hard working folk stage a first rate festival in Cleckheaton

God might not actually be a Yorkshireman, as many say he is; but it is certain he has a great deal of affection for that county and the folk that live there. It was there for all to see, the weekend of the 24th Cleckheaton Folk Festival. There were three days of glorious sunshine. There were happy, smiling and helpful people everywhere and to cap it all, there was some top talent: purveyors all of God's greatest gift to the human race: English traditional music (and dance).

Cleckheaton is one of those festivals that appears so woven into the fabric of the community around it that it's hard to see where one ends and the other begins. This was never more evident than on Saturday morning, when the festival parade took place. It was one to savour. Led by a fire engine, it took a good and circuitous route through the town centre. Ample crowds gathered and were treated to Morris sides from the Cotswold, Border and North Western traditions. Then there was Molly, Longsword and Clog, and to follow, there were stilt walkers, and a couple of blokes in fezzes who asked a lot about the price of women and looked pretty handy in the Sand Dance tradition. It's always nice to hear the clip clop of clogs or the jangling of bells on the streets of any town. It's good to see the locals take it in their stride, and when crowds line the streets to show their appreciation, it's a real joy.

The hub of the festival is the town hall, with other concerts taking place in local pubs. This gave a very folk clubby feel to proceedings. Nothing was more than a five minute walk from anything else and of course, the festival was effectively weather proof; all of the concerts taking place indoors. The main concert hall featured an arrangement I've never seen before; chairs grouped around tables, cabaret style. It made for a mellow mood, again like a (very large) folk club. The stewards were dead helpful and there was a tea room upstairs where you could get cuppa for 70p and a nice cake to go with it for not much more. Surely that's some sort record for food pricing at a festival. The festival crowd too, seemed clearly schooled in folk club etiquette. They watch attentively, then applaud politely. At one point Chris While and Julie Matthews, who headlined on Friday night, described them as, "A bunch of bunnies trapped in car headlamps". They soon got into their stride though, winning over their audience with a set that was a bit country, a bit strummy and was polished with a harmonic sheen that comes from a partnership of many years.

Above the ornate stage was a coat of arms, upon which was emblazoned, "Industry Rewards". This could have been the motto of festival highlight, Lucy Ward. Lucy was easy to spot. Her hair was blue, and green. Once she learned a traditional song by recording it on her phone; that's how old she was. She played four and a half hours of concerts over the festival weekend and every time she appeared, there was a bit more of a crowd, a bit more of a buzz in the room. She had a broad grin, and she gestured like a good un; infecting the crowd with her energy and giving life to songs and subjects ranging from the known and loved, such as Mike Waterson's 'A Stitch in Time', to self- penned efforts such as 'Alice in the Bacon Box', which more than held their own in such esteemed company. Lucy sometimes played guitar or concertina but much of what she sang was unaccompanied and that was fine, for she had a voice that was just grand on its own. Lucy's concerts culminate in a rendering of 'Canny Lad'. I don't want to give too much away but if you like sitting in the company of people, some of whom are old enough to know better, screaming "I'm the best in bed!" for all they are worth, then you need to check her out at a festival soon. Her debut CD, 'Adelphi has to Fly' is available everywhere, including Asda.

Cleckheaton, this year, was a feast for fans of Americana. It began with the aforementioned Chris While and Julie Mathews; but for many, The Carrivick Sisters were a huge highlight. Again, they played a number of concerts over the weekend and built a loyal following. They sang sweet sibling harmonies, with million-notes-a-minute bluegrass accompaniment on fiddle, mandolin, dobro and banjo. You wouldn't think they'd lived long enough to get as good as they are, but they were evidently not only brilliant but also possessed a canny knack of getting people to join in. One of their songs had a yodelling chorus and everyone in the room yodelled away without a care in the world.

In addition to their numerous concert appearances, the Carrivick Sisters appeared at one of the many workshops on offer. Workshops were free and took place at the 'Music Room', a well stocked and knowledgeably staffed music shop, just over the road from the town hall. Festival goers could take their pick from song writing, banjo, or mandolin workshops; mandolin being with the Carrivicks. I was slightly surprised when only one person showed up. He got the workshop entirely to himself, lucky fella. An inspiring sight to behold was the beginner's banjo workshop. The group was sitting in a circle, some holding banjos that were clearly borrowed from the shop and had the price tags still attached. By the end of the session they possessed a range of techniques that, with a bit of practice, could get them started in a session with no worries. This was a minor miracle in the time available, and a fine example for other festivals to follow. For those who weren't into music workshops, there were plenty of 'meets' taking place; opportunities to get better acquainted with some of the performers at the festival.

A scorching Saturday afternoon in the main venue was kicked off in some style by Keith Donnelly and Flossie Malavialle. I'd seen Flossie earlier in the Mead Hall and she'd won me over immediately by declaring her love for miserable songs, before proving the point with her version of Jacques Brel's 'Ne me Quitte Pas'. She wasn't lying. Keith and Flossie got everyone singing along straight away with a poignant number about Jesus at the airport, and they left the crowd nicely bubbling with my very favourite Keith Song, the brilliant 'Green Grow the Issues'.

Next up was Elbow Jane, an acoustic five piece formed around two childhood friends Joe Topping and Richard Woods. They possess first rate musicianship, shimmering harmonies and songs in which people die a lot. They went down a storm.

