Devizes’ Town Crier wins National Championship in Rye

I arrived in Rye as a town crier with two months in the job. I left as the winner of the 73rd National Town Criersโ€™ Championship, still slightly stunned and with a new title to consider: Disney Dowager.

My footwear may have added to the title. I had chosen high-heeled, green, glittery boots. The cobbles soon made me question that decision, but the compliments from women around my age made the wobbling worthwhile. One woman told me I was like a Disney princess for older women. โ€œDisney Dowager?โ€ I suggested, she laughed and said “Disney Queen!”… Iโ€™ll take either.

My Glittery Green Boots

Iโ€™ve been thinking a lot about my role and what it means to both me and the community, I want to respect the past but also with an eye to the future I donโ€™t wish to just be a tourist attraction I want to effect change and inspire both young girls and older women like me. I want older women to know they can still take up space, make themselves heard and refuse to become invisible. Being Devizesโ€™ first female Town Crier is one way I can do that, preferably in glittery boots no matter how much they hurt!

As well as my flashy footwear my beautiful bespoke nature inspired tricorn By Nellie Pitts of The Hatstand Millinery also made it’s first appearance.

My Bespoke Tricorn (Photo (C) Tony Ham 2026)

My handsome consort and husband, Moray Macdonald, deserves special mention. He held my hand as I negotiated the cobbles, while also braving the peal of hand bells and the drums despite the risk of aggravating his tinnitus. He is always a brilliant support to me and Iโ€™m so grateful for that.

My Consort Moray Macdonald Watches me Cry (Photo (C) KT Bruce)

The competition took place in the Gun Gardens beneath Ryeโ€™s ancient Ypres Tower. I was one of only three women among the 15 criers. Our task was to give two cries, a home cry and a themed cry. The three “OYEZ! ” and “GOD SAVE THE KING!” are an obligatory part of the 120-word limit.

My Home Cry

For the Home Cry, I had the easy task of celebrating Devizes. Rye and Devizes turned out to have some things in common: both are hilltop towns with a history of smugglers. Rye had its smugglers; Devizes has the Moonrakers, who, as we know, were caught raking out contraband booze by the excisemen so pretended to be stupid yokels who had mistaken the moonโ€™s reflection for a giant cheese which they were trying to retrieve!

The judging considered volume, clarity, diction, content and inflection: not simply how loudly you can call, but how clearly and expressively you can make a cry land. After lunch at the famous Mermaid Inn, we processed back to the gardens for a fun โ€œHave a Goโ€ section, where kids and members of the public were allowed to try and ring a bell and shout OYEZ!

Then came the final themed cry, โ€œServiceโ€. I was glad to include a thank you to the RNLI. With Rye so close to the sea, it felt an especially fitting place to recognise those who risk their lives to help others.

As the result were read out, I had convinced myself I wasnโ€™t going to win, I was up against some very experienced and talented criers many of whom had won a few times including Calneโ€™s Town Crier Mark Wylie . So, you can imagine my ‘flab’ was very much ‘ghasted’ when my name was called out, ( I may have issued an expletive!). To win against such strong competition, particularly after such a short time in the job, felt like a huge achievement. The other criers could have made a newcomer feel out of her depth; instead, they were warm, kind and encouraging throughout. I felt welcomed by them from the start.

Previous Winner Town Crier of Calne, Mark Wylie

My thanks go to Paul Edward Goring and his deputy Town Crier, Annabelle Ansell, who also did a brilliant job as MCs throughout the day, their throats must have been shredded! Thanks also to Rye Town Council; and to photographers KT and Martin Bruce and Tony Ham for capturing the weekend.

Town Crier Of Rye Paul Edward Goring Giving us a Ghost Tour

Devizes has a special place in the story of the national championship. On 23 February 1912, the townโ€™s Market Place hosted the first Town Criersโ€™ Championship of Great Britain. It was known as the โ€œBattle of the Bellmenโ€, after Billy Law, Horshamโ€™s town crier, challenged criers from across the country to test their voices. Thousands turned out to watch, and Law won the title, along with a championship bell and a ยฃ5 prize.

Billy Law Winner of the First Town Crier Competition Held in Devizes in 1912

More than a century later, I am proud to add my voice to that history and represent Devizes. I hope the championship returns one day, with the Market Place filled again with criers, bells and crowds celebrating the character and history of our varied towns. The โ€œBattle of the Bellmenโ€ would sound rather different now: nearly a third of the around 250 UK town criers are women, including Marlborough Town crier Emma Kimber, so there would be plenty of bell women among the voices ringing out across Devizes.

All The Town Criers and Consorts (Photo (c) Tony Ham 2026)

Oh and before you ask yes of course, I took my trophy to bed!


Captain Accidentโ€™s Sayonara Paranoia

After five years, a new album drops tomorrow (Friday 23rd October) from southwest Welsh reggae outfit, Captain Accident & the Disasters, and itโ€™s worth the waitโ€ฆ. Using the word โ€œreggaeโ€ as a blanket term for pop music of Jamaican origin, rather than a particular subgenre of roots reggae commonly associated with Bob Marley at hisโ€ฆ

Cephid; Electronic Music Producer and Town Crier Partnership in Devizes

Well, what else is there to oyez about? Congratulations must go to our Devizes Town Crier, Charlotte Howard-Macdonald, again today, as Brian Mathew MP tabled a motion in the House of Commons celebrating her achievement of winning the 73rd National Town Crier Championship in Rye, only two months after taking up the role… Recognised asโ€ฆ

Devizes; a Place for Festival, or Negativity?

