Glimpses of Golowan
Golowan – culminating in Mazey Day and Quay Fair Day - is a fine example of a rare breed: a revived festival that has become at least as successful as its original. Brought back to life in 1991 after being moribund for over a century, it is now the central event of the Penzance summer calendar. But where did the present-day traditions come from? How far is the revival an authentic re-creation, and which of its features, as experienced today, are inspired and creative inventions?
In fact, 21st-century Golowan is a glorious mix of old and new. There was no dedicated, uniformed band associated with the 19th-century festival. It was not intended as a family leisure opportunity, and was not scheduled for a weekend – both of these are 20th-century concepts. There were no street parades with puppetry, no funding from public money, and no official school involvement. But other highlights of the 21st century tradition would be recognisable to the citizen or visitor of 200 years ago. These include the keeping of St John’s Eve (23rd June, a date now set aside every year for the torchlit parade), firework displays and the disordered, edgy intimacy of the Serpent Dance.
This Penwith Paper offers three small windows into Golowan from three different dates in the 19th century.
1801
A description of St John’s Eve in 1801 [Royal Cornwall Gazette 4 7 1801 p 2 col 4] describes it as the town’s “favourite festival” towards which “the inhabitants have never yet relaxed in their zeal.” It begins as a relaxed and civilised evening promenade:
“the ladies and gentlemen parade the streets, walk in the fields, or on the terraces that command the bay; thence they behold the fishing towns, farms, and villas, vieing with each other in the number and splendour of their bonfires: the torches quickly moving along the shore, are reflected from the tide; and the spectacle, though of the cheerful kind participates of the grand.”
St John’s Eve - the torchlit procession, still held on June 23rd
© Tom Goskar
But the mood on the streets will soon deteriorate - or improve, according to taste – as the evening progresses.
Fireworks were already an established element of celebration (the firework company Brock’s dates from 1698 and Handel’s ‘Music for the Royal Fireworks’ had been composed in 1749), but those heard and seen in Penzance 52 years later were not a regulated display to be enjoyed from a safe distance – such as we enjoy today. Instead, they served as disorderly street entertainment:
“rockets and crackers resound through every street; and the screams of the ladies… and their precipitate flight into the first passage, shop, or house, that happens to be open, heighten the colouring and diversion of the night.”
But how real was their fear? Sometimes, things will have got out of hand; some people, probably strangers, will have innocently strayed from the safety of the promenade, and wandered unwittingly into the Badlands around the Quay. But on the whole it seems likely that, for those choosing to stay out on the streets after the torches had been put away and the bonfires had died down, screaming and rushing for shelter were all part of the fun.
1834
For Devonport writer John Trenhaile, the fireworks and rockets were a time-honoured tourist attraction. His poem ‘Midsummer Eve in Dolly Pentreath’s Day’ (a title that might in itself raise a historian’s eyebrows) moves on to give a description whose place in time is ambiguous: Pentreath’s date of death is usually given as 1777, but is Trenhaile recalling the mid-18th century? Or is this his and his audience’s own time, the mid-19th century, with the accession of Victoria not far off?
Even allowing for poetic licence, Trenhaile suggests that the bonfires and fireworks of St John’s Eve already attracted huge crowds, some of whom travelled considerable distances with, as yet, no railway to ease the journey:
“… at Penzance the Cornish world all meet
The Bay is in a blaze; on every height
Behold a bonfire sheds its awful light;
And rockets from a thousand hands take flight.”
In Trenhaile’s representation, all is harmony, with never a shriek to be heard. The crowds are “joyful… And join their friendly hands in gay Penzance” as they perform the ritual of ‘threading the needle.’ The dance is an opportunity for a bit of a free-for-all:
“Rank, sex, or age make no distinction here,
Th’amusement of the night their only care
To ‘thread the needle’ now their skill they try;
All joined and rushing, shout ‘an eye! An eye!’
The hindmost stop, the foremost wheel about;
‘An eye! An eye!’ more loudly still they shout.
The eye is formed; the couple in the rear,
Stand wide apart, their clasped hands in the air.
This arch, or eye, the formost swift pass through,
And all the living thread behind them draw.”
Trenhaile goes on to place Pentreath as a mock Cleopatra on the Feast of St John. This is a day of “jollity and gay uproar” with musical accompaniment, centred on the seafront – all elements which are still present on Mazey Day and the quieter Sunday Quay Fair Day.
