All is Fair Read online

  Picking up a heavy canvas bag from the floor and heaving it over his shoulder, Tom Stubbs replied, ‘Neither. Just passing through.’

  She pouted red-painted lips, disappointed. ‘Oh, that’s a shame. I’m not doing nothing particular tonight, so I was going to offer to show you the sights of our wonderful town.’ She said the words sardonically, as the small mining town boasted little for the younger generation except a handful of pubs, a flea-pit cinema that only showed B-rated films, and a village hall that held the occasional dance. Then a thought struck and her eyes lit up. ‘Oh, how could I have forgotten – the fair is here. I’m going with my friends, but they’ll understand if I go with you. You can’t want to leave town without a visit to the fair.’

  Certainly not with this type of woman, who apart from being far too young for him wasn’t his type at all. He flashed a smile at her. ‘I appreciate your offer, but as I said, I’m just passing through.’

  Her sulk of disappointment deepened. ‘Oh well, if yer passing through again, maybe you’ll stop a bit longer next time and look me up. You sure yer won’t change your mind and come and have some fun at the fair with me now?’ She eyed him meaningfully. ‘I promise you won’t regret it.’

  Before he could again refuse her offer, a middle-aged woman dressed in a brown day dress with a faded floral wraparound apron and a scarf tied turban-style covering her greying hair came bustling through a door leading into the back of the shop. She looked suspiciously over at her customer, then gave a disparaging glance at the young woman beside her.

  ‘What have I told you about wearing clothes like that when yer serving behind the counter? Get upstairs and change before yer dad sees yer, and wipe all that muck off yer face while yer at it.’

  Head hanging, the girl scuttled off, mortified, while her mother folded her arms under her matronly bosom and coldly addressed her customer. ‘If my daughter goes to the fair, it will be with me and her father.’

  He knew the woman was well aware that it had been her daughter who had propositioned him, and not the other way around; nevertheless, he smiled at her and said politely, ‘I hope you all have a good time.’

  The bell on the door jangled as he shut it behind him. Outside on the pavement he took a look around. The shop was situated at a crossroads. All the streets leading off it were of the back-to-back terraced type, disappearing off into the distance, the bricks blackened over the years through coal dust. He had arrived in the village earlier that morning in search of casual work, but none of the businesses he had approached had any jobs to offer or were prepared to take on a stranger. He’d been disappointed, as he had hoped to stay around here for a while. Grimethorpe wasn’t the prettiest of places – in fact Tom felt its name was very apt, as it was decidedly grimy – but apart from the shopkeeper, everyone else he had encountered had been friendly enough, and he would have liked to become part of their community for a time. Hopefully he would have better luck at his next destination of Huddersfield. The journey by bus would take a couple of hours, and if he was to arrive there in time to find a place to stay for the night, then he really needed to start heading towards the bus station.

  As he turned the corner to retrace his steps to the village centre, his eyes fell on a striking colourful poster pasted on the shop window. It was advertising the arrival of the fair the shop girl had tried to tempt him into taking her to. He looked thoughtfully at it. He had never been to the fair. His father hadn’t deemed such places suitable venues for his son.

  The whole purpose of leaving his old life behind and embarking on this journey was to experience things that previously he’d been shielded from behind the high walls of the prison-like structure he’d grown up in. He had heard about fairs, circuses too, but only through stories told him by others, which was not the same as trying the thrills and excitement for himself. Did he really want to leave town and miss out on the opportunity to do exactly that? He could stay here tonight and journey on to Huddersfield tomorrow. If he couldn’t find anywhere affordable to stay, he could always walk out into the countryside and pitch his tent.

  His eyes glazed as a vision of his father rose before him. A big man all round, with a large ginger moustache and eyebrows to match, ruddy cheeks and humourless small grey eyes. What he had said went, and the punishment was severe for those who disobeyed. Tom wondered what he would say if he knew what his son was contemplating doing now. He quickly squashed that thought. His father was no longer here to dictate how he lived his life, and he was free to make his own decisions and mistakes.

