I can't begin to convey the whole story. The two books I've collected are in German, so they'll have to wait for someone to tell me what's in them. There was nothing I could find in French. I discovered the Basel Carnaval by accident last time I was here, by watching TV and I've just read a few pages in French in a book about politics, some of it I know to be inaccurate.

Its origins go back a long long way. Its history was complicated by the reformation, because classic Carnaval is primarily in Roman Catholic areas. The Bishop of Basel was removed from this city of Erasmus and Holbein, and now lives in the Canton of Soleure, He is one of the few R.C. Bishops who is elected by his congregation. The newly separated Canton of Jura is right by - but half the French communes decided to stay with Berne. The half that was always dependent on the Bishop of Basle is independent - the half that never was stayed with Berne,

Basel turned Protestant but now 56% of its population is R. C. There are two "half" Cantons -- Basle Ville and Basle Campagne, but the urban agglomeration spreads into Campagne. Basle is the second city of Switzerland, has produced several Nobel prize‑winners, has the oldest university in Switzerland, probably the best collection of modern art in Europe (certainly the beat displayed); is the centre of the Swiss„ if not the world, chemical industry, is the port of Switzerland for Rhine traffic, etc. Most of Basle is ugly, sprawly, the least attractive town in the country.

Basle spreads across the Rhine in a small enclave which should be Germany, and many workers come from Alsace .... one crosses the border within the urban agglomeration.

The ecusson of Basle is still the Bishop's staff which figures prominently in carnival decor.

Preparations begin in November. There is a carnaval committee, produced through unwritten laws, which is responsible for coordination, and for inscribing the names of the registered cliques (the word used in both French and German), which number some 210. In Novembers, then, the cliques organize themselves arid unofficial cliques are also formed. There are several different kinds, and probably more that I haven't mentioned. The most classic consists of sixty or so persons; a group in masks to lead the procession, followed by a large satirically decorated lantern establishing a theme carried by four, then a band of pipes and/or drums, in the middle of which is a drum‑major type figure twice life‑size usually representing one of the central symbolic characters of Basel carnaval. I think this is unique to Basel. Another is a more recent introduction (we are talking about forms which emerged in the 19th century), of Guggemusik, I suspect imported from Germany. This is a great brass band, also masked and satirical in form, equipped with a mixture of damaged instruments and usually two or three Heath‑Robinson musical contraptions in the last file. Its music is carefully not quite right, and boisterous and aggressive. Then there are small groups-- two, three, five, ten, even one ‑‑ which might or might not take part in the official processions, maybe a his and hers couple of fifes, maybe a family with two adults and three children with fife and drum, often with an usher who has a stave (the big groups do too, and very necessary he can be). It is very difficult to tell the sex or age of the participants; anywhere from eight to eighty I would say. Sometimes a large clique went marching by, with three or four non‑masked ushers ‑‑ the latter were adults making sure a clique of school age didn't run into trouble. So there it is in November. From then on music is practised, costumes sewn, tactics developed. As March comes nearer, Guggemusik concerts are held. The date of Carnaval this year was the week following the standard mardi gras R.C. carnaval ‑‑ it is always different, and I'm not sure how the date is arrived at.

At some point in January or February, a beast rises from the River, is ferried ashore, and roams the city frightening children, Other beasts arise from time to time. Gradually, the tempo rises until it is the appointed Monday morning.

I got up at three a. m. and found that the hotel had organized breakfast for fastnacht watchers. The hotel was half a block from the police notice barricading the town centre from traffic and turned out to be an excellent location. The morning was cold, with light mist. Outside there was a crowd pouring toward the centre, all ages, from babies up. There was no need to enquire where to go. I followed along, and found myself in the square by the Casino and noticed a few civilians in the middle of the traffic lane with notepads, and some television cameras, so decided this was it, and got a useful post under a tram shelter ‑ turned out this was the official checkpoint.

At 4 am sharp all lights went out. There was no organiser and no marshal. As if by magic, out of the side streets onto the parade circuit came the cliques, elbowing into position, then round the circuit in both directions. Each participant had a little light on his head, and the big satiric lanterns were lit from within. From all directions there was the noise of fifes and drums and big brass bands. For two hours the parade passed; as each clique finished its bit, it found a square or a side street to move into.

All the cafes were open: and some of them including the hotel had big notices saying Schnitzelbang, offering officially accredited refreshments to the official cliques, There are special dishes prepared for this occasion, but one big disadvantage of being alone was that I couldn’t get into the crowded places to test for myself.

