All the Fun of the Fair

by All the Fun of the Fair (retail) (epub)

  Gem took a moment to formulate a description of Emily Dunn before she responded. ‘She looks like a prim, dried-up spinster woman, the sort usually leading a campaign of locals to get us ousted out of their community by branding us all thieves and child stealers. In Miss Dunn’s case her looks defy belief because I found her to be just a lovely person and she’s got a way with the kids that I can only say is magical; one word from her and they’re all sitting quietly paying attention. Even Tommy Pope who can’t sit still for a minute! I read a book once when I was a child called Mary Poppins. She was this mystical nanny that appeared out of the blue to look after children whose mothers had died. She possessed magical powers and got the children to behave and do all the things they should do but didn’t, just by a look or a word. Miss Dunn, to me, is a real, live version of the fictional Mary Poppins.’ She paused for a moment before she added, ‘I do wonder what brought Miss Dunn to ask for the job and to travel with us in the first place? I mean, at her time of life, it’s such a huge thing to do, isn’t it? Change your life for a completely different one.’

  Velda said sharply, ‘She must have her reasons and it’s up to her; it’s not our business to pry.’

  Gem looked taken aback at her companion, who had been unusually terse of manner. In fact, it had come across as more of a warning to Gem than a comment; not to poke her nose uninvited into another’s business. But Velda knew her well enough to know that it wasn’t in her nature to interfere unless she was invited to, so why did she feel the need to caution her? Then it occurred to her that she knew next to nothing about Velda’s past. Was it then that Velda’s comment had nothing to do with prying into Emily Dunn’s reasons for joining the fair but was instead a warning to Gem not to pry into her own? But why? She supposed it could be that Velda just didn’t like revisiting the past because, like it was for Gem herself, it was too painful to but then could it also be because she had something to hide? Whatever though, Gem was never going to find out as Velda had made it very clear that the past was the past to her and it was only for her to know.

  But then all thoughts other than those associated with the feeding and care of her family were swept from Gem’s mind as they arrived at the small row of shops.

  The area was bustling with activity, women of all ages going in and out of the various shops, weighted down by their purchases. The first shop they came to was the butcher. Several women were already queuing, awaiting their turn to be served by a fat, florid man, a bloodstained apron straining over his wide girth. His equally plump wife was also behind the counter. To their relief, all the other queuing woman were too engrossed in talking between themselves or immersed in their own thoughts to take any notice of the two new arrivals behind them. The butcher did a double-take at Velda, whose style of dress did nothing to hide what community of people she belonged to, but then he continued to serve her in the same friendly manner as he did his local customers while his wife did likewise with Gem. And, when both were done, they told them they looked forward to seeing them the next time they called. So far so good, they both thought as they left the shop to enter the next one, which was the baker’s. Again they left with their purchases, both having received the same friendliness from those that served them. This time even a couple of customers smiled a greeting and told them they were looking forward to visiting the fair as they waited their turn.

  Their last port of call was the grocery shop. The shop bell clanged as they opened the door and automatically the queue of waiting women all turned their heads to see who the newcomers were. Realising they were fairfolk, several woman ignored them, turned back their heads and continued to await their turn; it was obvious they were not pleased to see just who the interlopers were but choosing to keep their feelings to themselves. A couple of others smiled a brief welcome at Gem and Velda before resuming their wait.

  There were two old women, dressed from head to toe in black, sitting together on chairs by the counter, clutching capacious handbags on their laps. They both glared darkly at Gem and Velda when they arrived and, as they joined the queue, one old crone gave a disdainful sniff and said loudly to the other, ‘Oh, I see the tinkers have arrived in town so I hope everyone is aware to keep an eye on their daughters and lock up their valuables. Filthy creatures shouldn’t be allowed to mix amongst decent folk.’

  The other woman said equally loudly, ‘Last year when they was here my ’arry’s prize pigeons went missing and we all know where they went… in a gyppo’s cooking pot.’

