Canal

Sometimes in the early Autumn we get what the people of the this village call a ‘Tattershall Fair Morning’. When thin wisps of mist of mist hang suspended, motionless, all is very calm and a slightly eerie feeling prevails. A definite nip in the air reminds us that Winter is just around the corner. This touch of nostalgia is all that remains of a happening that once was a highlight of our village life.

Anne and John Goose at the fair

To myself and my brother, partner in crime on all matters, and youngsters in the 1950’s it was an extra day off school. Mind you, an official school holiday. We enjoyed this day and looked forward to it very much. September 25^th was ‘Fair Day’, that meant the Sheep Fair. Things would have started happening quite a while before that date. Exactly when and what day I couldn’t really say; at that time in life facts and figures mean very little. Things were taken for granted, they just happened, as if by clockwork

The small Pleasure Fair would have arrived and already be set up and possibly have been in action for a few nights. From our gate we could see the bright lights and canvas as we looked into the ‘Blacksmiths Corner’. The music, pops of that era, roared into the darkness. The smell of fried onions sizzled up your nostrils, a lasting lingering smell. The Dodge-em cars formed the hub of the Fair, these mad things terrified me! Around these assembled an abundance of Coconut Shies – real coconuts! A rather unusual commodity in the fifties – though people swore they were glued in position! TRY YOUR STRENGTH and ring the bell, with the hefty hammer provided, seemed always to be the ‘reception’ to the Fair. This was where the young men would try to impress the girls, and mostly fail! Miserably, it was really very hard to make that bell ring. Other boys couldn’t get to the brightly daubed shooting ranges quick enough. Always announced that the guns sights were bent when their marksmanship didn’t come up to expectation.

I preferred to swing myself sick and dizzy, or ‘Pick a Staw’. My secret wish was to win the Big Doll, all frills and froth, off this stall. Of course I never did. Like many others I had to be content with a thick glass dish, a plaster ornament or a box of Liquorice Allsorts. The other thing I really did want to win, and mostly managed to, was a goldfish. Possibly won on the Hoop-La, something that was not beyond my gentle aspirations. Living quite near I always managed to get him/her? Safely home. Especially in the early days, when everyone received their fish housed in a jam jar. Alas, came the advent of the plastic container. I’ve seen many a poor goldfish flounder to death, amidst tears, all because of punctured polythene! We had a row of goldfish graves just inside our garden gate, all neatly named and dated. Rest in Peace little Fairground Fishes.

It was all so exciting, very different from our daily routine. We were not able to go to the Fair every night but were constantly reminded of it’s presence by the people of the Fair, as they went about their daily life. Just the same as everyone else, well almost the same, for the really were exceptional. The women came to do their shopping and were welcomed back as old friends. Usually they had a scarf tied round their hair. I tried to do mine like they did, behind the head, but it only slipped and fell off. So I was forced to revert to the bold knot under the chin.

I remember too that they mostly wore an apron, with a pocket running full length along the bottom; this served as a money bag when they were on duty at their stalls. Jingling the money and shouting their wares. Of course no community is complete without children, ‘Fair Kids’ we called them; they would be around, very busy, helping their Dads who attended to the machinery. Some were a little bit scruffy, though in a refined sort of way. We thought them very lucky indeed. Hardly any of them came to school for the duration of their stay, but those who did just got sheets of paper to do their work on, because of the shortness of their stay I suppose. It must have been difficult for them having a ‘new school’ every week or so. At that time we still thought them to be very lucky. Fancy having the pick of all those super prizes, plus a diet of hot dogs, candy floss and toffee apples!!

One other most important event that took place prior to the 25^th was the arrival of the sheep-trays. These were like gates but had long sharpened ends for driving into the ground, thus in threes and fours, formed a pen for the sheep. Much clonking with hammers and horizontal crow-bars went into the assembling of the pens into long rows, transforming the field into a market. As soon as the men had finished work, the children moved in. An ideal situation to perfect ones gate vault! A few jarred backs and bottoms were the result of this prank. I know I certainly had my fair share. When this was done all was ready for Fair Day. The 25^th was her at last. The sheep arrived and were unloaded into the pens. We would try and be there early if possible, in order to lend a hand, with the silly sheep. We never went to the Sheep Fair via the street though, this was unheard of. Our route took us down the garden, past the rows of beans and peas, round the corner where the snowball tree grew, past the orchard, climb over the gate, bob under the barbed wire strand and into Grandads field! This field was our playground and had been many things in its time, from wild prairies, to outer space. Today though, it was acting as overspill area as the Sheep Fair was right next door to Grandad’s field, so we just had to see the sheep in this field first, even though it was the long way round. We mooched around, watching the men mouthing the sheep and prodding them on the back. Plenty of hustle and bustle, it all seemed very grown up to be amongst it all. The Auctioneer would arrive next, looking serious and important, the big bell jangled, silence fell, the sale began.

Of course we had been warned of the perils of an auction. Never wink, wave, nod or twitch your nose; movement of any sort seemed forbidden! So we stood like sentries, not wishing to accidentally purchase a pen of lambs. During the morning we would wander out into the Market Place, to see all the cars. The Square would be absolutely full, some even parked on the Green. This was well before the convenient Car Park that we see now. A rare assortment of vehicles, many with trailers, several ‘posh’ cars, these received our individual attention.

Fair Day was a day for visiting. We looked forward very much to seeing the Uncles and Aunties who always called to see us and sometimes, if we were lucky, gave us 2/- (10p)!!! It was customary to eat Stuffed Chine on this day. When everyone ‘had a pig’ there was always a chine for a special occasion. This has almost died out with the fairs, though the nearby village of Billinghay, Billinga if you prefer, still has a thriving Feast, and I know chines are stuffed. They are stuffed with minced parsley, pushed into the slits cut into the chine meat.

By now things are drawing to a close; all the sheep sold and gone. How the field has changed since morning. Gosh, what a mess!! Straw and hairy string strewn all about. Cabbages, half nibbled and some completely squashed into juicy pulp. We collected some for our rabbit. The pens were all topsy turvy. We walked through this mess, the aftermath, poking about with our sticks. Looking for something and finding nothing. Hey, snap out of it now! The last night of the Fair, always the best night, Gala Night! So we went back for our last fling. Little did we know that one year when we saw the trailers and packed up dodge-em cars, lorries and living vans, it really was the last fling.

Tattershall Fair