All the Rage in Chester by David Atkinson
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Liz Woolnough was hoping for a double celebration. On the day she was celebrating her 30th birthday, she drove from her home in Barnoldswick, Lancashire, to the historic town of Chester where, bathed in sunlight by the River Dee, she was to compete in the inaugural Warburtons World Ladies Town Crier Tournament.
There, locked in vocal combat, she would strike a blow as the world’s youngest town crier to challenge the old guard of town crying head on - and go home with the gong.
“I like nothing more than dressing up and being a bit theatrical,” says Liz, who fronts a pub covers band and cites Joni Mitchell, Prince and The Darkness amongst influences on her vocal style.
“I’m not a rock chick town crier,” she adds, “but I have been blessed with big lungs and a deep voice.”
Historically town criers have provided a cornerstone of community life, relaying community news, and messages from the ruling class to the common folk. Today, their role is more symbolic as walking, talking tourist attractions.
William the Conqueror is credited with importing their trademark call of “Oyez” (it means “listen up” in French) but bell-totting criers also appeared in the Bayeux Tapestry and are cited by The Old Testament in The Book of Proverbs.
Far from a dying art, however, town crying is today enjoying something of a renaissance across the UK with the likes of Chester, Hull and Lincoln leading the way. Local councils are starting to recognise its appeal to tourists and its ability to provide a community focus in historic cities where community spirit has been eroded. There are currently around 300 town criers across the UK, their numbers swollen by a slew of young recruits such as Liz.
The man championing a more forward-looking groundswell is David Mitchell, secretary of The Loyal Company of Town Criers, Chester’s working crier and organiser of the tournament.
“In the early 20th century town crying was a dying art as many criers never returned from the war,” says Mitchell, an ex-teacher, who swapped classrooms for walking the streets of Chester in £2,000 worth of frilly garb. “But since I organised the first ever world tournament in mainland UK in 2001, Chester has led the town crying revival.”
Today he and his town crying wife deliver a daily proclamation comprised of facts about Chester from this day in history and local what’s on information at noon from The Cross, the focal point of Chester's community spirit since the Middle Ages.
But can The Loyal Company really drag town crying into the age of the ipod? “Town crying has been stigmatised as the preserve of old men in tights and weekend warriors with too much time on their hands,” says Michael Wood, the town crier of East Riding, Yorkshire, reigning men’s world champion and the erstwhile official crier on Hollywood Boulevard. “We’re trying to open things up and move away from the Toby Jug stereotype,” he adds.
Michael Wood: “Town crying provides a way to get back in touch with community spirit and foster a sense of pride in the place where we live. It just makes everyone smile.”
On the day of the competition, Liz draws nervously on a cigarette as time for her debut cry approaches. Dressed in a tricorn hat, a jabou (cravat) and purple livery (uniform) she takes the stage and delivers her first four-minute, 125-word cry based around the theme of “A Woman's Place”.
The crowd a mix of curious passers-by, bemused tourists and town crier fans from across Britain, applauds enthusiastically but Liz looks worried, all the more so after a strong performance from July Campbell, the official crier for Murray River Paddle Steamers in Australia.
The second round, a self-scripted cry on the theme “Men!”, goes better. But it’s Caroline Robinson of Palmerston North, New Zealand, who really catches the judges’ eyes with her rhyming couplets and hammed-up Am Dram style. The judges just aren’t ready, it seems, for a rock n’ roll crier.
Liz may be going home empty-handed but she remains sanguine. “I may not have won but I’ve learnt a lot. Besides,” she laughs, “One of the old boys came up to commiserate me afterwards and said, “It’s lovely to see a bit of totty around the place at last.”
Oyez to that.