  He smiled to himself as a small thrill of anticipation ignited in the pit of his stomach. Here he was at 25 years old about to pay his first visit to a fair. Out of all the new experiences he had promised himself, he was surprised at how much he was looking forward to this one. Having stopped a passer-by and enquired from them where the travelling fair was located, he set off jauntily.

  The fairground was situated on a large area of waste ground on the edge of the village, black slag heaps rising high above it, an oasis of colour amid a sea of black. Tom was surprised that he seemed to be the only one heading towards it; from what he knew about fairs, people swarmed to them like iron filings to a magnet. He was soon to find out why, as a sign at the arched entrance told him that it didn’t open until two. He looked at his watch. It was just after one. He could either stand around for an hour or return to the village and find a café to while away the time in. He was usually a patient man, but his curiosity to see all the stalls and rides got the better of him. He wouldn’t be doing any harm if he had a wander around, surely?

  He was making to walk through the arch when a loud voice stopped him short and he saw a man of around his own age crawling out from under the skirt of a children’s carousel ride a few yards away. He appeared a rough sort, in oil-stained American-style blue jeans and white shirt open to his waist, showing a grubby vest underneath. His dark hair was styled in a quiff rising at least six inches from his forehead, face pockmarked and greasy. He looked most unsavoury, so Tom was rather surprised when he said to him in a very pleasant manner, ‘We don’t open until two, mate. Didn’t yer see the times on the board outside?’ He then noticed Tom’s bag slung over his shoulder. ‘Oh, if it’s work yer after,’ he said. ‘It’s Mr Grundy yer want to see then. He’s the owner and does all the hiring and firing. He’ll be having his dinner right now, same as everyone else. I was just finishing off a job and now I’m off to have mine.’ He looked at Tom for a moment before he offered, ‘Save you hanging about, yer can come back to my van. I’ll share me beans on toast with you if yer hungry.’

  Tom was extremely touched by such hospitality, but before he could point out that he wasn’t after work, but just a customer arrived too early, the man was walking off and calling back, ‘Come on. Dinner hour will be over before I’ve started mine.’

  There were already two men eating from plates off their laps in the caravan. The bench seats had rumpled bedding on them, so it was apparent to Tom that two of the men slept here whilst the other occupied the bedroom at the back of the van. Just behind the door was a small kitchen area with a well-worn table on which sat a two-ring gas burner along with a packet of tea, a half-empty bottle of milk, a bottle of Camp coffee, a bag of sugar and the remains of a loaf. On one of the gas rings was a blackened kettle, steam billowing out of the spout, and on the other an equally blackened pan with a portion of dried-up baked beans inside. The van had seen better days, but it was obvious that the three men occupying it took pride in their accommodation, as it was clean and for the most part tidy. Since Tom had set out on his journey he had seen some shocking hovels, and although this van was far from a palace, it was better than many of those.

  One of the seated men spoke up. ‘We’ve left your share of the beans in the pan. They might need heating up, though.’ He then noticed that his van mate had a stranger with him, and eyeing Tom quizzically he asked, ‘Who’s yer friend then?’

  The first man was over at the table using
a petrol lighter to ignite the gas under the pan of beans. ‘Come looking for work. I asked him to wait here till dinner time is over and I can point him in Mr Grundy’s direction.’ He looked at Tom. ‘By the way, my name is Owen, and that’s Marvin and Roger. We’re all gaff lads. We do anything and everything to do with helping to keep the fair running.’

  ‘I’m Tom. Tom Stubbs. I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  They all looked at him open-mouthed before Owen said, ‘You speak just like the queen, as if you’ve a stick up yer arse.’

  Tom swallowed hard. ‘Oh yes, I do sound rather posh, I know, but I can assure you I’m not.’ He paused for several long moments before he added uncomfortably, ‘My father was … er … a gardener for a big estate. I mixed with the master’s children, even had some lessons with them, and that’s how I picked up their accent.’

  Marvin said drily, ‘Well you ain’t so special. I grew up on an estate myself.’ He laughed before he concluded, ‘A council-owned one in Leicester.’

  ‘A two-up two-down rented back-street terrace in a Manchester slum for me,’ added Owen.

