Men and their poles

 I’m wondering if I live in the only town to proclaim the new King twice.

Yesterday was the second day of Heritage weekend, which was advised to go ahead, despite the death of the Queen and I was on duty at the Moot Hall, originally built by Robert D’Arcy in the middle of his Manor House as an erection to the importance of his manhood (my interpretation) but transferred to public ownership after the rest of the house fell into disrepair. We had been asked to wear black, as a sign of respect, which as a musician, used to hiding at the back of the stage was possible in a very casual way.

The Moot Hall balcony was used to deliver all public announcements in the town from  the mid 1600s. People gathered below and election results were read out, or new monarchs proclaimed. There was no rolling news news or social media in easy to digest moving pictures with sound. In 1881, railings were added to make it safer for the dignitaries. I suspect that the mayor at the time (Fitch) was scared of heights. The idea that this tradition of proclaiming the King has to continue in a digital age almost seems farcical but who am I to change tradition?

In Maldon we have the Town Council (that contains the Mayor) and the District Council. The Town Council owns the Moot Hall and although it is run by a trust for charitable, historical educational purposes, they can still use it as a public building. The District Council have a modern building in a car park away from the high street. The two councils don’t get on, despite many councillors serving for both. 

When I arrived I was briefed about the Mayor’s visit at 3pm to read the proclamation and advised about the flag. Over the previous few days the flag had ‘been up and down that pole more often than a tart’s knickers,’ we were told. There are complicated rules around flags and poles that old men think they know and get very aggressive about. They really get in your face as they shout, “The flag should be at half mast.” And refuse to believe you when you say that it is flying high because of the proclamation. You can really smell their lunch and it’s amazing how many of them had corned beef sandwiches! The manager of the Moot Hall had just followed the orders given to her but there had been a confusion early on because day one turned out to be day zero because the Queen had died in Scotland. After about four of these encounters I turned to a colleague and said, “What is it with these men and their poles?”

The District Council had their own proclamation at 2pm. The Mayor wasn’t invited. Rumours started to spread that it hadn’t gone well and people at the Moot Hall were delighted. Schadenfreude abounded.

The mayor arrived and I suggested that we might need to find him a step (so that he could be seen over the jubilee flowers that had turned into triffids). He gave me a side-eye look, his wife laughed and patted him on the head and one of the councillors took a sharp intake of breath and said, “I can’t believe you said that to the Mayor.” It turned out that nobody could be seen over the flowers, steps were provided and I was forgiven.

The proclamation was given and from my vantage point it felt very much as though I was part of history, in the making and somehow linked to all the histories that had gone before. 

The mayor left. The flag was lowered and old men continued to get cross about whether it was too low or not low enough. 

“I’m sure it’s just a matter of perspective,” I told one man, spittle frothing in the corners of his mouth (he had enjoyed piccalilli in his lunchtime sandwich), “Some poles just look bigger from different angles.”

That diffused the situation enough for him to show me a photo of him with his 21 year old Polish fiancé. Not creepy at all. What is it with these men and their poles?