  Most fairfolk perceived pigeon or rabbit stew or pie as part of their staple diet. Hunting for wild fare in woods and fields was one thing but stealing from the local community’s hutches or lofts, Sam would not condone and both Gem and Velda knew – without doubt – that none of the fairfolk would consider it worth their jobs to have done such a thing. Both women went to defend themselves but then, just as quickly, thought better of it, having long ago learned it was best not to respond at all to derogatory remarks aimed at them, that way avoiding the fuelling of trouble. Instead, both pretended not to have heard what the two old women had said, Gem apparently studying the sides of bacon, cooked meats and cheeses on the marble slab inside a large glass container one side of the counter and Velda a shelving stand just by her holding an array of household goods; several of the items she picked up in succession and pretended to read the labels of.

  The shop owner, though, wasn’t prepared to ignore the rude remarks the two woman made. He had a living to earn and was far too grateful to see anyone in his shop intent on buying any of the goods he offered, whoever they were. Ernest Flinders was a middle-aged, pleasant-faced, stick-thin man with merry twinkling blue eyes. He finished wrapping a pound of streaky bacon that he had just cut on the slicer for the customer he was serving and, his voice stern, addressed the two old women. ‘Now then, ladies, while yer in my shop I’d ask you to respect my other customers and keep your thoughts to yourselves.’

  The oldest of the two crones scowled and wagged a gnarled finger at him. ‘Well I’m picky who I shop with, Ernie Flinders, but it’s obvious you ain’t at all particular who you sell your goods to or you’d be asking them to leave. Make sure you check their persons before they go as no telling what the big woman has hidden in false pockets under her dress whilst she’s been in here. Gyppos are all thieves, we all know that,’ she snapped, nodding her faded black felt-hatted head, which was covering a bob of thin grey hair, in Gem and Velda’s direction.

  Ernest puffed out his chest and responded, ‘Now then, Mrs Crabbitt and Mrs Dane, you’re both welcome to shop elsewhere if you’re not happy with the way I run my shop.’

  They both gawped, aghast. Mrs Crabbitt spat, incensed. ‘You know fine well that the nearest grocery shop to here is at least a mile away.’

  ‘Well then, either wait outside until the two ladies have bought their needs and left or sit comfortably where you are until it’s your turn and I’ll ask you again to keep your thoughts to yourself.’ He then returned his attention back to the customer he was serving. ‘Anything else I can get you, Mrs Jenkins?’

  A young woman in the queue was shifting uncomfortably on her feet. It was obvious she was undecided on whether to speak up about something she had on her mind or keep it to herself. She decided to speak up. ‘It’s not fair of you accusing the fairfolk of stealing your husband’s pigeons when the fair was last here, Mrs Crabbitt, as I know for a fact that you arranged with the Youngs’ eldest boy to take them when your husband was out as you were fed up with him spending all his spare time with them and cleaning up the mess they made in your yard. You did it when the fair was here so you could blame them for it and your husband would never know it was you behind it.’

  Another woman then piped up, ‘Oh, so that’s where Mrs Young got all those pigeons from to make those pies. When I asked her, she was very cagey and I can understand why now. I did buy one off her and my old man said it was the best pigeon pie he’s ever had, very tasty.’ Then, with a wicked twinkle in her eye, s
he said to Mrs Danes, ‘Cora, didn’t you meet your husband at the fair when it came to town just after the First World War? He was collecting the fares for the man who owned the swing boats. Me and a few other girls were with you at the time. We’d all sneaked off to the fair behind our parents’ backs, you can’t deny it. If I remember right, he’d managed to get a job with the fair after being released from Borstal for robbing the local off-licence where he came from. So really you married a dirty, thieving fairground worker, didn’t you?’

  Aged face screwed up furiously, Cora Danes grabbed hold of the coat sleeve of her companion and pulled her up along with her as she stood up. ‘Come on, Martha, we’ll come back later as there’s a bad smell in here that’s making me feel sick.’

