We'd been seeing the signs for weeks.
Usually attached to hay bales at the side of roads as we drove around Northumberland, and after the first few I had started to predict exactly when the words would leave Tom's mouth.
“We have to go.”
And today, we did.
If you know anything about Tom, there are two things worth understanding.
Firstly, he always wants to be somewhere early.
Secondly, he doesn't particularly like crowds.
Obviously, the two are connected.
I was actually slightly surprised an agricultural show would be his thing, but he remembered visiting one here with his grandfather when he was small. He also remembered the queues of cars trying to get in.
So we were going early.
Which is a lovely idea until you introduce a young child into proceedings.
Nevertheless, somehow we managed it.
Are We First?
We followed the signs through North Middleton towards the showground and began looking for the inevitable line of traffic.
Nothing. Not a tractor. Not a horsebox. Not another car.
Eventually we reached the entrance and Tom wound down the window.
“Are we first?”
The chap on the gate just smiled and waved us through.
We weren't.
But judging by our parking space at the very front of the field, we weren't far off.
Perhaps Tom had a point.
I had wondered whether the day might be slightly disappointing.
For one thing, the show is traditionally held on Bank Holiday Monday, whereas this year we were here on Saturday. The forecast had also threatened showers.
More importantly, the sheep and goat sections had been cancelled because of the current bluetongue situation.
A particular disappointment to Meg, who presumably considers any gathering involving several hundred sheep to have been organised specifically for her benefit.
A quick word about bluetongue
Bluetongue is a viral disease affecting ruminants including sheep, cattle, goats and deer. It is mainly spread by biting midges and, despite the rather alarming name, doesn't affect people or food safety.
There have been cases of the current BTV-3 strain across Britain this summer, including here in Northumberland, so understandably agricultural events have had to take precautions.
For farmers and livestock owners it's serious business.
For Meg, the explanation was simpler.
No sheep.
She was not impressed.
Still, the sun was shining and arriving ridiculously early meant we could wander around and get our bearings before the crowds arrived.
Toilets? Check. Baby changing? Check. Coffee? ... Check.
And breathe.
Two Flat Whites, Please
The coffee came from perhaps the most appropriate vehicle possible for an agricultural show — a converted Land Rover Defender.
There was already a considerable queue.
It was obvious they were going to be busy, although chatting to the girls, even they seemed surprised by quite how busy they were so early in the morning.
“Two flat whites and a flapjack, please.”
They were excellent.
I kept glancing over throughout the day and I'm not sure the poor girls ever stopped.
Northumberland had arrived.
Coffee in hand, we wandered towards the horse showing.
And that was where I spotted her.
Seven to Seventy
An older lady stood beside her pony preparing to enter the ring.
She was immaculate.
Beautifully put together in proper country clothes, completely at ease, and looking as though she had been doing this all her life.
I immediately wanted to know her story.
Unfortunately, she was rather busy preparing to show a horse and I decided an interrogation from a woman holding a flat white probably wasn't going to help.
So I just watched. And made a mental note:
When my years start stacking up, I would like to look exactly that good.
Not far away was another competitor.
A little girl, perhaps seven years old, showing her pony for what looked like the first time.
She was proud as punch.
You could see how much she loved the little animal beside her, concentrating on everything she had to do while simultaneously looking as though this might be the greatest day of her life.
One at the beginning. One with a lifetime behind her.
Seven to seventy.
There was something rather lovely about that.
Then Meg spotted something.
What on Earth Are Those?
The lead tightened. Meg's ears went up.
And she began dragging us towards an enclosure.
Inside were tortoises.
Except calling these things tortoises feels rather like calling Bamburgh Castle a house.
They were enormous.
Aldabra giant tortoises.
One of the largest tortoise species in the world, with adult males capable of weighing around 250kg and growing shells more than a metre long.
Meg was completely enthralled.
She'll sit watching the rabbits in our garden for hours, but this was clearly presenting a whole new category of problem.
What on earth are THESE?
The chap looking after them told us about their extraordinary longevity and said one tortoise that had recently died had been carbon dated back to 1746.
We just stared at them.
There are moments when a statistic becomes almost impossible to comprehend.
An animal alive before the Industrial Revolution. Before the American Revolution. Before most of the things we think of as modern Britain.
Standing here, at an agricultural show near Wooler.
They were magnificent.
And we hoped they might go some way towards making up for Meg's missing sheep.
Judging by the expression on her face, they did.
Tom Finds a Look
Next we watched judging in one of the Hunter classes.