  Roger said proudly, ‘Then I’m better than the lot of yer, because my dad was a coal man and owned the house we lived in and the yard he ran the business from. He had a dicky fit when I told him I wasn’t going to hump coal all day for a living and wanted to see life and work for a fair instead. He ain’t spoken to me since and ain’t likely to either unless I go home like the prodigal son. I might one day, but for now I’m having too much fun.’

  Next thing Tom knew, a plate with a chunk of bread spread with margarine and a portion of beans was being thrust at him, and he was told to put his coat and bag on the floor and sit next to either Marvin or Roger, who had both moved up to allow room for the other two men. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and after all his fruitless traipsing the streets of Grimethorpe for work, he really enjoyed the simple meal and ate every last bean.

  Owen collected the plates together and went over to the kitchen table to make a pot of tea. Taking a tin from his pocket and proceeding to make himself a roll-up cigarette, Roger said to Tom, ‘You might be in luck with a job. Ronnie Biddle, one of the other gaff lads, got the sack this morning. The chap he was supposed to be helping found him asleep under a tarp on the back of one of the lorries and reported him to the boss.’

  Tom went to correct Owen’s mistaken belief that he had come to the fairground seeking work, but changed his mind at the mention that a job might be in the offing and instead asked keenly, ‘What’s it like working for a fair?’

  It was Marvin who responded. ‘Bloody hard work, mate, long hours and the pay hardly enough to keep a dog alive. As you can see, we don’t exactly live in a palace or eat like kings. But then you get to see life in a different place every week and the main perk is the women. As long as you ain’t fussy, as many as you can handle.’

  Tom stared at him thoughtfully. It was not the prospect of abundant women that he was homing in on, but the fact that the fair folk visited a different town every week. He had embarked on this journey in order to see real life, something that had been denied him until his oppressive, narrow-minded father had died three months ago. Working for the fair would take him to places and show him sides of life that he might never experience otherwise. And the good thing was that when he’d seen enough, he could simply leave and resume travelling on his own. Or return home. The thought of what awaited him there made him shudder. He would have to go back sometime, he knew, but he was far from ready to yet.

  He looked eagerly at Roger. ‘Do you think your boss will consider me as a replacement for the man he sacked this morning?’

  Owen plonked four tin mugs of tea on the table along with the bag of sugar with a spoon poking out the top. ‘Only one way to find out,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you to him after dinner time is finished.’

  Chapter Four

  Solomon Grundy – or Solly, as he was affectionately called by his family and close friends – was a ruggedly handsome 38-year-old man, five foot ten and of medium build. He was easy-going and fair-minded but, just like his father, he would not stand by and allow anyone to cause hurt to those he cared for.

  His easy-going nature was being put to the test when Owen and Tom found him just before two o’clock at the entrance to the fair. In the distance, a stream of excited, animated locals could be seen making their way towards the arch. Scraping a hand through his thatch of black hair, tinged with grey, Solly was shouting at another man. ‘First job I asked him to do this morning was replace the dead light bulbs around the entrance. Where is he? Not the first time he’s been asked to do a job and not done it. He’s for the chop this time.’

  Jonny Hiddles, a muscular man in his middle forties, at just under six foot an inch or two taller than Solly, was employed as a labourer and had been with the fair several years. In the meantime he had become engaged to Solly's deceased brother's widow, Fran, and they were getting married in a few months’ time. Jonny placed a hand on the boss’s shoulder and calmly told him, ‘You already sacked the lad this morning when he was caught kipping in the back of a lorry.’

  Solly slapped his hand to his forehead and groaned. ‘Oh God, so I did.’ He eyed the other man apologetically. ‘Sorry for shouting, but I just get so frustrated when people don’t do what you ask them. Look, I need to go and check a couple of things before the punter's start piling in. Can you sort out the bulbs?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’ Jonny shot off to see to it as Owen and Tom arrived but before Owen could introduce Tom, Solly held up his hand in warning.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait. I’m up to my eyes at the moment.’ He frowned at Owen. ‘You’re supposed to be helping Terry on the sky planes, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m off there straight away, boss, but I thought you might want to see this chap after sacking Ronnie Biddle this morning. He’s looking for a job.’

