JULY 23RD
On Saturday afternoon as I was stood by the side entrance of the Winter Gardens giving Nikki a last minute pep talk as she adjusted her elbow pads before tackling the “Next” clearance sale, I was aware of a commotion coming from around the corner. Another stag party getting out of hand perhaps? It certainly fitted the bill, lots of shouting, the odd ambulance and the semblance of a small audience. But no, this was actually the 16th annual “British Town Criers Championships”, on one of the main shopping streets in the town centre. They took turns in scaling a small wooden platform before ringing one of those giant hand bells before giving it that “Oh Yeh, Oh yey!” business. They were all superbly turned out looking resplendent in their red and black cloaks with gold braid, waistcoats, jabots, red breeches white stockings and buckled shoes. They each gave a “proclamation” which all basically said the same sort of thing. – “Oh yey, Oh yey, I do hereby declare that I have today, come to the wonderful seaside town of Blackpool, where thine candy floss doth stick to thine gums, where we can lampoon in the street playing the buffoon, and I hereby promise to try and get my rocks off at the earliest opportunity in the Tower Lounge, - God save the Queen!”
On Sunday we visited the “Fleetwood Transport Festival” or “Tram Sunday” as it is better known. We actually went there on the tram, which are in themselves living, working museum pieces. Blackpool and surrounding districts were one of the first places to install a tramway in 1885, and now 113 years later they’re still going strong. Most of the fleet date back to the thirties and personally I adore them, and the on board conductors as well. They obviously take these jobs as part of the care in the community programme as most of them are off their trolleys.
It was a fair old turn out, mercifully it wasn’t raining, quite sunny in fact!, but the strong wind still prevailed, indeed, just down the road at Royal Birkdale on this very day Irishman Padraig Harrington won the claret jug thus retaining the British Open Golf Championship with one of the worst scores in living memory, such were the weather conditions.
Despite this though there must have been in excess of 40,000 people crammed on the street on this “Tram Sunday”. There were vintage cars, buses and motorbikes on show from every era from the 1970’s backwards, steam trains, bands, dancers, fairground rides and even our old friends the Town Criers put in an appearance, everything in fact, except trams!
Apparently up until this year the pride of the fleet would be paraded up and down Fleetwood’s main street, which incidentally is the only main street electrical tramway in Britain. But our old friends at the health and safety executive have once more had the last say.
I was delighted to find a stall dedicated entirely to one of my all time favourite characters, - steeplejack, steam enthusiast and all out loon Fred Dibnah, who was a keen supporter of this event until his untimely death three years ago. His wife, who is a vivacious ex showgirl from Blackpool (you did alright for yourself there Fred old lad), was giving a short speech on the top of an open top double decker bus before coming down to sign a few of her late husbands books. I sifted through a box of badges baring his name, being urged by two elderly spinster types to go for the miss spelt “Fred Dinbah” ones as they would “be worth a fortune one day”. I resisted and got one of the real ones for the Concert Chairman’s lapel.
As we were walking away an official voice using the same microphone as Mrs. Dibnah had a few moments earlier came over the speakers. “Er, this is a difficult one is this, but we have a missing person. He is a male with a blue jacket carrying a bag of ……bananas, his name is John Hogan , but he probably wont answer to his name”. (Think he may have been a club concert secretary). Thereafter we couldn’t resist taking a sneaky look into every bloke’s shopping bag that we happened to pass on the off chance. The last we heard he was still at large, but at least he won’t starve for a while.
It was a fair old turn out, mercifully it wasn’t raining, quite sunny in fact!, but the strong wind still prevailed, indeed, just down the road at Royal Birkdale on this very day Irishman Padraig Harrington won the claret jug thus retaining the British Open Golf Championship with one of the worst scores in living memory, such were the weather conditions.
Despite this though there must have been in excess of 40,000 people crammed on the street on this “Tram Sunday”. There were vintage cars, buses and motorbikes on show from every era from the 1970’s backwards, steam trains, bands, dancers, fairground rides and even our old friends the Town Criers put in an appearance, everything in fact, except trams!
Apparently up until this year the pride of the fleet would be paraded up and down Fleetwood’s main street, which incidentally is the only main street electrical tramway in Britain. But our old friends at the health and safety executive have once more had the last say.
I was delighted to find a stall dedicated entirely to one of my all time favourite characters, - steeplejack, steam enthusiast and all out loon Fred Dibnah, who was a keen supporter of this event until his untimely death three years ago. His wife, who is a vivacious ex showgirl from Blackpool (you did alright for yourself there Fred old lad), was giving a short speech on the top of an open top double decker bus before coming down to sign a few of her late husbands books. I sifted through a box of badges baring his name, being urged by two elderly spinster types to go for the miss spelt “Fred Dinbah” ones as they would “be worth a fortune one day”. I resisted and got one of the real ones for the Concert Chairman’s lapel.
As we were walking away an official voice using the same microphone as Mrs. Dibnah had a few moments earlier came over the speakers. “Er, this is a difficult one is this, but we have a missing person. He is a male with a blue jacket carrying a bag of ……bananas, his name is John Hogan , but he probably wont answer to his name”. (Think he may have been a club concert secretary). Thereafter we couldn’t resist taking a sneaky look into every bloke’s shopping bag that we happened to pass on the off chance. The last we heard he was still at large, but at least he won’t starve for a while.
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