It’s finally dawned on us that we’ve committed to being makers amid getting work done on our house and with working hours that would make Victorians wince. Nervous energy has kicked in. Of course, it’s a fun project - so we shouldn’t worry, but one of us is an over-ambitious designer and the other is an obsessive model-painter so we’re pretty much doomed to over-engineer our idea and take on more than we should. This is our scarecrow diary, warts and all, over the next few months ...

WeekEND one       
The concept

We received our scarecrow allocation and it’s not too tricky to make if we are sensible. Which we’re not.

We want to honour the spirit of the festival so recycling and spending as little as possible is the goal. Charity shop visits and begging our neighbours and friends will be a must. However, there’s one key item of clothing that we know needs to be perfect and we just don’t know anyone who’s into bold, gaudy waistcoats. Thankfully, eBay came good.

This is the bit where we indulge our creative sides a little more. The clue for our scarecrow which will feature in the festival programme is “Colourfully attired Longleat dweller”. We should have been smart and reined our enthusiasm. Questions like ‘how tall is a full-size giraffe anyway?” and “would it be better to have a lion standing or sitting?” fill our weekend. We tell ourselves we can do this - but know that we can try our best with the limited hours at the weekend we have available.

WeekEND 2
Dressed to impress

We’re on a recce this weekend to the local charity shops for our scarecrow’s clothes. Ours needs trousers and a shirt to match the gaudy colours of the tasteless waistcoat that we managed to win for a steal on eBay. We hope that some of the charity clothing donators of Devizes and surrounding areas are colourblind or eccentric. Indeed some are. In the last shop we found the most vulgar, luminous orange trousers. These, combined with a vivid blue grandfather shirt, will do the job nicely.

Footwear is proving to be slightly more tricky - the plan to pop some brightly coloured velvet loafers on his strawy feet has left us bare-footed. This style of slipper or shoe goes for around £400 a pop – even second hand. No chance! One of our research pics shows him in Jesus sandals, and Mr Maker has a pair from a moment of madness when he thought they’d be a good idea (apologies to the gentlemen of Urchfont who subscribe to this style). We eventually settle on a pair of wellies for ease. Our first and, possibly, only wise choice. His hat was at least simple to source, so that’s his outfit nailed.

We’re agreed that we’d like to build an actual scarecrow that a farmer, with poor taste in fashion, might put up in a field. Definitely using straw, and we like the idea of using crossed poles to support His frame. While at the garden centre, a pile of sacks caught our eye. That little flash of understanding couples have when they think the same thing at the same time lit up the potato aisle, and that’s when we decided on a simple sack cloth face. A lot easier than going full papier-mâché or trying to sculpt.

WeekEND 3
Get stuffed

We’re on a roll and want to keep the momentum going. We do, however, need to have a chat with our neighbour who is about to be dragged into the madness. We looked at the tall laurel hedge on our driveway's boundary… could this be exploited to allow our giraffe to be a long neck and head over the top? To be honest, we had absolutely no idea how we’d manufacture a full-sized giraffe body and actually store it on the run up to the Festival, so this was one of our few moments of sensible thinking. The only stumbling block was whether Mr Neighbour would humour our idea. He’s a firm supporter of the festival who volunteers at the barbecue tent and is involved in other voluntary village projects, so he was more than happy to assist in our venture.

We are all set to start building our chap. The poles for the frame are made from a project that never happened. Our DIY inefficiency has served us well on this job. Sculpting the arms and legs out of old pillows and duvets was easy. Filling the clothes, less so. Anyone who’s ever had a toddler knows what it’s like to have an uncooperative, stiff body, refusing to bend to help you dress them. Mr Scarecrow eventually gave in and we have pleasing legs and arms of which we’re unreasonably proud. I cut a slot into the crotch of the leg-filled trousers (Mr Maker suggests this is probably how serial killers start) and the pole goes in.

We pop everything away for now so Mr Maker can indulge in some sporty telly. I raid the garage for leftover polystyrene packaging to start the giraffe head process. Armed with a large bottle of PVA, pinched from Mr Maker’s hobby area and a bread knife, I glue layers of the polystyrene together for sculpting. There’s something rather satisfying about this process. Two large blocks, roughly the size of a giraffe’s head, are moved through to the conservatory to dry. Random heavy items are placed on top to help the layers bind. Can’t wait to start carving next weekend. Mr Maker suffers the Scotland team getting defeated. Booooo. A successful day otherwise.

