Morpeth Fair Day

We’re standing at the side of the road at the end of Telford Bridge, waiting for the parade to start, waiting for Morpeth Fair day to really get underway.  The traffic stops and the crowd goes quiet but it’s just the vehicles stopping to let some people across the road.  It’s an annual event but the crowds are determined by the weather, not great but better than can have been hoped for from earlier in the week.  There have been heavier crowds but a steady stream of people are coming down the bank from Stobhill keeping pace with the vintage buses that are running people down from the County Hall park and ride, a service that may soon become a permanent feature.

This time the road has definitely gone quiet.  The yellow jacket of a policeman has moved into the road and the strains of a pipe band rises from the square behind the toll house.  The mayor is driven past in a cream and black Rolls Royce, swivelling his hand around his wrist like royalty.  The drill of the snare drums says that the band are underway and they make their way confidently over the bridge in their green and grey tartan, marching to the drums.  Behind are a few people dressed as Vikings, perhaps they are Vikings but they are holding placards advertising a forthcoming event in the town.

Next are the Harley Davidsons, not as many as in previous years but still enough to stir the damp air and turn your stomach with the deep and rolling noise from the exhausts.  A train of vintage cars follows, snaking down the bank, some we recognise and some are still too new in our minds to be in the parade (Nissan Sunny?) but then we are getting older.  The young children by the side of the road wave to the cars and some of the passengers reciprocate.  People take pictures of their favourites on their cameras and on their phones, mine was a black Morris Minor pick up called Black Beauty.  The cars bring back memories of their first or their father’s or their own youth.  People point and say ‘do you remember?’  There are a lot of minis in all colours.

And then the cars are bigger, much bigger, American cars not designed for the narrow English roads, long, sleek and muscle bound, built for television.  There is Kit from Nightrider filled with technology and flashing lights and then there is the General Lee from the Dukes of Hazard but Luke Daisy and Bo aren’t quite how we remembered them.  The blare of the horn brings back the television show and the crowd laughs.

Finally there are a few campers and in the rear a light blue milk float.  I hear the story of how the driver used to deliver the milk thirty years ago and how he was quite handsome, peachy indeed, a story that we hear every time and which means that the parade  has come to the end for another year.  The policeman steps back onto the pavement and the traffic resumes its normal flow while we make our way into Bridge Street to see what else the fair has to offer this year.