We sent Tom ‘Obvious Jouster’ McGhie to The Kingdom of Loxwood – one of Britain’s most spectacular medieval events – to see how it compares to his average weekend
In modern parlance the term ‘knight’ isn’t always used positively. A ‘white knight’ evokes a bloke in a fedora bungling about on forums, pitching in with unwarranted views on a sensitive subject.
Slap ‘armchair’ in front and it conjures the image of an ex-partner ranting about how underdone the broccoli is, and how it’s the perfect metaphor for the lack of care you exhibit in the relationship.
Yes – you can prefix it with ‘dark’ and it recalls the only decent Batman movie, but by-and-large the word ‘knight’ lacks the glory and splendour it possessed in the medieval years.
Back in the Dark Ages the word meant honour, courage and loyalty. No wonder then, there’s still a portion of society that still dresses up in chivalric costumes on weekends – or even devotes their entire lives to the recreation of those times.
The Loxwood Joust is one such event which harks back to the Feudal era. The annual medieval festival runs across two weekends in August and features a jousting tournament, archery, competitive ‘fighting’ and Henry VIII-esque turkey legs – you name it.
We headed down there to find out whether or not things really were better back in those days, with the invite hinting we could get involved in the activities they had.
Although I loved a bit of pageantry as a child I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t slightly apprehensive about the prospect of getting dressed up and having seven shades knocked out of me by ‘Martin from accounts’, who likes putting on chainmail to escape the daily grind.
We set off from London and were running late when our steed – a Volkswagen T Cross – arrived at the gates of the ‘Kingdom of Loxwood’. I was ordered to take off my sunglasses and crop top and replace them immediately with a peasant’s tunic and shorts.
I might have been on trial for my tardiness – the first activity we were whisked over to was essentially a humiliation ritual at the hands of the festival’s resident two bards. If I was expecting an easy start to the day, I was sorely mistaken.
“So, you want to be a bard,” spat one of the men. “Here you go – take this tambourine. Don’t you dare try and upstage us.”
A crowd of bystanders – all dressed in medieval courtier’s garb – surrounded us and I was forced to shake the tambourine while singing the ‘Loxwood’ anthem. I was jeered by my bard teachers and stumbled my way through a few verses. “That’s rubbish!” they yelled. “You clearly aren’t very good at this.”
With my ego hurting, I realised this wasn’t just another cosplay meetup attended by sad acts and social pariahs – this was a truly immersive experience. I wasn’t in a field just outside the A3, I was in the Kingdom of Loxwood, baby. And I liked it.
But there was no time to dwell – post-sing along a turkey leg was thrust into my hand and I was told to eat it…fast.
As the festival’s site was traversed, huge cheering came from the centre and a voice boomed over the tannoy – “it is time for the first joust!”
A frenzied battlecry went up from the centre of the field and I saw a knight on horseback rear up and yell “huzzah!” Everything was about to get very real.
Although on the way down I’d been gearing up for a bit of saddle-action, the moment I saw the jousters bolt towards each other I was glad they hadn’t let me get on a horse.
The Daily Star crew were placed in the royal booth – which meant we had the best seat in the house to watch the competition. We even sat next to ‘the Queen’, who cheered for her champions and wept as they were knocked off their mounts.
I felt like I was in Game of Thrones, and all of my wildest childhood dreams of being a proper knight were coming true. One woman rode around the arena standing up on two horses, riding circles round two blokes who appeared to be fighting to the death on the floor.
Meanwhile the two bards from earlier strummed mellifluously and provided cheeky commentary like a pair of Shakespearean Pucks.
It was like Cirque de Soleil meets WWE except everyone’s wearing chainmail and has massive swords.
‘Were the medieval times better than now times?’ I asked myself. The answer is probably not – the Black Death didn’t sound amazing and Henry VIII was by all accounts a bit of a tyrant.
But was a trip to Loxwood better than spending a fortune on pints, sitting in someone’s kitchen talking about bitcoin until 3am, or your soul slowly melting in the soft, warm fires of social media? I’ll bet you ten groats it is.