On the Festival of Discovery, other political discoveries, and is the Crammer full yet?! No to the latter, but local Facebook groups are full โ€ฆ.of negativity! I’m in no place to review the Festival of Discovery which happened last weekend in Devizes, being Devizine was asked to contribute, and because of that contribution, I didn’tโ€ฆ

Alien Invasion in Frome; Henge at The Cheese & Grain

Two people asked me in Frome what the music scene was like in Devizes. I replied it’s great, but by comparison it’s conventional, and this was prior to witnessing the sublime close encounter which was Hengeโ€ฆ..

Before you read further, note, I use the word โ€œweirdโ€ as a compliment. But yes indeedy, those friendly aliens, who take the term space-rock literally, landed their interstellar craft at Frome’s glorious centrepiece The Cheese & Grain last night for an eccentric, electric showdown of universal proportion. It was, in short, out of this world.

Excited about catching Henge live after fondly reviewing their album Journey to Voltus B in January, it was every bit as enthralling as I’d have imagined. The Cheese was brimful of kindly weirdos akin to the rooftop scene in the popcorn-munching abomination that is Independence Day; other than no one punched an alien like Will Smith! From aspiring space cadets to ageing hippies and middle-aged ravers, Henge remotely charged their plasma ball hats and casted a musical tractor beam over them, compulsing them to dance.

With phasers set to fun, Henge launched their wild show much like the energetic take off sequence of their latest album, and I pondered if they plotted to play out the album and be done with it, as is a common occurrence for established earthbound bands; not a chance, us humans were bequeathed a cosmic, extraterrestrial proportioned party.  

There’s a space journey narrative to the album which includes an Orb-esque plodding ambient period of hypersleep, a convenient opportunity for them to avoid, and divert the live journey to play some past album tracks, to keep the show’s pace consistent. These aliens of superior knowledge and proficiency made a wise choice, the place was positively throbbing.

Here’s the music which should’ve been playing in the Cantina scene of Star Wars. Here’s the music which would’ve caused both Miles Davis and Eat Static to have seizures. It’s jazzy, uptempo electronic skullduggery somewhere between prog-rock and trance techno, perhaps, or rather, in a field of their own playful invention.

Yet to pigeonhole it would take a textbook of notes. Henge are toytown, rave vaudeville, a guitar circus in space; they’re alien, unique and clearly on a higher plane of existence. The beauty of them is, they want to share it with you, lovingly. As a spectator you are welcomed on their, what’s best described as, an encapsulating musical space trip.

They analysed our planet, took a murky sample of the River Frome, and advised on the best path for the future of humankind; seemingly to demilitarise and direct its funding towards either ecological revitalisation or space colonisation, and they mastered it hilariously with a peacenik singalong finale.

But they did so as they did with everything, an uplifting sonic musical experience, the likes I’ve never seen before, and I’ve raved with glow sticks at Longleat’s UFO Club, partied worldwide, done, dusted and worn the T-shirt out of many a groundbreaking festival. This was on another planet, truly fantastic; please abduct me again sometime soon!

I’ve seen some weird street theatre in my years on this planet, but I awoke this morning, trying to recollect if I’d ever seen any musical band as weird as Henge. I’d like to say I hadn’t, but an earth half-hour prior I witnessed the support act.

A rib-tickling one-man-band Mancunian hedge monkey called Paddy Steer, who, dressed in the single-most bizarre illuminated space-wizard costume ever, delighted us with a set of experimental percussion and low-fi fluctuations, the likes you’ve never heard before. If Henge owned the mothership, Paddy was his own microsatellite, orbiting a stratosphere of his own mind-bending imagination, and it was as equally mind-blowing as it was hilarious and engagingly original. 

Paddy Steer has found a new level of eccentricity. They broke the mould when they built this alien Gandalf come Frank Sidebottom, on a mushroom journey to Lala Land with S Clay Wilson, and his music is inspired by the fable of it. Making the Mad Professor seem sane, he kept a perfect instrumental harmony as his decorative kit wobbled and a billion and one leads dropped out of their ports, much to the frustration of the sound engineer, but with nonchalant precision and scratch of his wizard beard, Paddy amused the audience by continuing nonetheless, profoundly. It was something to behold and impossible to wipe the smile off your face until Paddy had packed up and returned safely back to Discworld.

Together they made for the kind of fantastically bizarre gig you’ll never find in Devizes, unless you intoxicated yourself with mushrooms and imagined the whole thing. It remains to be fact, Frome is the diverse local centre for counterculture and the eccentrically creative; Henge and Paddy fit like a glove, if The Ozric Tentacles were born here. But it was my second night in Frome, after a Dadโ€™s taxi adventure saw me drop the kids off at the Cheese for Lucy Spraggan on Thursday, a kind of Gen Z Lily Allen.

Lucy Spraggan on Thursday, local rural skullduggery with The Wurzels on Friday, and space adventuring rave circus aliens Henge on Saturday, The Cheese & Grain is punching above Fromeโ€™s weight. To trek elsewhere in the town might not be as bustling, but certainly doesnโ€™t disappoint. From the Merlin Theatre to The Sun and 23 Bath Street, entertainment options are vast here, but when in Frome, I did as the Fromans and found solace while waiting for the kidโ€™s gig to end, at the Rye Bakery by Frome station.

Hereโ€™s a hidden gem wine bar, pizzeria and generally cool hangout away from the live music tourist trail, hosting music Thursday and Saturday nights, in which our own Jon Amor Trio appear on the 24th. For our entertainment on this particular Thursday some groovy modern jazz was supplied proficiently by a quartet called Fushal. They were wonderful, the whole scene is, I might relocate and call this blog Fromzine, if only those aliens of Henge would land here again!     


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