The Green Man and the May Queen leave the scene of battle triumphant after the Frost Queen is defeated.
Ben Bentley goes in search of the people’s protector in Clun
The sap is rising in Clun — especially on the bridge just past the public toilets and the popular coffee shop that sells books about witchcraft.
You’ll know the strident onset of springtime, not from the sprouting of daffodils or the intoxicating aroma of freshly cut grass, but from a more reliable source: the appearance, in this very English town on May Bank Holiday, of a man dressed as tree.
And, by all accounts, Matt Williamson makes a mighty fine tree. He’s tall for a start — the prerequisite quality of a tree. Which is appropriate, since Matt is Clun’s Green Man, a character who, come May Bank Holiday, will lock horns with the Frost Queen on the village bridge in a bid to drive out winter and ensure a good harvest, while at the same time sending his female nemesis running and screaming in the general direction of Craven Arms.
The Clun Green Man is different and special to Clun. Great trees border his cloak, their branches interlacing across his chest and, uniquely, his leaf face is crowned with deer antlers.
I trawl Clun for the man, but to no avail; I ask around for a description of the man I should be looking for.
Carolyn Lewis’s eyes sparkle. The drama tutor and member of the committee that organises the Green Man Festival, says: “Tall, a good pair of legs — he’s got to wear tights, see . . . and, of course, a solid trunk.”
A bit like a tree, then. The Green Man’s identity is a loosely guarded secret but when I do finally track down and unmask him, it turns out that 35-year-old Clun man Matt got the job by “being in the wrong place at the wrong time”.
“I went into the White Horse pub and then suddenly I’m the Green Man,” he says. “It’s the way things happen in Clun.
“It’s surprising how many people don’t know my identity, mainly because I wear the costume. And when I do, children can sometimes get quite scared.”
The Green Man is an ancient symbol of rejuvenation and fertility. Appropriate, then, that his partner, Helen, is heavily pregnant with child.
“It would not do for the Green Man not to be fertile,” says Matt. “It’s good to know that those two pine cones that dangle off his costume actually work.”
But fertility, it seems, could have hidden consequences for this year’s re-enactment. Says Matt: “Helen is due a week after the battle on the bridge but it could be sooner. I have to be ready to scarper — I might get called off to Ludlow Hospital.”
The festival, which runs May 1–3 is a fabulously frolicking, dandy distillation of everything traditional and folky about a small rural English community: hanky-waving Morris dancing, a mummers’ play in which burly blokes wear tights and take medieval weapons to each other; and streets filled with clowns and circus people. Its growing reputation has even attracted former Young Ones and Bottom actor Adrian Edmondson, whose group The Bad Shepherds will play punk songs on folk instruments.
It’s a spectacle that attracts 4,000 visitors — or, as one villager describes outsiders, ‘off’ people — who flock to the south Shropshire village to see an England otherwise long since gone.
As the big day nears with every lighter night, preparations are almost finalised: the cast is cast and the costumes are ready; an army of Cockney knights is booked for the battle on the bridge; Morris men are ready to jingle; and gallons of specially brewed real ale to make the weekend go with a well-lubricated bump are reaching fermentation point.
Cast members are usually cast as a result of visiting places where lightbulbs appear over people’s heads — the pub.
The festival was started 11 years ago by Garry Nottingham and the late Clive Nichols. The spectacle, which has been re-enacted ever since, is that the Green Man, a symbol of rejuvenation and spring, squares up to the Frost Queen on Clun’s bridge. Swords are drawn and, according to Peter Robards who runs the café on the bridge which offers ringside seats, “people knock seven bells out of each other”.
The protagonists do battle.
If the Green Man fails to defeat his icy nemesis, the good people of Clun face the prospect of a terrible harvest. Suffice to say, he is yet to lose.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” continues Peter, “if the Frost Queen won we’d all be dead.”
For the last decade, villager Ruth Mapes, a retired English teacher, has been cast as the Frost Queen, meaning that every May Bank Holiday since 1999 she has been routinely intimidated by the Green Man and chased out of town.