WeekEND 4

you’re having a giraffe

It’s Sunday. Still a lot to do and we only have a couple of free hours to indulge our ambitions. Mr Maker has decided to focus on the main scarecrow, and I’m on giraffe head duty - not a term I imagined creeping into my vernacular. The polystyrene blocks appear to be solidly fixed ready to carve. I sketch angles over pictures of giraffe heads (giving the false impression that I know what I’m doing), while Mr Maker plugs in his industrial grade foam cutting hot knife only to discover it isn’t heating up. Bread knife it is then.

The ‘know what I’m doing lines’ have been roughly sketched out onto the sides of the polystyrene and I’m good to go. Except the first cut leaves my knife covered in wet glue. It appears I may have been a little over generous with the PVA and the inner parts are still wet. Undeterred, I crack on despite some blocks slipping around, which made anything resembling accuracy a tad challenging. I ponder whether Michelangelo faced these challenges but decided that it was unlikely he was daft enough to take on sculpting a full-size giraffe with a bread knife, leftover packaging materials and malfunctioning glue. 

One head now vaguely resembles an animal. Mr Maker asks if I’ve switched it to an alligator - I waggle the bread knife in his general direction. He wisely retreats and kindly orders a replacement hot knife. Tomorrow, I shall be armed with the right tools for the job, and I shall sculpt like a master.

I pack away the polystyrene cut outs and scrub the PVA off the worktop while Mr Maker grumbles from the conservatory that the handles have fallen off his workbench. This is going to be one of those days. However, he’s created the frame for Mr Scarecrow – a productive afternoon.

WeekEND 5
Pain in the neck 

We’re getting used to living within Mr Scarecrow, although it took a week to stop jumping out our skin every time we saw his unfamiliar form standing in our conservatory.

Mr Maker has set himself the mighty task of building the curved giraffe neck. He mutters off to the garage, armed with a printout of how many vertebrae a full-sized adult male giraffe has. I decide to have a go at wrapping the straighter neck. Easy, eh? You’re having a giraffe!

Extra large bubble wrap - check. Duck tape - check. Confidence - hmmm, where did I leave that?

After half an hour wrapping around the neck, May Pole dancer style, the bulk of the neck tapers not too badly and provides a base to pop the chicken wire over. Note for anyone who tries this method - wear gloves when handling chicken wire (as discovered when cutting lemons later - ouch).

Mr Maker appears looking very chuffed with himself. He’s bolted together an anatomically correct curved neck. It’s huge! We cover it with the rest of the bubble wrap, a tad trickier on a large arch, but at least there’s two of us to manoeuvre around the monster. Of course, we run out of chicken wire before it’s fully covered - urgh! A few messages are sent out to local friends begging for leftovers and they come good. The necks are ready for the next stage. Woohoo!

WeekEND 6
getting plastered 

It’s the Easter weekend and we have a guest staying with us. Bonus - she’s an interior designer and very crafty. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s working for her keep. We ply her with cocktails and tasty treats, then drop it into the conversation that we might have to squeeze in a couple of hours on our scarecrow project. I mention Modroc (plaster of Paris infused bandages) and, to my delight, she regales us with stories of her advanced higher art project using Modroc. Get in! We didn’t even have to ask - she’s desperate to give us a hand.

So our Easter Sunday is spent getting plastered, literally. Mr Maker manages to get the heads attached and Ms Designer Guest offers to wrap them as they need a little more care and skill than the necks. We fill a bowl with water, trim the Modroc and spend the whole sunny afternoon dipping the bandages and rubbing them onto our giraffes. It’s surprisingly cathartic and, with the help of a few ‘apple juices’, we have so much fun. We end the day pink from the sun (and the ‘juice’). We're terribly proud of ourselves for managing to wrap both giraffe necks that have dried nicely in the warm sun. Mr Maker improvises a tarpaulin tent to cover Geoff and Geraldine (yes, they now have names) and we settle down for a lovely Easter dinner.