  After the two venomous women had left, Ernest said to no customer in particular, ‘People should really check how clean their own house is before they complain of dirt in someone else’s. Now, was it a quarter of cheddar you asked for, Mrs Jenkins?’

  A while later, Gem and Velda left the grocery shop weighed down with all their purchases, triply so for Gem as she had a family to feed whereas Velda just had herself.

  As they arrived out into the street, Gem said, ‘Well, apart from the two nasty biddies, the rest of the locals we’ve met today seem very happy the fair has come to their town and were very welcoming to us, so hopefully that means we’re in for a trouble-free stay.’

  Velda smiled. ‘We can live in hope, dear, we can live in hope.’

  As they turned in the direction of the fairground and began their journey, Gem sighed and moaned, ‘These bags weigh a tonne. It was a lovely walk here but now I’m seriously regretting not coming in your car.’

  Just then they heard a vehicle horn blare out. Looking in the direction it came from they saw Jimmy beckoning to them out of the driver’s window of a flatback lorry. As fast as the heavy bags she was carrying allowed her to, Gem hurried over, exclaiming, ‘I’ve never been so glad to see you, Son. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Dad sent me. He knew you’d regret walking when it came to carrying the heavy bags back so he told me to give you an hour or so then come and pick you both up.’

  Velda had joined her now and, having heard what Jimmy had told his mother, she said, ‘If he was here now I’d give Solly a big wet kiss. What a wonderful husband you have, Gem.’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, he does have his moments. But you keep your eyes off him as he’s all mine.’

  Five minutes later, all the shopping loaded next to Jimmy in the front cab, the two women were perched on the back of the lorry, their legs dangling over the side, both clutching the side boards so they didn’t fall off. Gem shouted out, ‘Right, let’s get back as the fair is due to open in a couple of hours and you men can’t manage without us women.’

  They both chuckled together as they pictured the look on Jimmy’s face at his mother’s quip as he revved up the engine and set off.

  Chapter Nine

  It was now Saturday evening and the Grundy community were gratified that the fair had been busy every day, apart from yesterday afternoon when the weather had turned miserable; a blustery wind whipping persistent rain in all nooks and crannies and soaking everything it fell on. Regardless, there were still those determined types who descended on the fairground dressed in their waterproofs and wellingtons, hell-bent on having their entertainment whatever Mother Nature threw at them. The Grundy community, dressed likewise, did their best to provide it with a welcoming smile on their faces, glad of the money to add to their coffers. Thankfully, just after tea time, the grey clouds drifted off to reward other areas of the country with their cargo and the spring sun that shone down was sufficiently warm enough to dry the grass and muddy puddles ready for the hordes of workers to flood in that night to have themselves some much-looked-forward-to enjoyment after a week of hard labour inside their factories and offices.

  For the locals their day and and a half of freedom from their paid labours began at one o’clock on Saturday afternoon. Fairground workers though were lucky to get a few hours on a Sunday afternoon and evening as although the fair was shut on a Sunday as it was only places of worship that were open for business, there was still work to do in respect of keeping the stalls and rides in good repair and living accommodation too.

  Despite what work awaited them on Sunday, some members of the Grundy community had special plans after the fair closed on Saturday night and couldn’t wait for the time to come so they could instigate them.

  It was approaching nine o’clock and the fairground was heaving with people queuing at all the rides and several deep waiting their turn for a play on the many games of chance offered at the stalls or to buy the wares sold. Big Sam was, as usual, patrolling his way through the crowds on the lookout for potential troublemakers but also for any of his workers acting in any way that wasn’t in keeping with his rules of operating and could bring disrepute to his business. At the moment he was making his way through the main ride area; on one side of him was the carousel, its organ barrel in the centre blaring out in one ear, on the other side of him was the waltzer, spinning and twisting its squealing occupants around. ‘Rose Marie’ was blaring out from speakers in Sam’s other ear and, along with the din the crowds were making, he could hardly hear himself think.

