Open Writing

The annual Goose Fair was held in the first week of October. Living within sound distance of all its activities, it was a magnet for me to make repeated visits, despite the fact I had very little money to spend on the numerous rides and amusement stalls. It was nevertheless, tremendously exciting to walk around this panorama of enjoyment, reputedly the largest in the country. Because of my condition, however, I had never been a seeker of the adrenalin-raising experiences that one finds at these venues.

Most children in Christian based homes are brought up to believe in Santa Claus. I was no exception. I gained enormous happiness from what I now know to be a fantasy; during my early years it was a marvellous experience. On a number of occasions I recall that Santa Claus made his delivery of presents on Christmas Eve at the foot of my bed whilst I lay awake but with my eyes firmly closed.

One year sneaking a squint I caught a glimpse of a bright red coat. Terrified I would be found out I quickly closed my eyes. It was many years later that I realised it was my mother in her bright red dressing gown. This annual fantasy brought me many pleasant thoughts which I am sure my own granddaughter enjoys just as much as I did all those years ago.

There is a body of opinion which holds that it is unethical to lie to our children about the realities of the world. I am inclined to disagree with this view. It does, after all, only exist for a relatively short period of the average person's lifespan. There are so many issues on which adults in this world are in denial - smoking related illnesses, global warming.

I discovered the reality soon after I arrived at secondary school. I was aiming my pee as high up the concrete wall as possible in the freezing outdoor Victorian lavatory. Standing next to me, similarly engaged was Keith Price, an accomplice of Gordon Sandford. I started to tell him something about Santa Claus's visit to our house. Keith, as quick as a flash responded, "It's your dad." His revelation breaking the magical spell for ever.

I suppose I had been harbouring doubts for some time. It was, nevertheless, not unlike knowing that someone close is approaching death but still facing a sense of loss when that person actually goes.

At some point during the early 1940s I found myself walking the four hundred yards to attend Sunday School at Gladstone Street Methodist Church. I think I posed something of a problem because I was always closely watched by Mr Fox. He sometimes resorted to giving me a clip round the ear for bad behaviour, a practice that would not be tolerated today.

Whilst attending junior school I was not considered old enough to stay in the house alone when my father's afternoon shifts overlapped my mother's working hours at Player's Cigarette Factory, to which she had returned after cousin Clifford had been demobbed from the RAF.

My mother did not finish work until 6 pm. It took her half an hour to walk home. I cannot recall whether it was restricted only to the school holidays or if it also included weekdays during term time, but I do know that on a fairly regular basis I used to accompany my father to the bus depot or the terminus when he was due to start his shift.

In those days all the buses had a conductor who spent much of the time standing on the open deck rear platform when not collecting fares. Unlike the modern combined driver/conductor duties, the responsibilities of the conductor were enormous.

They went far beyond the collection of fares. It was the conductor who had to ring the bell when passengers wanted to get off but, more importantly, press the bell twice to direct the driver to move off. A passenger was not permitted to ring the bell except on those occasions when it was impossible for the conductor to be able to see that someone wanted to alight. This was frequently the case if the conductor was collecting fares at the front of the bus upstairs and a passenger downstairs made a late decision to alight.

Over the years there were more than a few accidents caused by drivers moving off before all the intended passengers had boarded. This usually arose when the conductor was upstairs and relied on a stair mirror to observe the progress of passengers boarding and alighting. Inevitably, during busy times, lack of concentration or general fatigue, some passengers would find themselves having to run and jump on the bus as it accelerated away. The electric trolley buses presented passengers with a greater danger than petrol buses because of their rapid movement from a standing start.