The poem ends with a plea that the “harmless sports and joys” of what he terms “Old England” should not be lost, the implication being that the Eve and Feast of St John provide a prime example. Trenhaile, if he could visit Penzance for the present-day Golowan, might be rather pleased.
21st century Golowan – Mazey Day
© John Stedman
1878-1883
The date of the last St John’s Eve celebration is often given as 1877. There had already been several more or less half-hearted attempts to put an end to the St John’s Eve celebration, as well as orchestrated efforts to move it to the safety of Newlyn Green. All of these were spiritedly opposed by enthusiasts, and ignored by the general population, who gathered in the Greenmarket as usual.
In fact, the 1878 celebration (and several subsequent ones) took place as usual – but it was delayed until St Peter’s Eve the following week. The change was made (at least ostensibly) for practical reasons. But was it also another opportunity to defuse and disempower the tradition?
It is generally agreed that Victorian outrage finally put an end to the original Golowan celebrations, which seem to have lost their appeal by about 1883 and would not be revived for over a century. But ‘outrage’ is a more complex response than it might appear, and took many forms. Some feared for damage to their property, and wondered whether – if push came to shove – the insurance companies would cough up. The Town Council – which periodically got itself into terrible messes with law suits – also anticipated later concerns in its anxiety about being sued for allowing such a lawless event to take place. Terrorism was giving pyrotechnics a bad name, and the prospect of a prison sentence doubtless had a sobering effect on the young men who had previously followed the example of Humphry Davy in their enthusiastic experimental pursuit of a fiercer flare and a bigger bang.
The dangers were no mere exaggeration. The “chain torches – heavy swabs of sacking soaked in tar and thickly sprinkled with sawdust, attached to a few feet of chain” were intended to be lit and then swung around in the air. These would have been fearsome weapons of a brutally mediaeval cast – potentially lethal to both unskilled users and hapless bystanders. A blazing tar barrel, even if safely upright, would need to be kept at a respectful distance – and rockets, in the hands of over-excited youths, could become projectile weapons of considerable force. But in fact few accidents seem to have occurred. The firework makers and event leaders – MCs, as we might call them today - were people of some consequence, and it seems likely that some degree of informal training and initiation was required before over-excited adolescents were let loose with swirling fireballs.
The transgressive element survives in the Mock Mayor election – seen here with police presence
© John Stedman
Social and cultural factors, including concern about standards of behaviour - propriety alongside property - will have helped to bring about the century-long sleep of Golowan. But was there also an element of apathy? Were the annual bonfires, tar barrels and folk dancing becoming outmoded in a changing world offering new opportunities? In 1878, the waltz and polka were said to have replaced the serpent dance which seems by then to have been a lost tradition for some years – J S Courtney [please add ref to Half a Century of Penzance J S Courtney p 46] reported in 1875 that it was “almost entirely gone.” Luckily, changes in fashion tend to be cyclical rather than linear, and whatever contributes to human gaiety and does no obvious harm is rarely lost for ever. And so it is that, in 2022 and –let us raise a glass in hope – subsequent years stretching out towards eternity, crowds will come into Penzance for Golowan, dancers will dance, and music will play.
21st century Golowan – Quay Fair Day
© John Stedman
Sources and references:
‘To the Printer of the Falmouth Packet’ letter signed ‘TJR’ paragraph beginning ‘The joyful moment arrives!’ Royal Cornwall Gazette 4 7 1801 p 2 col 4 - there are several later and slightly different published versions
‘Midsummer Eve in Dolly Pentreath’s Day’ – Recreations in Rhyme, John Trenhaile 1834 (accessed 16 6 2022) pp 245-247
‘Penzance’ – item beginning ‘The Midsummer Bonfire’ Cornish Telegraph 18 6 1878 p 4 col 5
‘Pandemonium at Penzance’ Cornish Telegraph 2 7 1878 p 5 col 2
Half a Century of Penzance J S Courtney p 46
For the wider context, the best source is The Festivals of Cornwall Alan M Kent especially pp 341-349
To see a virtual tour of the excellent 2021 exhibition celebrating 30 years of the revived Golowan Festival, visit https://www.golowanfestival.org/exhibition
Many thanks to Tom Goskar and John Stedman for kind permission to use their original images.
Linda Camidge June 2022.
Penwith Local History Group
Edited by
Sally Corbet
price £10
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