Culture Club. 30 June 2018.
As always, there’ll be a packed programme in the Culture tent this year. The choirs of Charlbury Primary School, led by Jennie Grierson, will get things under way at 12.30, singing a selection of their favourite songs – not to be missed. They’ll be followed by a range of speakers on a variety of subjects, including:
Darren Mann of the Oxford University Museum of Natural History, on ‘Poo: A Beetle’s Perspective’
Professor Dan Terkla of the Illinois Wesleyan University, in conversation with Nick Millea, map curator at the Bodleian Library
Jonathan Byrne, Oral History Officer at Bletchley Park, on the men and women whose code-breaking skills changed the course of World War II
Decca Warrington, author of ‘The Eleanor Crosses’, in conversation with Brenda Stones about the monumental building plan conceived by Edward I to commemorate his late wife, in locations from Lincoln to Banbury and Charing Cross
Other speakers and happenings, along with full details and timings, will be announced soon.
For more information please contact Ed, email@example.com
We’ll see you here!
A poem for the festival.
Romola Parish, Poet in Residence and shared her thoughts on the 2017 'CBF':
Hog roast and poppadums,
tea, cake and glass cosies,
Aunt Sally – wild cricket lobbing stumps at the ball.
Footballs on elastic strings like the mittens kids used to have,
determined face of one young lad
at the Top Score stall
aiming his right foot at the ball
hoping his score at the end of the day
will be the highest of all.
I met a man and his wife from Illinois
who’ve come for the last four years,
and an Aussie on stopover who said
it was well worth the effort to come,
a lady who spoke of American beer
and shared it with those who were there,
and a lady who talked of legendary trees
and a man on the killing of kings.
And the sun came and went
and the wind flapped the tent
and the red-shirted workers toiled on
in every small niche
of the green cricket pitch
save the tent wherein gurgled the beer.
I’m Comfortably Numb on my seat in the sun
and a Punch in the Face slipped down a treat,
watched the Morris men mingle and jingle their feet
like they’re chasing a Russian Rare Bit.
I’m way over the yard arm and needing my bed
but the Friendly Rottweiler’s awake,
so I hope that the White Horse that’s stalking my glass
can see its way home in the dark.