IT TAKES years to become really rooted and embedded in a new place after you’ve moved from another county. It has been four years since Maggie and I “retired” to north Norfolk (6 August 2021) (I write “retired” with some circumspection, since everyone knows that neither clergy nor writers ever really retire). And, four years in, we are still making new discoveries, stumbling on local traditions, and learning, bit by bit, what makes the place tick.

The other day, Maggie and I attended the Aylsham Show, of which I’d never heard, but which is, in fact, a celebrated annual event here in north Norfolk. We didn’t know what it would be like, and certainly didn’t guess the scale of it; but we thoroughly enjoyed it. As one might expect, at a local agricultural show, there was judging and prizegiving for all kinds of livestock, and it was wonderful to see farmers beaming with pride when one of their sheep or cattle won a rosette. Here were people proud of their work, happy to be judged by their peers, and enjoying plenty of fierce but friendly competition.

There were also displays of all kinds in the various rings, including some wonderful equestrian events, from pony-club competitions to displays of “trick riding”: mounting and dismounting running horses, standing balanced on two horses while riding round an arena, and so forth. I was taking a break from my work on Arthurian chivalry, and it was moving to see a modern continuation of that close, almost mystical, connection between horse and rider which was once part of knightly life.

There were displays and demonstrations of “country crafts”, unchanged over the centuries and still thriving: from making hedges and hurdles to basket-weaving.

There was a whole section given over to old steam engines and tractors. There were tents devoted to all kinds of local guilds and associations, including, I am happy to say, beekeeping; and then there was all the good local food and drink, not least the wonderful variety of Norfolk ciders.

I was moved, just as Philip Larkin was in his day, to witness what he called in his poem “Show Saturday” this “regenerate union”. Like him, I was pleased to take part with all these country folk in

something they share
That breaks ancestrally each year into
Regenerate union. Let it always be there.

But I was also struck by something else: the sheer numbers of urban- and suburbanites, like me, who wanted to be there, too. We queued in traffic jams for more than an hour to get in, and there were thousands upon thousands of people there by the time we arrived, thirsty and grateful, at the beer tent. Whole families, couples, groups of young men and women, clustering together on a jaunt — and, of course, pensioners like ourselves.

None of them was on their phone or twittering to social-media bubbles in some darkened room. Indeed, this was the opposite of social-media echo chambers. This was real life, all kinds and classes, all sorts and conditions, rubbing along together, sharing the same hot August afternoon, the same good ground, connecting again with the farmers, without whose work none of us would be alive.

The Revd Dr Malcolm Guite is keynote speaker at “Finding Inspiration in the Psalms”, on 2 October in York. Visit here for more details and tickets.