Out and About
Saturnalia, a most pagan celebration
Chester is a city steeped in history, and quite rightly loves to remind its townsfolk and visitors of its tradition, sometimes with a light hearted twist. Founded as a walled city and garrison of the Romans, whose occupation lasted until 47/48 AD, it served also as fortified defence against the Viking raids and testament to the border feuds and battles between the English and Welsh. Suffice to say, it has a colourful past.
Back in the 1400s, there existed a City Watch, equivalent to a police force, which would patrol the streets, to safeguard security. Only when the patrol was complete of an evening, could the keys of the various gates be handed over and people breathe easy. At Christmas time, however, it took on greater significance because not until the keys were delivered, could the festive banquet and celebrations commence.
In more recent times, of course, with no gates on the city to lock, the Winter Watch became merely a festive celebration, held on two consecutive Thursdays in December, the second of which couples with another event: Saturnalia. Last year the weather was bitterly cold and kept people away, although I have to say their was a personal upside, in that it gave me a lot of freedom to shoot. This year, however, it was a balmy 6 degrees and the place was heaving with folk. Ordinarily, when shooting events, I like to move about, find different angles, but with little chance of finding my place at the front again, I had to settle for being part of the throng, sticking to the kerbsides. You know, when you’ve covered an event before, being forced to adopt new tactics isn’t such a bad thing. I wasn’t so concerned with documenting the whole event anyway, I was more interested in capturing components, colours and compositions, hoping to convey some of the magic that the participants felt as they paraded the streets.
Thus, armed with my second hand D500 and a 16 - 80mm lens, I concentrated on the parade itself. Even with this fairly decent f2.8 - 4 lens, things were still a bit too dark to successfully capture frantic movements, so I found myself punching up the ISO from 12,600 to 25,200 very early on. For me that’s ok, I like the painterly look of the shots and whilst my Nikon’s 20MP sensor might be limiting for some, it offers warm images and coupled with a bit of zoom, suits my modus operandi.
Starting up by the Town Hall, I waited impatiently, with many others, for the march to begin. It was amusing watching the legionnaires chatting amongst themselves and at one point, disappointed that the crowd hadn’t responded quite as loudly to his cries of “Saturnalia!” as he would have liked, a Centurion remarked that the revellers could suit themselves. “I’ve got a bottle of red waiting at home for me”, he said, with a grin. Anyway, it wasn’t long before the drumming of the Karamba Samba band began to crank up the excitement levels and finally, with the Lord of Misrule at their head, the band led the cavalcade past the cathedral and onto the main streets. Having followed behind and got many shots from this angle on previous occasions, I opted to take a short cut - to avoid losing the chance of a decent place at the roadside, back to The Cross - the statue that marked the centre of the city in Roman times - and waited a few minutes for the procession to pass again.
Whilst many of the faces I recognised from previous years, others were new, but all were equally prepared to entertain the young and old alike. In stark contrast to the Midsummer Watch, the majority of the troupe’s outfits drew on the macabre, a dark humour permeating through the procession, from the towering skeletons to the Dixie Band, with their painted faces that would have easily fit in with any Day of the Dead celebration. Of course the Tree of Life, Angels and others offered a prettier spectacle but, with the winter sky as backdrop, even the ravens - representing Chester Cathedral - took on a more devilish mood. What’s more, the cooks, who signified the over indulgence of this period, added a grisly twist with the head of St John The Baptist served up on a platter. Following the Ice Queens, Jack Frost and yet more colourful characters, the Roman contingent came into view again, appearing almost angelic in comparison, but for their repeated cries of “Saturnalia!”. It was loud, it was fun and the onlookers were enthralled. Finally though, the rhythm of the black clad drummers led the ensemble back to the start point up at Town Hall. I listened to them fade down the next street and rooted to the spot, feeling the crowd evaporate around me, a hush descended. The anticlimactic peace lasted for less than a minute though, as a shrill voice tore through the air, of a mother frantic, berating one of her little girls, who - fuelled by adrenaline - had ventured beyond the set boundaries, and scared her mother out of her wits, fearing she had been abducted. Spectacle and real life, entwined for but a moment. “It’s past your bedtime anyway!” the mother said, when all else failed.
So that was it, all over for another year. No great surprise that I felt slightly deflated after all the excitement was done, and not quite ready to go home, I wandered the streets of Chester. Past the shop where a contemplative mannequin presided over a meeting of all manner of eclectic goods, past the cake shop, wittily referencing Boris Johnson’s Covid antics. On further, past the cutesy Christmas arrangements, alleys and on down to where - the light creating illusion of snow on the ground - I spied the beer house refuge of two from the pageant, about to embark on their own revelry. Joining others inside, hoping for a good harvest and bright future, I daresay, they would raise their glasses to a pagan cry of “Saturnalia!”
Cheers!
