DanielEmmerson.com Harvest

September 2nd 2007

The regional harvest is something I never particularly thought I would be interested in. But today I took part in a truly remarkable tradition that brought local communities together and put smiles on the faces of all that attended, except for perhaps the village drunks and toothless hobos. I am one of the only English people to have visited the area and so today I was invited to interview one of the senior language teachers of the region at the annual event and take part in the local festivities. The harvest festival is one of the biggest events of the year in the eyes of the farming community; there are hay sculpting competitions, prizes for the tastiest baked goods, awards for the tastiest fruits and vegetables and then a series of dancing and singing performances by children from each town that takes part.

Every year the harvest festival takes place in a different town, this year Dzialoszice was selected to be the host. Dzialoszice is a small town about sixty-five kilometres north east of Krakow. I have been to the town before as my wife’s family live in a miniscule village that borders it. Dzialoszice could be compared to many small villages in England, there are a few small shops, an old church and a small green in the centre with several benches on it. It is therefore not so surprising that I am one of the only English people to have had the pleasure of going there. I arrived at the event with my young lady, Joanna, and her parents, upon arriving we were greeted by three monks and priest who were carrying an outlandish loaf of bread, carved and cut into one of the final stations of the cross, even though the scene was comprised of yeast, it still looked damned gruesome and I don’t envy the man who had to tuck into that for his supper. Seconds after arriving I heard a series of trumpet blasts, followed by a large group of old men, in a sort of salvation army costume, walking towards us. The group numbered at around fifty gents and they proceeded to lead the way to the main square where there was a small stage and various tents and marquees. The event was declared open and I was free to walk around and inspect the various attractions.

The bakery stalls fronted freshly baked cakes and bread that were served and prepared in wicker baskets by young pretty girls, the vegetable tables where remarkably laid out, divided into sections and custoded by large bury gents in aprons. I first made my way to one of the smaller cake stalls where a young girl in a tight piney and a bow talked me through the various sponge cakes and invited me to try a few of them before making a decision as to what to buy. When I made up my mind I was rewarded by a peck on the cheek and a knapsack of fresh cake, all for the price of about fifty pence. I made my way over to a fruit and veg table and tried not to throw my cake everywhere while juggling two photo cameras and a video camera. A proud and stern gent in his early fifties clasped my hand firmly, which took me rather by surprise, and invited me to give his apples a squeeze. They all seemed so firm and delicious I didn’t know which one to bite into first! I ended up buying three organic juicy red apples and thanking the sales fellow for his assistance. I asked him where he was from and how he thought the festival was going so far. He said he was from Miechow, a town not so far away, and that the festival is always a treat wherever it is. He said that his stall has won the prize for best apples and potatoes for the last five years and he'd be “very fucking surprised” if he didn’t win again this year. This statement ended in a giant guffaw before the man boldly moved onto his next customer, giving me a slight nod as he did so.

I dropped all my food off with Joanna’s grandparents, who were busy watching the hay sculpturing competition and I did my first lap of the event. I wasn’t surprised to find a beer tent with a swarm of village drunks around it, throwing there empty cups and dead cigarettes on the ground while clambering over each other to get there next alcoholic fix. I made my way past the bouncy castle, trampoline and carousel swing to what seemed to be the most popular attraction after the beer tent… the tractor stall.

Husky men and women alike horded around these tractors, testing them out, clambering on top of them and even getting under them. I know nothing about tractors and so I was unable to judge the most sustainable or the most efficient, instead I favoured the biggest and the reddest tractor, the one that looked like it could tear a town to pieces by charging threw it at the speed of light. I was soon ushered to the main square where I would meet my interviewee, a Mr Stanislaw Nowak. Mr Nowak gripped my hand tightly, he appeared old for his age and he had a face that looked to be stretched, so much so that one of his eye sockets seemed to be trying to escape half way down his face. He very politely asked me my name and what I thought of the event so far, I told him it seemed very well organised and that I was particularly impressed by the confidence and friendliness of the local farmers. He chuckled slightly before asking me what I knew about his work. At this point it struck me that we were speaking in Polish and I supposed he was an English teacher, when I told him this he laughed manically “no” he said, “I am a retired language teacher, I taught French and Italian”. That's half my questions out the window I thought. I asked Mr Nowak how he came into contact with foreign languages as he lived in such a remote town. He proceeded to dazzle me for the next thirty minutes about an interesting theory of his. He claimed that the best way to learn a language was by learning ten at a time, starting out with everyday words in a language like French and then translating them into Spanish, Italian and Portuguese. Then doing the same with a new set of words and translating them from Italian to three Scandinavian languages. This seemed like a bizarre way to learn, and when I told Mr Nowak that one language at a time was enough for me, he laughed. “As do most people” he said, “and that is why there is so much war”. Without warning he reached across me and grabbed the arm of Joanna’s mother. This is one of my former French students he remarked, clutching her by the arm. I happened to know that Joanna’s mother speaks no French at all, but I chose not to make any remarks about this. Instead I asked them to pose together for a photo. Mr Nowak thanked me tremendously for taking the time to speak to him; he shook my hand and gave me a wink with his dodgy eye. I uncontrollably winced and before I could thank him for his time, he vanished in the direction of the beer tent.

I was then ushered to the front of the stage to take pictures of the prize giving. The prize, it turns out, was a large bottle of fruit liquor. I hurriedly snapped away as men and women gracefully accepted their prizes in traditional dress. The rugged fellow who sold me the apples won first place in his category while an all boy sculpting team won first prize for their hay and flower combine harvester. The day was topped off with performances by various groups of children singing and dancing. From the desperately inappropriate techno performance to a song called ‘Lick my ass’ by a group of fifteen year old village girls, to gutsy renditions of traditional old Polish songs by a small ginger lad whose voice was breaking more and more with each song.

I never saw Mr Nowak again, but by the time the lights went out and it was time to leave I decided he must have sneaked off. I will be sure not to forget his enthusiasm and his estranged methods of teaching and although his comment about war was left hanging out there like a sock on a washing line, it is perhaps an important thing to realise. If more people took the time to learn how to speak a foreign language perhaps there would be more understanding amongst each other, perhaps so much so that events such as this, without masses of security, armed police and bomb squads, are not confided to small Polish towns but celebrated globally with understanding, respect and a damn fine selection of fruit and veg.

- More photographs up soon

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