Fairground attraction

My favourite band of all time featuring the  remarkable Eddie Reader and I had the great fortune to see her live in Lancaster a couple of years ago. The song Perfect was the soundtrack to my year working in Tenerife in the 1980s and brings back happy memories.

When it comes to fairgrounds, I was lucky enough to have an Auntie who worked for The Pleasure Beach when I was young. A visit to Blackpool was always made special if she happened to be working as cashier on The Grand National roller coaster. We would be able to stay on for a few rides without paying - always a bonus.

The traditional fairground would roll onto a local field and spend several days setting up before opening to the public. A night at the fair was always exciting. Boys in denim would spin the Waltzer carriages  with the shout of "scream if you want to go faster."

There were always stalls offering prizes for success at games like 'hook a duck', rifle ranges or the strangest of all, 'throw a ping-pong ball into a bowl'.  For some reason, I was particularly adept at that one and would walk home with the obligatory goldfish in a flimsy polythene bag with string handles. there would be a flurry of activity at home to secure  a suitable receptacle, followed by a trip to the pet shop to buy food, plant life and a proper fish bowl only to find the poor creature floating on top of the water a couple of days later.

Depending on which parent did the disposal, there was either a funeral, (usually with Mum) or a quick toilet flush, (with Dad). That's life I suppose.

The Big One

Up and up and up we go,
Buckled tightly in seats.
We reach the top and tip over,
There's a fabulous view of the beach.
We're taking a ride on The Big One.
Get set for a speedy drop.
Our stomachs are churning -
Our faces are burning.
Oh God - can you make this thing stop?

Adele V Robinson

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Fairground - All the Fun of the Fair

 

‘Grease’ was on TV again the other day. I caught the end of it when I switched on for something else and enjoyed singing and dancing with the end-of-school carnival.  The feel-good factor is excellent, the ‘happy ever after’ is perfect and that last five minutes at the fairground made me feel uplifted.  It rates highly amongst my favourite films of all time. I’ve seen it so many times, I know it word for word, song for song and never tire of it. The DVD must be everlasting.

The Pleasure Beach was on my doorstep but out of bounds to me when I was growing up. It made no sense to me at all because when I was twelve I was told to take my five year old sister to the nearby amusement arcade to ride on the waltzers upstairs. We were based on Central Promenade during that summer and it was far busier than South Shore. We went to the waltzers and the slot machines lots of times. Well, some rules are there to be broken and there was nothing wrong with the Pleasure Beach, as far as I could tell. My friends and I, beat-night skaters, would cut through to reach the Ice Drome and back again. Sometimes we would linger. I couldn’t relax. I was keeping watch for anyone working there who might recognise me from our pub, or know my dad. At home, I was told that dodgy characters frequented the Pleasure Beach, including some of the people who worked there. It didn’t deter me. They might have had a fit if they’d known how many times my best friend and I had talked ourselves into free rides on the Grand National. This was in the days long before wristbands or tokens and people could just go in and walk around for free.

This is David Essex, talking about his younger days working at fairs, which set him in good stead for his character, Jim Maclaine in ‘That’ll be the Day’,

“I’d actually worked on the Dodgems, I worked on the Whip, and what interested me about fairs – and still does – is that kind of scary-but-good atmosphere. There’s a menace there, there’s a danger in the fairground, in the midst of all the whiteness and coloured lights and amusements. Just around the corner is this underlying violence.”

I love ‘there’s a menace there’. Maybe that is what the warnings were about. I wasn’t aware of dubious characters on the Pleasure Beach. A couple of the ride attendants were lads I knew from school, on summer jobs. Nothing menacing about them. No David Essex before he was famous, as far as I noticed – I would have noticed.

Many years later, on a family holiday to Butlins, our daughter wanted to go on an Astroswirl, or something similar. She was about eight and didn’t like rides, but she fancied this one. I backed off and so did her brother, so left with no choice, my husband took her on. Then the screams started.

“Get me off! Get me off now! Stop! Daddy make it stop!”

The whole of Skegness, beyond Butlin’s must have heard her. The ride was halted. They got off and the other people had a longer second turn. Everyone was looking, except me and my son. We were just looking at each other as we wandered off, totally disconnected from the situation.  

I’m just wondering if I could fit ‘Grease’ in before tea time?

I found this poem by Scott Martin, a writer from an area of Scotland I know so well.

A Ballad for the Funfair

A Ballad for the Funfair,
A Seaside town,
The Soldier and his lover,
Lost at sea and their
Final meeting, wherever that may be,
At the End of the World.

Some like Roll-a-Penny
And some prefer the stalls,
Whilst others are mad for the Waltzers
Or flick the silver balls.
But you and me, my love
We were a Roller-Coaster ride:
Our ups and downs, our highs and lows
Were always side by side.

Under an electric star, inside the car
Our sweat glued us, like fear.
You gripped me tight in close delight
Breath pounding in my ear.
Excitement as real as the spinning wheel
And the crudely - painted rides,
Behind the facade of manic - laughter,
Where only sorrow hides.