But now, at the age of 70, Ruth says: “I’m too old to scream and run up Buffalo Lane at the same time.”
The step down from the post means she will be handing her Frost Queen costume, made from recycled materials including reinforced tin foil and plastic bottles, to a more youthful successor. But Ruth has her memories, and sifting through old photographs ahead of this year’s festival she recalls the time one of her grandchildren wanted to be a Frostette.
“Her mother was holding the tiny little thing and I was being beaten to my knees when I heard a voice saying ‘Get up grandma, get up grandma!’ But I always had to lose.”
And there’s nothing worse than a group of disgruntled knights.
“This was a different group to the ones who do it now — they were very snooty and wanted to be top dog,” says Ruth, recalling the day their armour lost its shine. “They were disappointed at having a small part in the bridge battle and said they did not want to do it again. They got the hump. But we’ve got a lovely set of knights now.”
There was also the time when high noon was delayed because of poor timekeeping.
“The Green Man leaves one end of the town, and I leave the other, at 12 noon to meet on the bridge. Twelve noon came and I left but there was no sign of the Green Man. It turned out that the bell ringers had turned the clock off and he had not set off. We were left waiting for what seemed like ages with thousands of people watching and I’d got no script.”
What are the qualities of a good Frost Queen? In the kitchen of her Clun home, Ruth almost transforms into character.
Evil
“You need to be able to shout and be evil,” she says jokingly, almost shouty and almost evil. “I’m good at being evil — I was in a panto and I made a child in the front row cry!”
But the Green Man festival is not to all tastes. Some people think it’s plain weird; others just don’t like Clun being a tourist destination for the day.
Says Ruth: “Some don’t like it because it brings in far too many people from outside, but there’s always that kind of thing with a village.”
Carolyn Lewis, who recruits kids from the village school to act as henchmen for the lead characters, says: “The children love it. They would rather be baddies than goodies. It seems to come natural.”
Corrine Donaldson first played the part of the May Queen when she was 14, in 2006, and has missed just one year in the role since.
“It is good fun. There are one or two lines but nothing to worry about,” says Corrine, who loves music and drama.
“Even though a lot of people come to watch I don’t tend to get nervous. I just enjoy the occasion,” adds Corrine, who lives in Clun and is in her final year of A-level studies at Bishop’s Castle Community College.
Her mother and father, Matt and Susannah, are also great supporters of the festival, and musician Matt takes care of the sound system for the production.
The Green Man festival continues a tradition that dates back to when King John granted Clun a Royal Charter for a May fair in 1204. This year’s will be the ninth on which Jack Limond, landlord of real-ale paradise the White Horse in Clun, has chaired the organising committee. Jack is like the Sebastian Coe of the Green Man festival, only with a Bank Holiday road closure plan in his hand instead of an Olympic legacy.It’s a substantial undertaking nonetheless, but as the clock ticks down to battle day, Jack has a more pressing concern: the new Frost Queen has got the last-minute jitters.
In the bar of the White Horse, he explains: “I got a worried letter from her because we have been doing this for years, but newly taking the role on and there being just a few weeks left I think she thought ‘I’ve got this pressure on and why aren’t you lot stressed yet?’.
“For the last few years the Green Man has come into the square and lurked round all weekend. Last year he got on stage with the Worzels.”
Clun is a pretty religious community but the pagan origins of the festival, says Jack, do not clash with traditionally held beliefs.
“If you go into Clun Church there’s a pillar to your left at the top of which is an image of the Green Man looking down on people. That has been there several hundred years. Pagan symbols have been established.”
Furthermore the Green Man festival is an event that brings together the community to mutual benefit. The WI does the tea tent; the bowling club does the car park and the cricket club does the gate. Funds raised for Clun causes are shared out, meaning, for example, that the cricket club is kept in wickets and grass cutting as a result of a man dressed as a tree.
Okay, it’s a bit hectic, but hey, says Jack, this is Clun after all.
“It’s a bit anarchic but 600 years ago this area was the Wild West. Things have always been odd and anarchic here.”
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