Next weekend, the Redhead and I and our kids are packing up into the Yaris for what may be our summer holiday this year. Whit week in the little market town of Yorkshire is still a big fucking deal. There is a parade and a fair which takes over the town, and everyone gts smashed. The younger men, and some of the more foolish older ones, battle in the streets to mimic the ancient ways of their ancestors and it’s a strictly new clothes, dress up affair.
I’m excited. When I lived there I rarely went out on Whit Monday but always managed to see the parade. So what is Whit?
Apparently the seventh Sunday after Jesus died, the Holy Spirit appeared to Jesus’ disciples as a white apparition. Hence, we wear white stilettos on the Spring Bank Holiday.
The date changes, because Easter changes..that pesky old moon.
Traditionally Whit week was a universal week off when the factories and mills would shut down to allow workers (men woman and child) to have a break and get ready for the full steam ahead season of Summer productivity.
As a child I paraded a circuit of church-park-church in a ball gown carrying flowers and had a buffet to look forward to at the end. As an adult I shall be looking for HOT MEN and might even wear a ball gown.