Padtow May Day The Day of the Drum a tale of the Obby Oss

Cornwall art and culture from genius loci

THE DAY OF DRUM (Padstow May day) by Clies Stevens

As I write this May Day is just 48 hours away, and even though this year I will not be going my heart yearns for the sound of that Drum! If you have never witnessed the May day in Padstow, if you have ever felt lifted at the wild skirl of bagpipes and thrilled to the sound of the Irish pipes then this day of all days is for your pagan Celtic heart of hearts.

My children think themselves too civilised for this ancient ceremony, which fact leaves me feeling a bit sad because to have never felt the blood running in your veins, to see the wildness in the eyes of the young and the flashing prancing ‘Obby ‘Oss and to feel like you are 20 years old every year is to put it mildly bloody marvellous!

‘Tis a strange thing this beat of that old drum, strange it can stir a person so but then I am Cornish, and I live in a land that has a culture all of its own; carefully hidden from the English for centuries. The drum beat has been carefully preserved and handed on though to the untutored ear it seems to have no particular rhythm I defy anyone not to lie and say they felt nothing at it’s call.

Look! The Old OSS makes its way down the street, the very streets are bedecked with colour and flowers and the ‘tayser’ leads the black oss on its swirling wild dance. Young women seek to get under its skirts, as bare legs flashing in the early morning May sunshine they seek the age-old promise of fertility from this pagan creature, though today they do this just for the dare, or do they?

I saw my first Padstow May Day when I was 14, taken there by my father. The pubs opened early (very early) and closed late (very late) and for the tired sweating bar staff as they strived to serve all and sundry it must have been close to a nightmare, yet they found time to cross words and rapier like wit with those on the other side of the bar.

The years passed, I moved away from my country with its wild moors and open spaces, and the big sky and became a wanderer in strange countries and on far oceans. Yet every May Day I swear my ears heard the beat of that drum and the familiar beloved drawl of my countrymen, I would smell the crowd and taste the adrenalin; and once more see the young Maidens their skirts flying showing brown limbs, the eyes alive with the delight of it all and with the mischief running like quicksilver in their veins.

Then I would look at the headgear of the pit I was working in, or at the deck heaving in the blue ocean. Have I succeeded in giving you dear reader a sense of the magic of it all? Yes? Then come and see my country, be here for the next May Day and the Helston Flora day and all the other feast days that happen here, and taste the atmosphere in the air. If you do come to see it, you will I hope take the beat of that old drum away with you in your Heart, ready for the next year, and the next and the next………………………………………………..

Back to Cornwall art and culture from genius loci