Village at War

We rose this morning to the bluest of skies and hot hot hot August bank holiday weather. Swimming in the sea and lolling on the beach would have been perfect today, but as we had a date with an event we look forward to each year it was on with the pretty dresses and off with the shorts.

Village at War is a two day event, we always head here for the Monday so we don't miss the fly past of a bomber and fighter plane.

As always there was lots to see and get involved with. There were some pretty gruesome instruments in the medical field tent.

We quickly recovered by lazing on the grass with cake and drinks to sing along to Run Rabbit Run and Pennyslyvanian 65000 to name but a few.

As the event is held on the site of an old workhouse, there is plenty of space for different groups to set up camp. In the row of shops the Bun's went to collect their weekly sweet ration while I admired the posters in the seed merchants.

Not long before Miss Rosey came back to collect me so we could all stroll down to the farm.

Just by the field where the Guides had set up camp was a teawagon.

We stared longinly inside and dreamed of the adventures we could have if it was ours.

Our daydreams were broken as we spied in front of us a beautiful Suffolk Punch being led to collect the potato harvest

After checking out the new born Piglets and chatting to the hens we went for a wander around the fields and down to the river.

 We kept passing the same elderly couple dressed up to the nines pushing a pram along all the bumpy paths. Strange things you do as a museum volunteer or perhaps they were spies?

All too soon it was time to rush back to the courtyard to listen for the gentle thrum of planes engines. 

Over the roofline a Hurricane, Lancaster and Spitfire flew into view in perfect formation.

As always the Mr and I were emotional about seeing them and all they represent. Although we're in our 40's we had older parents and relatives (apart from my much younger mum) who lived through the war years. My man's dad was in the Irish Guards and fought in Norway as part of his service. My dad was a little bit younger and only turned 18 in the final year of the war so his dream to become a fighter pilot never came about. He had a relatively good war until then as his dad was the Farmers Union Secretary so he and his sister would cycle out to different farms whenever there was a bombing raid and have quite a feast. When his turn to be conscripted came he was placed in the Army destination Burma. Then Hiroshima and Nagasaki were bombed and the war in the East abruptly ended. My dad's war ended before it had begun and so he ended up doing two years National Service in India instead where he had marvellous adventures.

All three planes swooped round and flew over a couple more times before heading back to Duxford. We then  decided it was time for us to head home too and enjoy a few home comforts.

When we got back I summoned up the energy to throw a Victoria Sponge together (from a neighbours hens eggs I have to add as our blinking hens are laying theirs god knows where).

We climbed the hen barricade to go and munch cake at the top of the garden.

The ladies moved pretty quickly as just as I was halfway through my slice they were upon me trying to whip it off the plate.

 Alfie tried the more subtle approach of staring at me with his cute come to me cake eyes.

Once we'd all munched our cake we used up the last of the days sun to play garden badminton.

What a perfectly perfect bank holiday Monday. 

Before I head off I must just say thank you for your well wishes about the sleeping situation. Still not solved bed hopping is still going on and we're just having to hope normal service will soon be resumed.