  After being consumed with his problem of how to leave his estate for the past couple of weeks or so, struggling deeply with his conscience, he had now made his decision and was ready to cement it with the help of his dear friend Velda. And with that out of the way, he was free to pursue matters in respect of his personal life with her. He meant to speak to her tonight. Before then, though, he had work to do.

  Aided by his sturdy stick and puffing on his pipe, as he walked and looked observantly around, his eyes fell on a young girl of about five who was sobbing hysterically into the folds of her mother’s skirt by the hook-a-duck stall. Just some mardy child throwing a tantrum because they can’t get their own way, he thought and made to continue on, but then it struck him that this child’s crying was the upset sort, not the foot-stamping temper kind. People’s first impression of Sam when they saw him, especially that of children, was of a gruff, fearsome-looking old man and, for the most part, they would be right; his life had been a tough one and he’d had to find a toughness within himself to deal with it or he’d have withered under the strain and wouldn’t now have a successful business to be worried over how to leave it when he left this world. But he also had a soft side, especially where children were concerned, and it distressed him greatly to see any child suffering grief like that little girl was now. Besides, to him, whilst in his fairground, all children should be laughing not crying. So he made his way over to find out why the child was so upset in the hope that he could reverse the situation. On arriving up to the child and her mother, who was trying her best to calm her daughter, he leaned over and said, ‘What’s the do, lass? Lost a shilling and found a tanner or did yer drop yer candy floss in the dirt?’

  The child was unmoved and it was her mother that responded, somewhat embarrassedly. ‘Milly saw the rag doll on the hook-a-duck stall, fell in love with it and set her heart on winning it. She’s spent all her pocket money and another couple of shillings I gave her besides on seven or eight goes altogether but she didn’t win the doll or anything else for that matter. I’ve tried to explain to her that it just bad luck, but…’ Her voice trailed off and she gave a helpless shrug.

  Sam straightened up, lips tightening, and his eyes narrowed into two thin strips as he looked across at the young man running the hook-a-duck stall. Cyril Bagshaw, or Ducky as he’d been nicknamed by the rest of the Grundy community for obvious reasons, had been with Grundy’s since he’d arrived to join them around the same time that Velda had, thirty years before, with his then wife and five young children. On his death four months ago from his body failing to fight off a severe bout of influenza that had swept through the community and also caused the death of two young children, his eldest son had returne
d to the fold to claim his inheritance. His other siblings, like himself, had gone off several years before to earn their livings with other fairs. Cyril Bagshaw had been a very congenial man and had a way with him that had people flocking to his stall and he’d made a reasonable income from it. Along with his equally likeable wife, he had been highly regarded by the rest of the community. His eldest son, though, was a different matter. Sam had never had a liking for Micky Bagshaw, a thirty-four-year-old man, big of build with his arms and torso covered in an array of garish tattoos of naked women, some hidden under the American-style black T-shirt he was currently wearing. He’d been a surly child that hadn’t made friends easily and was somewhat of a bully, and lazy too. Consequently, none of the other children had at all liked him and had outcast him from their friendship groups.

  Time had not mellowed Micky and Sam had a feeling that his father’s death had not come at a better time for him as, through the showmen gossip grapevine, he had heard that several fairs he had secure work at had fired him for his ability to look as though he was busy when in fact he was doing very little. Among other things. Sam had hoped that the responsibility of running his own stall would teach him a lesson and he would change his ways for the better. He watched him; his face was a blank mask as he snatched the money from his customers’ hands without a smile or a thank you, a wish of good luck. His mother, who had used to stand by her husband’s side, bantering jokingly with the customers, cheerfully handing over a prize when they hooked a winning duck, was now sitting on a stool looking thoroughly miserable, a defeated air about her. She looked much older than her fifty-eight years.

  Going over to the stall he said to Micky, ‘Got a minute, son?’