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Growing Up In Feltwell in the 1950s & 60s – Part – 13. Fetes, Fairs & the Circus
One of my earliest memories was being taken to a small visiting fair in Barrets Lane in the early 1950s. No housing development had taken place there then and the lane was just a farm track lined with tall trees and almost buried within them was a decrepit wooden threshing machine from which hung a tatty canvas belt. Underneath it was a hen’s straw nest complete with eggs! The clear tungsten light bulbs which festooned the stalls and swinging boats while hens scratched about, created a never to be forgotten image in my mind.
One summer’s evening in the mid 1950s a hog roast was held on the playing field. My parents thought it far too late for me but obviously relented: my father returning home for me when I was almost asleep and scooping me up in a blanket and dressing gown, held me aloft in a short queue while Godmother’s husband Dick carved a child’s portion with stuffing and apple sauce as the spit was turned. Eve Boswell’s big hit “Pickin’ a Chicken With Me” in early 1956 seemed to foster interest in BBQs and in 1959 an attempt was made to repeat the hog roast success in what was a very hot summer. Sadly, with no refrigeration, the hog was condemned on the day as unfit.
Fetes were well organised there (by the local British Legion I think) and the post war baby boom ensured that they were well attended, though fund raising may not have been their prime objective. Sometimes they were opened formally by a celebrity: I remember in the late 1950s Norman Painting (Phil Archer from the Archers soap) who stayed overnight at the Oak Hotel and in the early 1960s, Drew Russell (Anglia TV’s first presenter) doing the honours. Bill Hockley (Hockley’s shop in Long Lane) was in charge of the ancient valve PA system which resonated with unseen people blowing enthusiastically into the microphone and counting “one-two, one two!” and playing 78 rpm shellac records with little or no regard for the Performing Rights Society. There would be at least one large white marquee to house the bar, tea and cake stalls, the miniature gardens which were always popular with children (even if too many incorporated a small mirror from mum’s face compact to create a quite unrealistic pond) and also the wilting wild flower arrangements which had to be prepared on the day. The sandpits up Lodge Road where wild hollyhocks grew and the verges of the Old Methwold and Brandon Roads were easily robbed. Pet shows could be a bit predictable. We would lug poor old Tinkle (our tabby) in a cardboard box and he would arouse less interest than a cherished white mouse or the little girl’s goldfish in a preserving jar. The Walker family from Munson’s Place had what I think was a Flemish Giant rabbit which had its own varnished box with rosettes and certificates fixed inside the lid. It always seemed either to win outright or come joint first with Toni Burr’s glamorous Lassie type border collie from the Oak Hotel. Some years ago one of the Walker family contacted Paul’s website and via Paul, I reminded him of their fine bunny. He had no idea what I was talking about but was probably a few years younger than those of us whose hearts sank whenever we saw the Big Flem arrive! At one Fete somehow I won at “Bowling for the Pig” and won not a pig but a live rabbit which I collected from the amiable Stan Pease’s home. Stan scrunched its ears when he caught it for me and they never fully recovered. We called it Flop Ears.
The convivial Mrs Swann allowed her extensive rear garden at Beck House to be taken over for an annual Church fundraiser which was smaller and more intimate and usually included the always-popular jumble stall of used clothing. In 1961 Terry and I won second prize for the best decorated “go-cart” or soapbox: we used cardboard to make it into a boat complete with sails and a broomstick for a mast and Mrs Swann herself gave us two pirate outfits to wear. We were 11 and I still have the photo. Mike, Pinky and others set up a real (petrol driven) go kart track through her steeply sloping orchard and I was allowed to pay for 3 circuits on condition that I didn’t touch the accelerator. On the last lap I did just that and the kart careered off the track completely out of my control and the men had to fight their way through 5ft stinging nettles to retrieve me. I stayed put but as they came upon me I started singing “Tell Laura I Love Her” – a hit record the previous year about a young driver who crashes his stock car. That caused much amusement amongst my rescuers who kindly absolved me from blame by diagnosing a fault with the steering rack.
Bugg’s fair did set up on the playing fields one year but more often were to be found on the British Legion’s land opposite the Blade Cafe with dodgems, swinging boats, coconut shy, slug gun targets and lots of goldfish in polythene bags. The records played on the dodgems were always a few years out of date – eg “Well, I Ask Ya!” (Eden Kane) and “You Always Hurt the One You Love” (Clarence Frogman Henry). For 6d you got 4 wooden balls to throw into 3 metal buckets. Straight in and they bounced straight out but if just one stayed then you won a goldfish! My big brother set up a similar stall at home using tennis balls and worked out if you threw the balls at the sides of the buckets, they spun round inside rather than bouncing straight out again. We won 13 gold fish between us which prompted the stall holder to order us to throw straight at the buckets and not from the side and Dad to build a goldfish pond at our Munson’s Place home. Unfortunately by the time it was ready for occupation, our latest cat Fred had managed to catch and eat every single one. Wire netting over the giant sweet jars proved ineffective and the final 3 went after they had been placed in the upstairs bath for safe keeping. Someone left the bathroom door ajar on leaving for school…
I also remember 2 or 3 visits from a small circus which once set up in Paynes Lane opposite the playing fields entrance in the mid-sixties. It was mainly clowns, tight-rope and trapeze artists and some poodles who could stand and walk on their hind legs. The clown carrying a bucket immediately behind the baby elephant as it walked around the ring drew the biggest laugh from the less-than-capacity audience. I felt rather mean when us lads bluntly declined to assist the friendly proprietors with the striking of the “Big Top” at the end. We had booked to play snooker on the full size table in the British Legion.
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