WeekENDS 7 to 8
28 litres later

The two giraffes are ready to be ‘dressed’ in scarecrow fur. For this, we’ve opted for a bag of bedding straw - cheap, short straw that should mix nicely with PVA and stick to the plaster giraffes. A couple of old buckets and two big canisters of PVA and we’re off. We quickly realise that the straw sucks up loads of PVA as we mix it and that we’ve massively underestimated the amount of glue we’re going to need. Oops. Mr Maker heads off to the hardware store AGAIN!

We brush glue directly onto the plaster, let it get tacky, then pat the porridgy straw/glue mix onto the form. It sticks well and looks better than we’d hoped. We can only cover the top surface as it slides off if we try to do the sides. This may take longer than anticipated. Oops again!  We manage to cover around a quarter of Geraldine (the straight necked giraffe who’s now resident on our dining table) and a fifth of Geoff’s curvy neck outside on our terrace. We let them dry.

Early start on Sunday: Geraldine dries really quickly in the warm conservatory, while Geoff takes a little longer in the cooler garden. I get working on Geraldine and Mr Maker gets stuck into Geoff. Now reader, you may have heard the stereotype about Scots being tight with money... until today I would have argued that it just isn’t true. Except Mr Maker, unbeknown to me, has calculated just how much PVA we’re going to need and has decided to eke it out in his mix - making a much drier compound. *Cue the dramatic music*.

The sun is shining so both giraffes dry quickly - especially Mr Maker's curvy Geoff. Both are ready to be turned by mid-afternoon for the next strips to be added. Geraldine is fine. Geoff makes some unfortunate cracking sounds as he’s turned, and big clumps of the straw fur fall from the plaster. The straw that comes off still feels like soft straw unlike the wetter mixed areas that are rock solid from PVA. I realise exactly what’s happened and groan. This is going to need some serious repair and stronger glue to fix the loose bits. Let’s just say that the attempt at economising led to us breaking the budget on hot glue sticks to sort. Rookie error. We always knew we’d have to learn some things the hard way on our maiden voyage. Another hard lesson is that PVA-covered straw is seriously sharp when dry. Every time we lift the beasts, we get covered in scratches. Long sleeves are a must!

Mr Maker takes on the rest of the straw/fur application himself as my workload won’t allow me to help. The poor soul mixes, applies, mixes, applies and does an amazing job. And it only took 28 litres of PVA.

Other than under the chins and some awkward ear edges, they’re pretty much covered. More hot glue is deployed, lots of tiny fingertip burns are endured, and we’re ready for the mane event (pun intended). We’ve managed to source some cheap grass tassels from EBay. They’re perfect. Armed with the hot glue and crossed fingers, the mane goes on without too much drama, with enough left for eyelashes glued on both beasties. And they’re done. Phew.

FINAL WEEK

last chance saloon 

There's less than a week to go and we haven’t even started our lion. I have another heavy work week and have volunteered to help with the festival set up on Friday, so I’ve only an odd hour here and there in the evenings to help. Mr Maker has developed a thousand-yard stare. Meanwhile, a few close neighbours who know what we’re making have said the same thing to us: “Are you making the wifelets?” Oh well, in for a penny…

I purchase some people-shaped lollipop sticks, shredded coloured tissue paper and some organza wired ribbon and dig out some patterned fabric offcuts to glue to paper for their clothing. I spend three hours muttering to myself that I’m a middle-aged woman making 60 bridal dollies. We are gluttons for punishment.

Mr Maker has disappeared into the garage to make his lion. I leave him to it as he seems terribly confident. I’m less convinced. Oh, how wrong I was. Not only did he do his lion-shaped research, he build a two part frame that could be bolted together after the straw fur was applied ro make it easier to move around. He even sourced florist foam to hold the mane and visited a local thatcher to get the long straw required. He’s taking this very seriously indeed. It’s a delight to discover your partner has a hidden talent.

