St Swithin's Fair had nothing to do with St Swithin's legendary rain-making. It was so called because it was held in St Swithin's market-place, a large open square behind the covered market where we were taken for an occasional treat to eat Tardy-cakes and look at the puppies, kittens, cage-birds, Angora rabbits, Belgian hares and Flemish giants in the petshop. I can still remember the mingled odours and scents of the covered market-the sour smells of small animals, the heavenly smells of baking, flowers and fruit, the sweaty smell of people and the moist, earthy smell of freshly-watered ferns and plants in pots.
The fair was entirely different from the covered market. It was far more exciting. At any rate, it wildly excited Kenneth and me. We had expected much, but I am bound to say that St Swithin's Fair was no disappointment. Looking back now, after all these years, I realise that few things to which young children (after all, I was only ten years old and Kenneth eight) look forward, do turn out to be disappointing. Youthful imagination coupled with a desperate desire for wish-fulfilment sees to that, and therefore St Swithin's Fair stands out in my mind as one of the high spots in a moderately happy life. We did not need to seek for any kind of compensation. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
For one thing, Uncle Arthur was to our minds an ideal companion, an easy-going, simple-minded, very indulgent sort of man. He was not native to the village, but came of Cockney ancestors. His mother was a virago who was accustomed literally to throw her husband and sons into the street when they came home drunk, and she had bestowed her thews and sinews and her generous, single-minded outlook, but not her flaming temper, upon Uncle Arthur. He had boxed in the East End for small purses, so was technically a professional, but he was a kindly man who lacked the killer instinct which brings a boxer fame and the big money.
At the fair he soon gave a taste of his muscular quality. He banged with a mallet on a sort of anvil and a weight shot up and rang a bell. He was given a cigar for that. Then he smashed a coconut and was given a whole one in exchange. We were thrilled and delighted, so much so that 'a penn'orth on the mat,' which he urged us to try, made me forget my fears of this sort of feat. I cascaded round the bends with some enjoyment and returned slightly dizzy but undoubtedly triumphant to Kenneth and Uncle Arthur after I and my mat had been fielded by a sweating man in a dirty singlet who stood at the foot of the tower.
After all these years, some of my impressions of the fair are rather blurred, like the reflections of brilliant lights on wet pavements while the rain is still pouring down. I remember that, although it was not yet dark when we arrived, the naked naphtha flares which lit up the scene were already hissing and windblown. I remember the jostling, shoving, good-humoured crowds, the gaily-painted swing-boats, and the raucous, heady, intoxicating music blaring from the roundabouts.
I remember that I nearly (but not quite) ringed a most desirable box of chocolates at the hoop-la stall and that Kenneth tried his luck with an airgun but failed to hit one of the ping-pong balls which were dancing up and down on jets of water, and I remember arguing with him as to whether or not you got a longer ride on the roundabout by taking one of the outside horses rather than one nearer the centre where the machinery and the music were.
'It stands to reason,' he said. 'It's a case of concentric circles. The outside one has the longest perimeter.'
'But it travels slower,' I said, 'so the actual length of the ride is the same.'
We tried a swing-boat with Uncle Arthur at one end and the two of us at the other. I did not like this very much because, as the boat swung higher, it seemed quite possible that at a certain point we could go clean over the top and loop the loop, so I was relieved when our time was up and the man in charge grounded us with a long wooden plank which jarred the boat uncomfortably and alarmingly but soon brought us to a standstill.
Uncle Arthur bought us bullseyes, brandy snaps and lardy-cakes and we drank so-called lemonade. Later on we had sausage rolls and ice cream. (Ice cream was a rare treat in those days and we seldom bought it for ourselves because it disappeared so quickly.) Soon after this, a clock on St Swithin's church struck ten and Uncle Arthur decided that it was time to think about going home.
We pleaded that there were several alleyways among the stalls which, so far, we had not explored and Kenneth (always much more generous and thoughtful than myself) said that he wanted to buy a present for Aunt Kirstie but had not seen anything he fancied she would like.
In one of the quieter by-ways there were stalls selling fancy goods such as sachets of lavender, garish pincushions covered in bead-work, boxes ornamented with sea-shells, fancy handkerchiefs and brightly-coloured hair-ribbons. The prices seemed high, so Kenneth and I (rather grudgingly on my part, I must admit) went shares in a pale-blue handkerchief which had a knot of pink flowers in one corner surrounding the letter K. Uncle Arthur put it in his pocket so that we should not lose it and a moment or so later we found ourselves on the edge of
