A Visit To The One Hundred And Sixth Exford Show

Traditionally held on the second Wednesday in August, this show had long intrigued me, since it has an established place in Exmoor folklore... Founded by Earl Fortescue in 1889 and originally held at the hunt kennels in Exford, the show grew, and the venue changed and some years later it moved to Buckworthy Farm at Chibbet Post, where many of the older farmers will tell, it was an event not to be missed. Now held at Court Hill it is a spectacular venue with far ranging views and appropriately, the home range of several wild pony herds within walking distance. The ponies have always been a part of the show, though not necessarily in the organised fashion of today - tales of Exmoor pony rodeos at nightfall can still be recalled!

Exford Show in the 1940's... Some ponies may have come off the moor in the morning!

The showing classes have also altered quite dramatically. Not so many years ago, it was common place to see a pony taken off the moor in the morning and to watch two grown men use all their strength to hold on to it in the show ground. Then they would drop it back where they found it on the way home, or maybe sell it if they got lucky...

I was warned that for the last two years the weather on the day of the show had been glorious and since it is invariably either very good or atrocious the omens didn t look too promising for the unlikely (on Exmoor that is) occurrence of another beautiful day.

The showground at Court Hill Farm in the distance from high on the moors.

As I drove into Dulverton, a shower of rain filled me with pessimistic thoughts as I really wanted to see the show at it s very best... after all I had no idea when or if I would ever visit it again. Exmoor is the sort of place which prints itself indelibly on your consciousness - so wild and rare is it s beauty and however long the interval between visits, I always have a sense of coming home once I pass through Dulverton and take the road which winds it s way up the steep and wooded side of the Barle Valley with the river tumbling over rocks way below. Eventually the road rises up out of the woods and heads towards the open moor, the car rattles over the cattle grid and suddenly there it all is - spread before you - the soft rounded forms of the Brendon Hills covered with heather, gorse and bracken, rolling away to the coast.

Sheep judging.

Despite my earlier doubts, on the day in question the clouds eased away and by the time I crossed the cattle grid the sky was clear and blue and the whole scene was bathed in sunshine. Before long I suddenly saw in the distance a field high on the hills, full of marquees and signs of activity and thought "What a stunning location for a horse show!". It was worth coming for the view alone.

Filing into the car park area I found the local sheep being judged in one corner of the field - a serious business in these parts, and alongside the ropes of the main ring a huge picnic was being laid out on a table for at least 20 people with apparently every consideration for their enjoyment and consideration. On another occasion I might have felt a twang of envy since I love nothing more than to dine al fresco but I had another mission in mind and therefore didn t linger in the vain hope of an invitation!