The beautiful Island of Sark lies 9 miles to the East of Guernsey. It is the world’s first Dark Skies Island having so little light pollution that the nights are practically pitch dark, with only the stars and moon to light the way.
The Island has no cars and the population gets around on foot, bicycle, tractor and horse and carriage. Over the last few years Sark has hosted a Folk Festival, something which given the Islands remoteness has been a logistical challenge.
This year I went over to the festival with my Family, a trip made possible by my new wheelchair. The Festival was fantastic, with a three stages running full time and a number of other locations hosting groups or soloists.
Having spent much of my childhood in Sark I was not sure what to expect when I went over, but it was fantastic. I had to use a considerable amount of medication and all the pain management techniques I know to survive the two days I was there but when I got back to Guernsey I felt that it had all been worth it. Unfortunately over the next week, which was dominated by a major setback that view changed and I doubt I will be able to do it again.
I started writing this poem whilst I was over there and finished it today, I hope you enjoy it.
Sark Folk Festival 2012
The field stretched to hedgerows
which touched the sapphire sky.
Tall flags rippled in the breeze,
they stood like masts
or man-made trees.
Musicians and singers plied their trade
in the bowels of white marquees.
Harmony flooded Island wide
As the festival grew
Tide by tide.
An eclectic crowd on Sark landed
dressed in many styles.
Jeans and T-shirts, hippie print,
and designer labels
that cost a mint.
Cowboy hats and summer scarves
dreadlocks and bands of posies,
They sat on rugs or camping chairs
Or danced and sang
To tuneful airs.
Rich and poor had gathered there
to share a field of music.
For what really mattered there in Sark
was that everyone
Should have a lark.
John Carré Buchanan
08 July 2012