This was where I noticed Tom had gone rather quiet.
Eventually: “I like that look.”
Oh dear.
A Strong Look.
I've learned that when Tom announces something is a Strong Look, there's a reasonable chance he'll be shopping online before bedtime.
To be fair, the gentleman showing his horse did look rather fetching in a tweed jacket, gloves and bowler hat.
Combined with the lady I'd seen earlier, we agreed there was something rather fabulous about the traditional equine country look.
We also agreed that if either of us attempted it, we'd probably be identified as imposters within six minutes.
Best leave it to the professionals.
The Glendale Agricultural Show staff looked equally smart.
Most, presumably, were young farmers and agricultural folk. Country shirts, ties, proper trousers — all looking remarkably well turned out while simultaneously giving the impression they could throw twelve bales onto a trailer before I'd managed to find my gloves.
Young men of Britain, take note.
A tie occasionally won't kill you.
Meg Takes Notes
Elsewhere, the dog agility competition had started.
Meg watched intently.
I know that expression.
Hmmmph. I could do that.
I'm sure you could, Meg.
Whether you'd actually do it when somebody asked is an entirely different matter.
From the main stage came the sound of guitars.
A country and rockabilly duo called Root'n Toot'n had started playing and somehow they provided exactly the right soundtrack for the afternoon.
It fitted perfectly.
Horses. Dogs. Country shirts. Sunshine. Food stalls. Families wandering around. And rockabilly drifting across the showground.
Sometimes music just catches the mood of a place and they did a cracking job.
Then came perhaps the biggest surprise of the day.
There might not have been sheep... but there was still a shepherd.
And sheepdogs.
Only they weren't rounding up sheep.
They were rounding up geese and ducks.
It was brilliant.
The children loved it. The adults loved it. The dogs clearly loved it.
And, remarkably, even the ducks appeared to be having quite a good time.
It was probably the loudest we laughed all day.
Lunch Somewhere We've Passed a Hundred Times
By mid-afternoon we were starting to think about food.
There was plenty available at the show, but we had other plans later that evening and fancied something light.
On the drive home towards the coast we would pass through Chatton.
And in Chatton is a pub we've probably driven past a hundred times.
The Percy Arms.
“Today?”
“Today.”
The Percy Arms sits slightly elevated above the roadside as you drive through the village. In summer we often see people sitting in the little garden out front and invariably say the same thing.
We should try that sometime.
Apparently sometime was today.
We ordered drinks and a light lunch — a ham and cheese toastie each and a shared pot of fries — which brought the bill to around £30.
And here's where Heather & Sand occasionally has to say something slightly less exciting than we loved it.
It was... OK.
The staff were friendly. The food was reasonably tasty. Everything was clean. We enjoyed our drinks.
There was absolutely nothing wrong with it.
But we'd like you to trust the places we recommend, and that means saying when somewhere doesn't quite grab us too.
The toastie, for example, would have benefited from being properly grilled — even if only for those lovely golden lines that make a toastie look like a toastie.
More than that, though, we both felt the pub could have a little more personality.
With a name like The Percy Arms, there is an enormous amount of Northumbrian history sitting there waiting to be used. A few old photographs, prints, stories or well-chosen artefacts could give the place a stronger sense of where it belongs.
A little warmer. A little cosier. A little more Northumberland.
Would we go back? Absolutely.
Meg beside us, a pint in the garden on a sunny afternoon? Definitely.
Would we rush back specifically for lunch? Probably not for a while.
And that's okay. Not everywhere has to become a favourite.
A Proper Country Day
Driving home, we realised just how much we'd packed into a few hours.
Horses and ponies. Giant tortoises. Agility dogs. Geese being herded by sheepdogs. Rockabilly. Very good coffee. And some of the best people-watching I've enjoyed in ages.
What I thought might feel like a compromised Glendale Show without the sheep and goats turned out not to feel compromised at all.
If anything, arriving early and watching the showground slowly fill was part of the pleasure.
By lunchtime the quiet field we'd driven into that morning had become a proper country show.
Children carrying prizes. Dogs pulling at leads. People bumping into neighbours. Farmers talking farming. Horses being brushed. Music drifting across the field.
And somewhere amongst all of it, traditions being quietly handed from one generation to another.
From seven... to seventy.
We had a super day. We'll definitely be back.
Although there is one slightly worrying development.
I've just caught Tom searching for tweed jackets.
If a bowler hat arrives this week, I'm blaming the Glendale Show.
— Lucy