  Before Solly could respond, another gaff lad arrived, panting hard from running, and blurted, ‘Mr Travers has sent me ter tell yer the doors on the House of Horror are jammed. He’s tried everything he can, but he can’t get them to open.’

  Before Solly could tell the lad that he would send over Gully Givens, the fairground carpenter, to sort it out, 18-year-old Nita Grundy, his late brother Joshua’s elder daughter, bounded up and accosted him.

  ‘Uncle Solly, Mam’s asked me to find you ’cos Kevin’s car won’t start. Remember he’s driving us to Huddersfield to hand out leaflets for when the fair’s there next week, and while we’re there, Mam’s taking me and Rosie shopping in the market for some material to make us a dress each. Kev’s had a look but he don’t know much about engines. We should have left ages ago so we’re all back for work tonight. Will you come now, Uncle Solly, and sort it?’ She tugged urgently on his arm.

  Yet again, before he could respond, a middle-aged woman bustled up. Her face told anyone that looked at it that she was not at all happy. Without even considering that she was interrupting a conversation, she launched into a tirade.

  ‘Mr Grundy, this is the third time I’ve come to see you about this matter, and if you don’t deal with it I dread to think what will happen. That new bloke, Mr Packer, who you put next to us, is blatantly stealing potential customers from us and from the Pendles’ stall the other side. He’s also pulled his stall forward quite a bit and hung lots of his prizes on long sticks so they stand out more than ours do. And his tart of a daughter parades around like a brothel madam, shoving that big chest of hers into male punters’ faces to entice them. Two weeks we’ve put up with this now, and if a stop ain’t put to their antics then I can’t promise that my Arthur and Pat Pendle won’t end up taking a match or a hammer to their stall in the middle of the night. They told us they left their last fair because they’d heard this was a better one, but I reckon they were pushed out by the other stallholders for how they carry on.’ She folded her arms under her ample bosom and bristled. ‘Now as I said, this is the third time I’ve asked y
er to come and sort it out, Mr Grundy, so can yer please do it now, before war breaks out.’

  Nita erupted. ‘I was here first, Mrs Archer. My uncle is coming with me to fix the car, so you’ll have to wait your turn.’

  Solly darted a look at each of those demanding his assistance. Normally he would have quickly put each situation in order of urgency for him to deal with, but for some reason his mind seemed to have gone blank. They were now bickering between themselves, and he suddenly felt like the ground was undulating beneath him, a thick, clinging fog swirling around him, the people surrounding him like a pack of ferocious wolves making ready to pounce on him and tear him to shreds. An overwhelming need to get away from them consumed his being. How he wished a hand would come down from the sky and pluck him out of this, deposit him somewhere else, anywhere, as long as it was well away from here. Before he could stop himself, he shouted, ‘Deal with your problems yourselves. I … I … need to be somewhere else.’

  With that, he hurried off to disappear behind a large red and white tent housing the hall of mirrors, leaving them all staring after him bemused.

  Mrs Archer looked most put out. ‘What on earth has got into him?’ she grumbled. ‘He can’t just walk off like that when he’s things to deal with. Supposed to be the ringmaster, ain’t he. Big Sam would never have walked away from a problem like his son just has.’

  Nita wailed, ‘If the car’s not fixed, we won’t get to Huddersfield today. I really wanted that material or me mam won’t have a hope in hell of getting those dresses finished for me and me sister to wear to the local dance after we finish on Saturday night. She looked at Owen with a pleading expression. ‘Do you know anything about engines?’

  He shook his head. ‘I know where the dipstick is and where to put water in the radiator, but that’s about it.’

  Tom realised Nita was now looking expectantly at him. The boss had made it clear he was far too busy to waste time on someone who was just after casual work, so he really ought to be on his way, but then a thought struck. If he could manage to get the vehicle going, then hopefully he could wangle a lift to Huddersfield with them. ‘I could take a look at it for you,’ he offered. ‘I’m not a mechanic but I know a bit about motors.’