The lion and the wifelets are complete by the Thursday before the festival which just leaves our actual scarecrow to be finished off. So on Thursday night, Mr Maker sits in our kitchen wearing a nylon wig and beard as I trim them to something resembling the right length while trying not to choke on thousands of grey nylon, static-laden threads. Even the dog is coughing. A delivery driver looks through the window and tilts his head like a confused puppy when he sees the bewigged Mr Maker. We stuff his head (scarecrow, not delivery driver) with straw, pop on the wig, and manage to attach the various pieces of our scarecrow together without any drama. Small mercies!

The night before

The giraffes are too cumbersome to leave to the morning of the festival, and we’re not 100% confident how they’re going to be supported or if they’ll even stay up. Mr Maker and Mr Helper head round to our neighbour’s garden with power tools, and various fixings to forge a plan. They walk both rather large giraffe necks along the main road to the other side of the hedge. Urchfont’s rush hour traffic must have been somewhat amused by this strange sight.

I keep well out their way, as I know that any rough handling could break their ears, mane or lashes off - I’ve become rather fond of the beasties. As I peek through the window, I’m delighted to see the curved neck pop over the hedge and, after a wee bit of jiggery-pokery, sit exactly where planned.

Next is the straight neck, which should be a lot easier. Should…

Up it pops from behind the hedge, straight up into the air… and suddenly tilts and falls. I step outside to check all is ok and hear Mr Helper say “is that blood on the giraffe?” Mr Maker replies “yes, mine”. Fortunately, it’s only a graze, but the sharp straw really isn’t nice to catch when your 3-metre long giraffe neck does a Del-boy dive. They soldier on and secure the beasts safely - we really want to avoid the first ever scarecrow death from kamikaze giraffes.

We’re all set for the festival tomorrow.

The FESTIVAL

DAY ONE: It’s 8.30 am and one of our house guests and Mr Maker are wheeling the lion down the drive. Our little part of the village is buzzing with energy - it’s fabulous. The Wurzels are blasting out cheerfully from across the road and I’m blown away by the very clever face in the hole design that goes with its scarecrow. It’s such a lovely, interactive idea and brilliant for family pics. A few doors along, there’s a drummer rocking it and an Amazonian bob-sleigher towering impressively and along again, a fabulous Glastonbury stage. The standard is amazing. The camaraderie even more so.

Our scarecrow gets strapped to the telegraph pole as I stick the wifelets into the grass, and we’re done with minutes to spare.

DAY TWO: Gary makes his debut…  Gary, in case you didn’t get to meet him, is a gorilla. Imagine the cheapest, nastiest gorilla costume you can find – but that’s what makes him so amusing. Mr Guest volunteers to do the first shift. We wrap raffia around his ankles, wrists and neck and send him out to sit beside the scarecrow. Still. Very, very still. Mostly.

Mr Guest’s comedy timing is special. I watch the children pat their parents’ arms to tell them that they’re sure the gorilla moved. The parents are focussed on their answer sheet and look up, not convinced at all. That’s when Gary makes his move. The visitors jump, sometimes let out small screams or gasps, and then comes the laughter. Typical – all that time making a mini safari and the gorilla steals the show.


DAY THREE: Our lovely neighbour has offered to do a shift this morning as Gary. He arrives at 11 am and gets gorilla-ed up. What a showman he turns out to be. You can tell he’s loving this role - and kids are getting their photos taken with him. After an hour or so, I check he’s ok and if he wants to come back in. He shakes his gorilla head. I ask again and again. Nope - he’s happy.

There’s no stopping this man. He’s clearly found his happy place and it’s in a gorilla costume making people laugh. He finally comes in after 5 pm - that’s a six-hour shift. He says he’s had the best day ever. We cannot thank him enough.

When we began this journey, our aim was to try to make visitors at the festival smile - especially children. We didn’t expect to find such joy in participation too. The generosity of spirit, kindness, support and positivity of our friends, neighbours and guests have made the process and festival a joy. It’s been a lot of hard work due to our over-ambitious plans and rookie mistakes, but it’s also given us opportunity to get to know loads of villagers better. We thank everyone who helped us. It really was a team effort.

If you’re considering putting your name down to be a first-time maker for the next festival, remember that it doesn’t have to be ambitious, large or complicated.

TL;DR 

Makers don't just create scarecrows – the best things made are laughter, stories, friends, and memories.