You saw me once, when you were young
In a dream, standing alone
In some god - forsaken valley,
Battered and scarred by War; false hope
Tattered by reality - like the ragged flags
Hanging listless in the violent breeze,
Washed up, like our dreams
On some sad shore, as it will be
At our final meeting, at the End of the World,
Whenever that may be, with the Sun,
Blood-red and no time for tears
For we have wept an ocean these past years
You and I,my love, so long ago now
Since you sighted land, far away, and you waited
For the tide to turn, but the light faded and died
Over the horizon, as it did
When we stood, together, on a cliff - top
Lashed by the rain of a faded seaside town
Seeing the Carnival lights through the blue - Diesel haze,
The big wheel turning, in it's orbit, like the planets.
Time, standing still for a moment, in the tinny night.
The sad laughter hushed the screams -
Silence, poised, for an eternity of bliss
On the pinnacle of delight.

Scott Martin

Thanks for reading, stay safe, Pam x

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Goldfish - All the Fun at the Fair

I remember the goldfish. It probably had the shortest life of any pet. We already had the dog, the ever-pregnant cat, so we also had a couple of kittens; a budgie and now a goldfish. I was thrilled to win it at a fairground attraction though I’ve completely forgotten what skills won me the prize. I carried it tightly in the water-filled plastic bag and took extra care in the back of my friend’s father’s car where at least four of us were jammed in for the journey home. No restrictions in the good old days. It was the beginning of the summer holidays. Our primary education was over and the prospect of going to secondary school was a million light years away and certainly not worth mentioning.  We’d had a great day out. I’d eaten parched peas for the first time and we’d all had a hotdog and a toffee apple. We were hot, tired and squashed and we soon got bored of thinking of a name for my goldfish. It became Goldie. In spite of all the wriggling and shoving on the back seat, not a drop of water was spilt and I got Goldie home in one piece.

No, of course we don’t have a goldfish bowl or a fish tank, and no, Mummy, I hadn’t considered any of the points you’re making right now…and I was having a lovely day. Was.

Goldie was temporarily housed in a crystal punch bowl, which was part of a set and apparently my Nanna would go mad if she knew about it. Despite having such a posh home and the best food from the local pet shop, Goldie only lived for two days.

I thought it was just resting, I’d never seen a dead goldfish before. It was floating on its side at the top of the bowl. My mother was full of sympathy and explained that from her own experience, goldfish from fairs didn’t always last very long and that was why she had bought it food but not a proper container. I could have another one from the pet shop if I wanted. I didn’t bother.

 Goldie was a living memory of the wonderful day I’d spent at the fair with friends and the generosity of someone else’s parents. We were moving on into different schools, staying friends, but there would be changes ahead. Another goldfish wouldn’t mean the same.

The punch bowl was returned to the sideboard and as far as I know, Nanna never found out.

I couldn’t choose between these two poems, so here they both are.

Privacy  Oh you who are shy of the popular eye, (Though most of us seek to survive it) Just think of the goldfish who wanted to die Because she could never be private.   There are pebbles and reeds for aquarium needs Of eel and of pike who are bold fish; But who gives a thought to a sheltering spot For the sensitive soul of a goldfish?   So the poor little thing swam around in a ring, In a globe of a crystalline crudity; Swam round and swam round, but no refuge she found From the public display of her nudity; No weedy retreat for a cloister discreet, From the eye of the mob to exempt her; Can you wonder she paled, and her appetite failed, Till even a fly couldn't tempt her?   I watched with dismay as she faded away; Each day she grew slimmer and slimmer.   From an amber hat burned, to a silver she turned Then swiftly was dimmer and dimmer.   No longer she gleamed, like a spectre she seemed, One morning I anxiously sought her: I only could stare - she no longer was there .  .  .     She'd simply dissolved in the water.   So when you behold bright fishes of gold, In globes of immaculate purity; Just think how they'd be more contented and free If you gave them a little obscurity.   And you who make laws, get busy because You can brighten the lives of untold fish, If its sadness you note, and a measure promote To Ensure Private Life For The Goldfish.

By Robert William Service

White Ash

 

 THERE is a woman on Michigan Boulevard keeps a parrot and goldfish and two white mice.

She used to keep a houseful of girls in kimonos and three pushbuttons on the front door.

Now she is alone with a parrot and goldfish and two white mice … but these are some of her thoughts:

The love of a soldier on furlough or a sailor on shore leave burns with a bonfire red and saffron.

The love of an emigrant workman whose wife is a thousand miles away burns with a blue smoke.

The love of a young man whose sweetheart married an older man for money burns with a sputtering uncertain flame.

And there is a love … one in a thousand … burns clean and is gone leaving a white ash.
…

 And this is a thought she never explains to the parrot and goldfish and two white mice.

by Carl Sandburg

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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