Open Writing

Walking Day in Warrington usually took place on the last Friday in June. All the churches and chapels, whatever their religious denomination, marched in procession with their banners borne along proudly before them.

Although I regularly attended Sunday school, one Walking Day parade alone stands out in my memory. This was the one when I was twelve. Mrs. Hill, the lady who ran the Sunday school, had put me in charge of the 'tinies' - the five-year-old's. This was a first step to becoming a Sunday school teacher. Mrs. Hill had plans for me!

This was one walking day my mother didn't stop me taking part in. She even made me a new dress. I marched alongside those little people keeping them in line and making sure I didn't lose any of them.

Because of the war the armed services also took part. Soldiers, sailors and airmen and the womens' services all marched. They looked very smart, striding along with verve and vigour, receiving a tremendous cheer from everyone. That was the first year that the American soldiers and airmen marched. They didn't wear boots, they wore walking shoes and the effect could hardly be described as martial; it was more of a soft shoe shuffle.
Flo Jones watched the whole parade and she said a lot of people laughed in a friendly sort of way. Though it was more jeer than cheer apparently! I don't remember Flo and Valerie her younger sister ever taking part. Their family belonged to the Spiritualist Church and they didn't walk. I once mentioned it to Joan and she said: "No Betty, I don't think the Spirit's walk in Warrington." Then she laughed and I realised she'd made a joke.

Relatives and friends gave you money as you passed by. They would rush up and place it into your hand. I carried a Dorothy bag and received quite a lot of pennies and threepenny bits and even a few sixpenny pieces, from school friends and neighbours.

I intended spending every penny of it at the Funfair. This was a Wakes Week tradition, a link with the old Hirings Fair, where every year servants and farm labourers were signed on. The Funfair was held on a large field at the back of Victoria Park.

That evening Flo, Eileen Miller and myself set off. I adored the crowded atmosphere of the fairground, it was irresistible. I thought the unusual combination of smells - diesel, candy floss, toffee apples, crushed grass and people - that went to make up the fascinating aroma of the fair was incredibly exciting. The noisy clamour of the many attractions - swing-boats, dodge-em's and the different carousels with their accompanying jingle-jangle of hurdy-gurdy organ music - held a unique fascination.

I discovered magic everywhere, riding around twice on the carousel horses. Loving the colour combinations and movement of the horses as they rose and fell, rose and fell, beneath the glitzy lighting. This was my first time at a fair. My mother didn't approve of fairs or Bonfire Night; she thought they were 'dangerous'.

I was beginning to grow up and her strictures held no fears for me any more. I had begun to form opinions of my own, as to what was bad or good for me!

I suppose the people that worked on the fairground did look different. Flo had told me about a girl who had run off with a man who worked at a fairground. It sounded romantic, like the poem about the 'raggle-taggle gypsies'. There wasn't much of an air of romance about the men working at this fair. Not so much looking like Heathcliff, but more in need of a wash and brush-up and change of clothes. The men here looked like our rag and bone man.

I lost Flo and Eileen. Leaving them behind on the swing-boats because they were looking a little queasy, I wandered towards the sideshow booths, where the barkers cried out their attractions through megaphones. Passing by tents advertising fat ladies and houris from the Levant, whatever they were!

Then I paid threepence to see the Largest Rat in the World. It was certainly large, but now I realise that it was no rat but a coypu. I didn't want to see a poor little lamb with six legs. When I told Mum about it later she said, "It shouldn't be allowed." And I think she was right!

The mermaid in the large fish tank was definitely a con trick, an optical illusion but quite ingenious. I admired the way the bubbles rose up to the surface. They wouldn't let me go near to the tank though. I wonder why? The man in charge said it was dangerous.

I was beginning to realise 'dangerous' is quite an ambiguous word, useful for putting people off doing what they want to do.

It was when I was heading back to the centre of the fairground to find Flo and Eileen that I saw a tent advertising 'Snow White and her Seven Dwarfs'. Now that would be really magical! I paid my last sixpence to the man in the booth and went into the tent.

Sadly, there was no Snow White, nor Happy, Sleepy, Doc, Bashful, Sneezy or even Dopey - just one miserable, bad-tempered looking dwarf, obviously Grumpy, having a bad night. He was standing in what looked like an animal pen.

I was bewildered. Where were they? Was I supposed to wait? Were the rest of them having their evening meal perhaps? Quite obviously I'd outstayed my welcome. The little man in his authentic red costume, stumped over to the wire mesh and said in true Grumpy fashion, "Bugger off!" And I did!

Thinking back, if I had been him and I had some nosey kid staring at me, I would have done exactly the same.