Independence Day

Hannah, Chesterfield, Western Massachusetts, population 1000.

Watching seven series of The Gilmore Girls had acquainted me with the idealised version of New Egland small town life: inclusive, tolerant, quirky, kind. A place with popular, localised democracy in the form of town-hall meetings, community fund-raising events held in the village green. I have no idea what deep and sordid secrets lurk beneath this pretty fiction -no doubt there are many - but today at the Chesterfield 4th of July parade, all of those features were on display.

Townsfolk lined the street on folding chairs, two-three deep, but for a very short distance. Flags adorned not only every house, but also cars, prams, trucks, dogs, hats, horses, posts. Everything was highly organised, with police guiding cars into car parks and ensuring the roads were clear, but the atmosphere was festive and relaxed.

Not only were we able to find seats, but we and others visiting the town were welcomed to the parade. The guy with the hat on is Lonce Sandy-Baily, our programme Coordinator.

The lady with the red shirt across her shoulders was a visitor from a nearby town, keen, as is just about everyone I meet, to come to New Zealand.

Let the parade begin!

Despite my extensive GG priming, I had expected more hoopla - marching girls in white boots, cheerleaders, baton-twirlers, elaborate floral floats.

Nope. First up, police cars.

Lights flashing, bursts of siren,

lots of clapping and flag waving.

On the left, the 'State Police Cruiser', on the right, the 'Chesterfield Police Cruiser'.

Then came this old fellow, I think he was from the Cummingham Post American Legion.

After that, the Parade Marshalls, walking. The Volunteers of the year (Matt and Barbara McColgan), walking, Larry Holmberg who received a Lifetime Acheivement Award, walking.

The Town Flag.










'Invited Guests': the State Representative, the Senators, the Congressman, the District Attorney, the Mayor, the Hampshire Probate and Family Court, Williamsburg Selectboard members, and others. Much good-humoured clapping and flag waving.

Don't know who is who in this photo, just that this was a parade you wouldn't see in New Zealand.

After that it was all on for young and old. There didn't seem to be any special criteria for being in the parade, although having a vehicle and/or a uniform of some kind seemed to help.

The Sheriff.











Girls.

Boys.

Spot who's not from around these parts. That's Paul and Kayode.
'White' ought to be added to the list of New England small town characteristics.

Mr Independence.






Him.

Santa and his reindogs.









The Betty Allen Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution. (In order to become a DAR you must be able to prove, with historical documentation and birth certificates, that you are indeed, the ancestor of a Revolutionary fighter)




The Hill Town Divas of Huntington. These are the 'red and purple ladies' who take their name and attitude from the 1961 poem 'Warning' by British poet Jenny Joseph. An Independence hymn of sorts.

Have they kidnapped a younger Cindy McCain?

Warning

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick flowers in other people's gardens

And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Biker woman.










Couple with personal armoured jeep.

Air force personnel?

Then: a long parade of antique and classic cars filled with waving family members. Yoked cattle pulling children in wooden carts. The North American Free Camping Association. Men in child-sized trucks. Kids on man-sized dirt bikes. The Chesterfield Air Band. Horses and riders. Clowns on roller blades. A scottish band. A grand finale comprising every fire appliance, new and old in the wider district (wild clapping).

And free flags:

In the late evening we went to watch the fireworks display at the U Mass football field. The great treat, aside from the fireworks, was to be 'fried dough'. After last night's donut donation, we were all trained up for more fried dough varieties.

Tragically, the queue was prohibitively long. A treat for another day.



I've never had a strong opinion on the question of whether we ought to have a National Day, aside from Waitangi Day. But in the van on the way to the parade there was a new version of the 'what is it like in your country' question going around - how do you celebrate your National Day?

Not like this.