As soon as the procession was over, the cliques split off; some retiring for refreshment, but others starting the real business, walking through the streets, small and large, doing their thing, At this stage the crowds thinned, and they had the town much to themselves; from this point on, the small groups came into their own as well. By afternoon the cliques were in business, gently parading up the steps and alleys, along the old streets, through the little corners and squares. Outside restaurants and beerhalls they dumped their paraphernalia while they restored themselves, then back to the walking again. The postcards show the smaller cliques in operation [not included here]. And as they walked, a few non‑masked fell in behind, walking in step with a slow, side to side gait, then dropping out, maybe picking up another group,

On it went into the night. By night the restaurants were packed and special trestles were set up in the hotel lobby for the cliques. I couldn't get a seat in the coffee shop until 8.30; on Wednesday night I couldn't get a seat anywhere and had to eat in my room.

As the cliques passed in the main parade, and sometimes later, they handed out standardized verses i.e. with standardized type of printing. [I've collected a sample - see linked pages] They are intended to satirize local events and politicians. I'm not sure whether they're written in Basler or whether some may be a take-off on the Alsace workers’ way of speaking either Basler or German.

The take off on the Alsace worker is a consistent theme, put to good use. One of the main mask characters is the Waggis, a fuzzy haired Alsace yokel, who wanders around slightly manic, carrying raw vegetables which he nibbles at, or dragging a raw bone which he has been nibbling at, or wielding a curmudgeon. He's often the theme of the cliques, and when he is he throws oranges -- they can hurt, and break windows -- from central carriages, or sweets, or hands out mimosa the great flower of the event. Single Waggis, or pairs, roam the streets, buttonholing passers by and aggressively calling them to task. If a Waggis recognizes a character he may haul him over the coals for some public delict or something in his or her private life, or for appearance, or whatever. [I was castigated by a Waggis for being a foreign ignoramus] [Unfortunately, when I was in northern Alsace some years later, I neglected to pursue the issue – what do the Alsaciens think of the Waggis??? – do they get their own back???]

In the evening of the three nights masked performers singly or in twos roam the cafes They carry staves, and large folios of paper with caricatures and verses. Usually they have a guitar or an instrument of some kind, and they recite or chant satirical ballads to uproarious laughter; it must be merciless.

On Tuesday the crowds were a little thicker and in the afternoon the centre of attraction was the children. At this time they start throwing confetti around ‑ nearly all was thrown by children or Waggis and special children's cliques did their thing. By nightfall the crowds started to thicken up.

I wandered the streets until eleven ‑ it was a beautiful day, after a wettish beginning, and a slight moon. One could stand on a small corner of the old town, with cliques of all sizes coming from all direction. A Guggemusik group would come aggressively down the hill, bearing all before it, with ushers pushing people out of the way, at a fast noisy clip, holding up the progression of a fife clique going at rightangles, with pairs working their way around, all in the middle of the crowd. There's s no stopping the advance; the groups plough right through, jockey for position. Yet the small groups have a gentle hypnotic air, wandering magically, engrossed in their own thing. Two drummers standing under a bus shelter, facing each other, drumming at each other; Two pierrots walking in file tooting on fifes, oblivious. Two masks the size of thirteen year olds playing drums like professionals. Mum dad and the children in masks and costumes, wandering with fifes at midnight. And so it went on and on. I couldn't tear away.

Wednesday there was another huge parade, with even less order, and more cliques, a much larger crowd ‑- almost no standing room. In the streets there was afterwards hardly any room to stand and the cliques banged their way through. I forgot to mention that on Tuesday night the Guggemusik staged concerts. They'd stand in spotlights an street steps, move off and into a cafe and blare away, move up to a restaurant balcony and blare down at the crowds, with tremendous flair and vitality, march across the Rhine and back again, go up a hill and sweep down a lane into the crowd. Wednesday it went on and on. I went to bed at 1.30 and though there was then rain ‑ they all pulled out their plastic covers! – and the crowds were all but gone, the cafes were going strong on a 24 hour basis, and there was no sign of diminution of the cliques.

Thursday as I left there vast quiet„ and a huge carpet of confetti.

So many impressive things, No violence anywhere whatsoever despite the innumerable chances of incidents No organisation of the actual activity. Lots of drinking but no drunkenness; not once the sign of anyone under the influence, though that may not have been true in the cafes. Families at work -- children, babes, teenagers, grandparents ‑ and lots of cliques made up entirely of young people. Handsomeness -- I couldn't help admiring some of the beautiful faces and startlingly handsome black Swiss beards that emerged when the masks came off. Homeliness ‑ a fearsome devil turns out to be a little old bespectacled grandfather. Humour – laughter everywhere, sometimes tiredness, but never crossness observable.

Spontaneity and euphoria. Artistry, in masks, costumes, colour, a bit heavy on the lanterns. Skill in music on a very large scale.

...................................

And I can' t help feeling that a society that can give itself over to this, must be through and through healthy (I don't say that, for example, for Rio, which is a very different kettle of fish.) And maybe it contributes to social health in a very direct way.

On to Clique leaflet headings. On to Clique satirical verse