Millianes Fair
Once upon a time, Pamiers stretching in the glow of ovens and rolling mills,
Waking up to the sound of the bells of Notre Dame du Camp, vibrating to the sound of the power hammer and its battering,
Breathing between the arms of its canals to the rhythm of fairs and markets on Millane and its populace,
Where from potron-minet, the choir of lowing, whinnying, bleating enlivened the place
The night opens its curtain on the great orchestra of the fair in the rustling of the leaves caressed by the Autan,
The location of the Gascon and Limousin basses, accompanied by the childish voices of the répoupets and pouparels,
Mérens and Castillons tenors, vibratos and clarine voices of passionate sheep, calves and lambs,
Is the subject of heated discussions, sometimes of macarel and millodiou having nothing to do with the music of yesteryear
The location of the Gascon and Limousin basses, accompanied by the childish voices of the répoupets and pouparels,
Mérens and Castillons tenors, vibratos and clarine voices of passionate sheep, calves and lambs,
Is the subject of heated discussions, sometimes of macarel and millodiou having nothing to do with the music of yesteryear.
The fair begins in the animal concert with gestures, under the fullness of their blouse, to reach for the stars,
Breeders, horse-dealers, farmers expose their point of view with the most sincere, proverbial bad faith,
They discuss, haggle, evaluate, weigh, barter, leave and come back
Until the clap of the meeting of two hands concluding the agreement under the faith of the oath of the earthlings.
The farrier, the blacksmith, the grinder, the tinsmith, the clog maker, the shoemaker, the basket maker, the mender,
Furnish their tools, upright in their aprons, they prepare to face worn irons and labor accessories,
A serrated knife, a leaky saucepan, a holey basket, an unkempt chair, a wobbly hoof, a gaping shoe,
The vulture's eye of the peilharot watching for the impotence of the craftsman, passport of the object ending up in his itinerant cart.
The traders have set up their trestles, perched on a bench, the street vendors solicit onlookers,
They flood them with a tsunami of words without the slightest hesitation, in a permanent arithmetic challenge
They add, subtract, multiply and divide the prices for the eventual purchase of a miraculous and practical utensil
The lucky buyer with this object with extraordinary performance solving the annoyances of his life without gifts.
Later in the morning, the euphoria of a full wallet anesthetizes the sometimes exaggerated sense of economy,
A table, three cups, a coin, a skillful manipulator with skills the cups handles,
The game consists of a hard cash bet to find the one where the coin is hidden,
A person with a wad of banknotes in hand, winning at each demonstration, attracts people attracted by a gain in flexibility.
Everyone hastens to follow his bet and there, surprise, his state of grace turns away,
To reappear with new arrivals, disappear again and the cups spin,
Initial good vibe fades as tickets fly out of wallets
The manipulator and his sidekick will pack up shop, dropping a few bets to erase the memory of the loss of pride.
The intensity of the vocalizations of the choir fades and gives way to a few desperate cries of notice of disappearance,
The fairground empties and the rooms and the café terrace fill up in unison,
Around the tables, the discussions supported by the high frequency arrival of pints are going well,
It's time for the arrival of the One-man band, taking some liberties with the scores, keeping the spirit.
Equipped with a bass drum attached to its back, the brush of which is connected to an ankle,
Cymbals attached to each knee, a cap surrounded by bells pressed on its good ball,
He plays the harmonica held up to his mouth by an armature attached to his childish shoulders,
And accompanies himself on the accordion, it seems to be a miracle, and the spectators accompany him by clapping their hands.
The forerunner of mobile disco accompanied by a small animal, a third dog, a third rat and a big smart third
With a nimble paw accompanied by a nod of the head and an irresistible gaze reminded distant listeners,
That his master and he do not feed on love and fresh water and must provide for their needs at the moment,
From dog's memory, the artist has never left a table without having received recognition of his talent in his begging bowl.
This spectacle fascinated a lively and curly little boy, but a feeling of frustration overwhelmed him at not having a role,
Always ready to help, everyone called him the "Little Vines" after his grandfather, less funny.
Of course, this pleasant figuration filled him with joy, but it was not enough for his happiness,
He wanted a real role and fate was quick to bring him a job as a promoter.
The installation of two public weight scales favored this necessary return to neutrality,
Served by an employee in charge of drafting the judgment with a weigh ticket
The peaked cap showed the few peripheral white hairs he had left.
Thick spectacles slid obstinately down to the bulge of purple-colored nostrils,
He put them back in place with his hoofed index finger, above a small white mustache a la Charlot, not chosen,
His doubtful pouts punctuated by lateral or vertical head movements, allowed him to give his opinion,
Without revealing his toothless gums while masking his speech difficulties due to the absorption of pints.
The clothes of a sobriety and a perfect classicism seemed to want to attenuate the caricatural aspect of the character,
A big checkered shirt, a sleeveless black flannel vest with, sticking out of an ageless pocket,
The chain of a pocket watch, velvet trousers held up reverently by a large leather belt,
And finally the famous leather boots, real seven-league boots, propelled Louis to the limits of elegance.
This is how the old square of the "meadows of the city" became in 1874 the Champ de Mars à l'Occitane,
In the 1900s, bullfights took place there and then, in 1920, the gardens of Milliane were laid out
Place Milliane then becomes the setting for major celebrations and shows with great success for the population,
It will see being held after 1945, under its beautiful plane trees, two monthly cattle fairs of great reputation.
Poetry in rhymed quatrains by Guy PUJOL, known as ARIE…..Joie
Inspired by a text by Michel SUARD, Appamean writer and storyteller