The Hunting of the Earl of Rone

[bunn]

I have to admit to scepticism about this.   I grew up in North Devon from 1982, and lived two parishes away from Combe Martin.  North Devon is not a place where a lot happens.  We visited Combe Martin regularly.  We read the local paper, in fact we read both of them, even when the main story was about a goose or something.

The Hunting of the Earl of Rone strikes me as exactly the sort of event that would have been made up as an elaborate leg-pull for grokels, along the lines of the ancient rural practice of signpost-twirling, and the sign that fell down and was replaced by a neat not-quite-replica that read 'Wheretheellarewe', and hence went unnoticed by the local council for a couple of years.

But maybe it's real, and I just didn't notice it. Or maybe it began as a joke, and somehow took on reality. 

Comments

[ladyofastolat.livejournal.com]

According to Steve Roud's The English Year, (the Bible of calendar customs) it stopped c. 1837 probably due to concerns over drunkeness and other similiarly shocking behaviour. It was researched and reconstructed by local enthusiasts in the 1970s, and performed as part of the town's carnival, but the revival didn't properly take off until 1978. It's been staged every year since then, and is "one of the most important features of Combe Martin's year. It accurately recreates all the known details of the old celebration, although it's added a few new features to allow more people to take part.

[bunn.livejournal.com]

Maybe it was a secret in the 1980s, guarded jealously by the people of Combe Martin and not told to Outsiders from two parishes away... :-D

[anna-wing.livejournal.com]

Could well be!

On my recent work trip to the Seychelles, while chatting to a local, she explained that people in the different districts of Mahe (the main island) had their own specific customs and turns of speech, unnoticeable to foreigners, but making their home district immediately obvious to other Seychellois. The island of Mahe is 163 kilometres square.

[bunn.livejournal.com]

... Vurriners. The word comes back to me. Vurriners.

I remember an old gent from our village going to Plymouth and coming back reporting that he had been to Vurrin Parts.

[alice woods (from livejournal.com)]

My family is from Essex and have been travelling to Combe Martin every year to take part in the hunt since 1976. We now have three genrtions who take part and we wouldnt miss it for the world! Most of those involved are native to Combe Martin, but some families from away have been invited to join over the years.

As sid above, the weekend is a reconstruction of a Witsun festival that was banned in 1837 for drunken an licencuous behaviour. The church had been wanting to ban it for years before, but the final straw came when the son of a local dignitary fell down the steps of Lynton Cottage and died of a broken neck.

Then, in 1970, a folk group from Ilfracombe decided to perform the story as part of their act. From their they were invited to take part in the carnival (which is where my parents' invovement began), and in 1978 it was returned to its true place in the calendar, Witsun (what is now late May Bank Holiday), and its been there ever since.

Its a crazy weekend, but as we now have generations of Ronies (a collective term for those who take part) who have been born into and grown up with it its more like an immense family reunion. The grockles think we're weird, an many of the locals think we're crazy, but we wouldn't have it any other way