I never liked having to do Harvest Festival, but at least when I was running morning singing assemblies, I could inject it with my own brand of culture, inviting musicians to volunteer to play to the songs we’d chosen and scoring simple accompaniments. That was almost fun. When singing assemblies were scrapped in favour of ‘visitors’, I was somewhat peeved, but also glad I could take a step back and let someone else do it. The festival has been something of a limp affair ever since, but I remain as aloof as I can. That’s the sour grapes bit.
The school’s celebration of it is historical. In spite of being a non-denominational state school, they have traditionally traipsed all the children from KS2 up to the local church once a year for the event and I can’t fathom why. We’re not affiliated with that church or any other. Most of the pupils I have taught have referred to themselves as having ‘no religion’, although there may well be something else written on their data sheets by their parents. I find the ritual that we are required to carry out, irksome if not downright disturbing. It’s narrow-minded, selfish, arrogant, patronising and hypocritical to sing songs of praise to a deity who has apparently created everything and given us this ‘bounty’, and in the same breath, ‘pray for those in need’. Are we really saying, ‘Thanks for all this stuff, Lord. Shame about those who starved to death this year.’ and all the while smugly thinking that our measly donation of a tin of spaghetti is somehow the meaning of it all? I do despise the atmosphere of benign indifference, the unquestioning faith in one’s own entitlement, the incredible Victorian confidence that things are the way they should be, without a hint of alarm at the suffering caused by our harvesting of the world’s resources and the outrageously widening gulf between the 1% who own more than half of it and the other 99%. Surely I can’t be the only one who finds this celebration to be both ridiculous and insulting.