to us of the $10 entry fee, but decided that this was probably the only time we would have the opportunity to see just what is on offer at such and event. Our verdict....well it was different!
A few things did excite my interest. This small, replica catapult was one. Those meandering around the Fayre ground were kept clear with good reason when this contraption was loaded and fired. It packed a surprising punch, albeit with a soft projectile rather than a rock.
At various points around the park areas had been set up in which mock fights were staged, and if nothing else, the armour worn by many of these combatants was nothing short of impressive
irrespective of their skill on the field of conflict.
And what's a Medieval Fayre without a 'buxom wench' or two.....this one surely was. I had to ensure that my photo was fit for a family blog...she bent over her stall a lot!
We though the belly dancing act a little incongruous,
but not as much as this sight. Look closely at the chap in centre shot dressed up in his purple period coat, complete with sword at his side.....and, of course, as every good medieval chap did.....strapped his mobile phone to the small of his back!!
Apart from the jousting, dancing and other medieval activities, we discovered that these events are also the venue for sales of all sorts of martial and other kit. Swords of many styles were on display in various stalls. From what I saw of the prices, this medieval caper is not one for the financially challenged. A couple of these tooth picks carried price tags of over $200. (don't you just love the vendor...I'm not quite sure what connection a roman style kilt has to medieval activities)
Of all that was on display, the item which most fascinated us both was the chain mail. This was actually being made at this stall, circular link by link.
I have previously read that this stuff is heavy, and despite the protection it afforded those wearing it, it was a major impediment to the free movement of arms and legs and damned hot. Having hefted this relatively modest vest, I can certainly confirm that this kit is weighty.
By now we were both 'medievaled out'. We decided that we could live without the group battles between the Lancastrians and the Yorkists and more belly dancing and even left the various food stalls unvisited!
Our York adventure had come to an end. By now my hayfever had reached a point of major discomfort....it was time to move...anywhere but the Wheatbelt...as quickly as possible. We looked at various coastal options and eventually chose Busselton as our destination, primarily on the basis of the fact that the weather prospects there were more promising than those further to the south at Albany or Esperance. Once this decision had been taken it was merely then a matter of a choice of an overnight stop. The township of Wagin, home of the 'Woollarama' and the 'Big Ram' was about halfway to Busselton. Wagin it was to be.
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