Vicki Swan & Jonny Dyer drew the warmest response of the evening, and as they launched into their first couple of tunes, their appeal was obvious. They draw their inspiration from a wide range of sources: Child Ballads, German folk tunes and Vicki's Swedish roots, which are also evident in her choice of instrument. She plays a Nickelharpa, in addition to smallpipes, whistles and flutes; Jonny playing guitar and accordion. Their songs often tell stories. There are broken tokens. There are tales of love gone bad. There are meetings with the devil on the road, and there aren't too many happy endings. Vicki and Jonny give full voice to the darkness, drama and passion in their music. A lot of what they do though, has such a warm, lived in feeling that you feel very cosy listening to it. Around the room, toes tapped, heads swayed and even the people fanning themselves seemed to be doing it in time with the music. My favourite song was the 'The Oxford and 'Ampton Railway', but the biggest reception of the set was for 'Billy Boy'. Both songs feature on their stunning new CD, 'Stones on the Ground'. They ended on a nice joiny-inny one, 'Follow me Home', and left an appreciative crowd nicely primed for headline act, Jackie Oates.

Jackie and her band were just what the doctor ordered at the end of a long hot Saturday. Whatever kind of a day you'd had, she has a voice to make you feel better. Folks closed their eyes, smiled and let it waft over them; heads swaying and toes tapping. During a medley of traditional songs from Jackie's new album 'Saturnine', a spontaneous singalong broke out; with proper harmonies and everything. It was a lovely moment. She delivered her new material accompanied by just a piano, before the rest of her band returned, ending on 'May the Kindness', an appropriately gentle way to send us into the still sweltering night.

For those of us who didn't live locally, as many at the festival did, home for the night was the campsite. It was just out of town and there was a regular minibus service. If motorised transport wasn't your thing, there was a handy traffic free route which went right to it. This made Cleckheaton a cycle friendly festival of Towersey-esque proportions. It was about 5-10 minutes on a bike and perhaps a 20 minute walk. If it was a cloudy night you'd need a torch. If not, you could let the moon and the stars guide your way.

The campsite was worth a mention for a couple of reasons; firstly it was cheap; only three quid a night if you had a weekend ticket. For that you got queue free toilets and showers, regular security patrols and enough space to sleep, however early the hour.

Cleckheaton then, presented a mix that was somewhat unusual for a festival. You got the sleeping in a field experience, the party feel and the late night song and tune sessions. The concerts though, were all indoors. This could have led to missing out on the usual festival treats of food and merchandise stalls, and also children's entertainment. But fear not; there was a food market opposite the main venue, along with deckchairs, a bouncy castle, magicians and Punch and Judy.

The dance sides performed at various locations in the town, sometimes in pubs, sometimes on the street. Wherever they appeared they got a good reception. Particular favourites were the Raving Maes; an alternative Molly side who describe themselves as M&S crossed with S&M. What's not to like?

Sunday began in some style, first with another incarnation of Vicki Swan & Jonny Dyer, this time appearing as George Papervergis' Los Marbles. They were followed by The Fay Hield Trio, playing the first of two concerts that day; later they closed the festival at the evening concert.

Fay was followed by the Gerry McNeice Band. Gerry had been appearing in various guises throughout the weekend. On Friday he was an orchestra, and he had also been seen appearing in an ensemble, and sometimes a duo. It's a way, he told us, of keeping the songs fresh so that they'd stand up to repeated performances. It seemed to work, leaving the crowd nicely buzzing in anticipation of the headline act.

There's something big about Spiers & Boden, and I'm not referring to their physical stature. The room was silent as they were announced. As they walked on, the clapping and hollering reached rock star intensity. They built the mood steadily during the intro to 'Tom Padget', and when the stomp box kicked after a few bars, it was a feeling that echoed the biggest acts at the biggest festivals. It was more akin to the recent Glastonbury appearance of that band-that-stole-all-their-songs, Bellowhead, than to a town hall concert at a folk festival.

They've been together for ten years now and to celebrate, they've a new CD out, 'The Works'. It features re recordings of some of their best loved tunes, and contains collaborations from among others, Martin Simpson, Eliza and Martin Carthy and Nancy Kerr and James Fagan. The stomp box is featured too: can't wait. All those years together have reaped rewards in terms of their performance. On the mic, they were all stomp, swagger and passion. Then they'd retreat, square up, and weave in and out of each other's physical and musical space like the seasoned old sparring partners they are. They like us joining in too, helpfully giving a foot stomping demonstration and putting us at ease about the high notes in 'Bold Sir Rylas' with some helpful tips on bawdy singing, "Just leave the consonants out!" It was the best four minutes and seventeen seconds I've had at a folk festival in ages. When I try to think of another act who build an atmosphere so strikingly at a festival, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, whom I saw at Reading in about 1992, keep popping into my mind. I wonder what became of them?

For those that have no homes to go to, an evening concert took place in the Mead Hall, and it was well worth sticking around for. Firstly, we got to hear what must be the folkiest lyric of the weekend from Nick Dow, "On the way to town, an artic knocked him down." Beat that.

Secondly, we got to see Lucy Ward in a bigger venue, and she went down a storm. Indeed, a sizable chunk of the audience left after her set. They missed a storming concert by The Fay Hield Trio. It had Peter Bellamy numbers featuring siblings stabbing each other, a scary song about Napoleon with a tune that sounded a bit like the German national anthem, and 'Oak and Ash and Thorn', which got them singing along magnificently. Fay is a fan of fox hunting songs but not so much of fox hunting. The encore was "The Fox Jumps over the Parson's Gate", made almost mosh-able by the band's acquisition of a stomp box. The festival ended in a novel way, with a song from the committee. Most importantly though, we were told that next year's festival will definitely go ahead, which is good news in these uncertain times. It will be its twenty fifth year so expect something special. To improve on the soaring standard set this year, it'll have to be.

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