Edale Bluegrass Festival Report
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“I say, darling” called my wife one morning while perusing the British Bluegrass and Old-Time Music Journal, “It says here that there’s a Bluegrass Festival at Edale next weekend!” Now, anyone familiar with that peaceful hamlet nestling snug in the Derbyshire hills would imagine that there was as much chance of Edale becoming Bluegrass centre of the North as of Soho becoming Best Kept Village of the South. I mean, it’s not exactly the hub of the Universe, is it? A sudden flash of inspiration: “Is that the April edition, dear?” I quizzed, “It must be an April Fool joke!”. But no - it was the June copy. Then she spotted an ad. for a guitar that she fancied which turned out to belong to Paul Hammerton, of Bluegrass Express. Paul lived an inconveniently large number of miles away, but had the solution: “I’ll have it with me at Edale next weekend, you can see it there -- er -- you are going, aren’t you?” So... Saturday, June 6th, 1980 saw us on our way to Edale, knowing no-one and wondering what to expect. This was the 4th annual festival and seemed to be centred upon the two excellent real-ale pubs in the village. Friday evening, consisted of informal sessions in the village pubs followed by more picking on the specially-reserved campsite. Saturday started off with more informal sessions at the same venue. We arrived Saturday morning and went directly to the Rambler, the declared venue for the lunchtime session. Not a box in sight, but the door was open, so... “Nice quiet pub, Landlord”. “Aye, well, enjoy it while ye can - them ’illbillies’ll be here anytime!!” Eventually a car arrived which, despite all attempts at anonymity, was betrayed by the double bass sticking out of a window. Straight over to it we went to ask what was the crack. The group turned out to be the Chevin Ramblers who, on learning of our naivety, took us under their wing. “Stick with us, we’ll show you the ropes. It’ll all be happening anytime now”. Sure enough, it started. Slowly at first... a fiddle case here, a Martin there, more and more Mastertones, all placed discretely to one side with everyone apparently waiting for someone else to start. The flotilla of bull fiddles was stripped for action then someone decided it was time. It seemed that within moments the whole place crystallised into different groups, each doing its own thing on the lawn outside the pub. The fact that I was clearly out of my depth in this ocean of ability carried absolutely no weight as an excuse. Hesitatingly I took out my old Windsor Whirle, which caused comments like “Hells Bells!! He’s playing an antique! Let’s have a do!” We migrated from group to group, meeting more and more people. I wouldn’t have believed that a crowd of strangers could possibly have been so friendly. There was absolutely no animosity. Of course, one or two would show off a little with some tour-de-force but they were soon given the Big E. The form was definitely “Join in and enjoy it”. They came from everywhere. Leeds, Glasgow, London, Swansea - you name it - yet there seemed to be no more than two or three hundred people there. Many came not to play but just to soak in the atmosphere (and the beer!). The weather became somewhat inclement so those for whom there was no room under the trees retired to more hospitable situations closer to the bar, staying until eviction time. This was when one of the two main functions began - the Banjo, Fiddle, Mandolin, Guitar and Dobro contests in the small Village Hall. Admission to the Hall was the only ‘commercial’ thing about the whole weekend: £1-00 for the whole day, which included the Grand Concert on Saturday Evening. Be assured that the contests were of the highest standard and most enjoyable, despite a power failure and percussive accompaniment from the heavens. Eventually the pubs opened again and the evening was spent delocalised between them and the Concert in the Village hall. Regrettably we had to go home on Saturday night. We were enjoying it so much that money was actually placed on whether or not we would stay! ”See you next year!! ” ... “Stay ’til tomorrow!” ... “You’ve got to see our bit in the concert!!” ... “Have another pint!!” It was hard to leave. I learned later that, despite rain, the Sunday morning campsite and Sunday lunchtime pub sessions were undamped. The weekend was, in everyone’s opinion, a huge success; it is of interest to speculate why. Was it just the music and friendly, non-commercial atmosphere; or the fact that Edale is such a beautiful spot, scenic and secluded in the southern Derbyshire Pennines, centrally situated and equally remote from everywhere; or perhaps that the pubs and Village hall are all sufficiently far from habitation that noise is not a problem; or that the 30p-a-night camping is so close to the centre of things that, once there, a car is superfluous? More than likely it is a combination of all these things. Well, we arrived knowing no-one and left knowing nearly everyone. We shall certainly attend for the whole weekend next year. Shall we see you there? I’m the chap with the old Windsor who never says ‘No’ to a pint!! Abstracted with permission by D.B. from an article which appeared in the February 1981 edition of the Banjoists Broadsheet edited and published by Dr. Jules F.Vincent, 93, Redhatch Drive, Earley, Reading, RG6 2QN, phone 01734 875759. Website | Write to |