This Side of the Pond

Not quite done with celebrating yet? The trouble with January is that all the fun of the holidays is over and it’s back to work with a list of resolutions in hand, all of which involve having less fun than you did before the midnight chimes.

I’ve been racking my brains to come up with a new tradition we could steal from my homeland to fit the gap between New Year and Winterfest. We need something to look forward to, and we’ve already brought everything from Halloween to the harvest festival across the pond – why not complete the set?

I think I’ve found my candidate: the Festival of the Straw Bear. Hear me out, because while it really is as peculiar as it sounds, I think it’s got potential.

Dressing things up in straw is not as uncommon as you might think, but this specific custom is only known within a tiny part of my country and is mostly associated with the little town of Whittlesea. Nobody knows when it started or why, but it’s always the same routine.

On the Tuesday following Plough Monday (which, conveniently, falls this coming Monday), it became the custom to dress one of “the confraternity of the plough” (which I believe is a fancy way of saying one of the blokes who works in the fields) in straw. The material was gathered carefully during the harvest season, from the very best available, with harvesters whispering in hallowed tones as they set each tuft aside that, “That’ll do for the Bear”.

Putting the bear together was achieved by winding tightly twisted straw bands on his arms, legs and body with two sticks attached to his shoulders, meeting at a point above his head with straw wound in a cone to form his head.

At this point, the unhappy volunteer could barely see a thing, so his friends made things worse by giving him a tail and fastening a chain around his armpits so he could be dragged around the streets.

They then made him dance in front of people’s houses. The winner of this annual honor must have been so excited for the big day.

Once the bear had entertained the inhabitants of a house, his friends would stand around expectantly until the inhabitants handed over food, beer or money in compensation. I imagine this was incentive to take the bear to as many homes as possible, though not for the bear himself.

Unfortunately for the greedy guts, but as a blessed relief for the “volunteers”, the custom disappeared for a while at the end of the nineteenth century. Its decline ended in one final sighting in 1909.

Apparently, a police inspector at that time told the people of Whittlesea that they must cease and desist their celebrations because, in his opinion, it was a form of cadging (or begging, in more modern parlance). I’m not sure he was entirely wrong, as the custom is definitely an innovative way to raid other people’s cake tins, but on the other hand I don’t see how it’s any worse than trick or treating.

It was a long time before the bear was seen on the streets again – 1980, in fact, when the Whittlesea Society felt peckish and needed an excuse to ask the neighbors for a tray of pastries. They added a few modern touches that I feel would make it a more practical tradition for us to adopt here in Sundance.

For instance, the bear was no longer facing his humiliation alone; back in 1980 he had around 30 attendants by his side, including his keeper, dancers and musicians. These days, that number has risen to 250, including dancers from all around the country performing traditions such as clog and Morris dancing. There’s even Appalachian dancing from this side of the pond, as well as street performances and mummers’ plays.

Meanwhile, a decorated plough is dragged through the streets, and I know we have plenty of those available to wrap in leftover tinsel. Instead of knocking on the doors of unsuspecting inhabitants, the Straw Bear now makes a tour of all the local pubs, where his attendants perform and the audience can easily access refreshments.

We will need to choose sturdy fellows to take on the role of the bear, because they’ve even updated the costume. The head is now supported on a metal frame and the straw is fixed to a garment.

The costume weighs around 75 pounds and the length of the route has increased so much that, these days, there’s a swap-around halfway. The bear who finishes the procession is not the bear who began it (who is presumably now in one of the pubs, gulping down soda by the bucket).

At the end of the celebration, the bear costume is taken to a field next to the local school, where it is placed on a bonfire and burned. I can find no information to support my theory, but I’m convinced this part of the tradition came about when one of the early volunteers was sick to death of the weight and heat and took a match to it so he wouldn’t have to walk any more.

As the costume disappears and the fire dies down, the embers and ash are raked to the ground to signify the end of the festival and ensure more crops are harvested come the fall.

I can see no reason for this tradition not to be popular in northeast Wyoming. We, too, want a good harvest this year, we all enjoy a day of entertainment and we’ve plenty of straw to play around with.

In a selfless effort to help my community embrace this exciting method of staving off the winter blues, I’m willing to volunteer as one of the bear’s attendants. And no, it has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve already compiled a list of excellent local bakers and candy makers whose front doors I’d be interested in knocking.