How quintessentially English is the Church Harvest Festival? Last weekend I was one of the judges at the St Lawrence’s Church Harvest Show and Fair in the lovely little village of Combe, not far from Woodstock.

Amid the gentle atmosphere of the churchwarden’s display of giant marrows, I soon detected an atmosphere of guerilla warfare. As the vicar’s wife judged the Victoria Sponges, blissfully unaware of the combative spirit, gamesmanship ran rife. Being British, it was all done with a steely grip on the rules. One of the churchwardens, who turned up a few minutes late clutching his massive marrow, was immediately disqualified by another churchwarden who had just been awarded first prize… by me. Fair play. She is my friend, and she had just lent me a fiver to buy the coffee and walnut cake I had my eye on.

I’ve never seen, let alone grown, such enormous carrots that were on display. Almost the size of a leek, frankly they made my eyes water. And as for the leeks… themselves, well let’s not go there. The runner beans were assessed for their ‘fresh snap and lack of stringiness.’ Hmmm.

I felt more in my comfort zone with the flowers. I know a decent flower when face to face with one. The problem was there wasn’t just one but dozens of them and they all looked ‘healthy and vibrant.’ I now know how the Chelsea Flower Show judges must feel. It’s almost splitting hairs at times with these dilemmas. Clearly so much was at stake on my decisions too. The children’s miniature garden display would be a breeze in comparison to the minefield of adult flowers, I thought. That is, until I recalled MY sleepless nights leading up to my children’s school Easter egg competition. Once again the sense of responsibility laid heavily on my shoulders, as mother’s hovered glaring with anticipation over their progeny’s creations. There were several strong contenders and I sniffed a degree of competition from potential garden designers of the future. Unable to choose, and ever the diplomat (or do I mean coward?), I awarded them all first prize.

To me, there’s something very comforting about the celebration of the harvest. Whilst it’s not an exclusively British tradition, it’s good to know that the practice (originally a pagan festival) is being continued in churches up and down the country. It was lovely to see homegrown fruits and vegetables brought into the church by children and for the homemade cakes to be distributed to the older people around the parish.

I left the festival in Combe feeling uplifted and joyful in the knowledge that people do still care about homegrown and home-made produce and in these days of supermarkets and convenience packaged products, that makes a refreshing change.