Tag: Dumfries

Words by Darryl V Winter

Autumn has rolled in, and along with her came the wagons, trailers and caravans, of the Showpeople. Generations of locals begin tumbling down to the Whitesands, on their way to the Rood Fair. The River Nith rumbles by, absorbing the lights, loud tunes and laughter. For over 400 years, people have been celebrating in Dumfries around this date, once a procession welcomed in by circus elephants, The Showpeople now must face the mammoth uncertainty of their future on the banks of this insatiable river. 

Floods of Doonhamers flow down to chase an ecstatic sense of community, as Grannies bring their Grandweans and teens celebrate a social gathering that has more substance than the digital worlds in which they usually inhabit. Bulbs flash and music blasts as the faces of Dumfries luminate, remembering their first time on the Waltzer, their first prize on Hook-a-Duck, and the September wind in their ears as they look upon This Fair Toon from the apex of the Ferris Wheel.

The Shows afford many a sense of appreciation not often felt in the mundane; a time-capsule, butterflies in the belly, a chance to bring life to a tradition so deeply felt in the memories of the local people. A merging of communities like this is becoming increasingly rare, most notably post-pandemic. While the Showpeople stared the demise of their livelihood in the eye, while the paintwork of their great machines peeled at the seams, a cultural regression was apparent, our biannual chance for collective joy, free of care and full of noise, created an isolating silence. 

The scent of candyfloss and donuts swirl and mingle with diesel fumes as the congregation builds throughout each night. Nostalgic scents erode the financial senses as parents post a day’s wages into a 10p machine and rejoice at the jackpot – a fiver. While the world’s wallets tighten and the evenings draw in, we must afford ourselves a few fleeting hours of fun and celebration. The fair brings people a sense of freedom, a reminder that it is in our nature to laugh, take chances and gamble gleefully, outwith our usual fields and steadings.

Although Halloween is over a month before the Rood Fair, it is a time when magic can be felt in the air. We turn our pockets out as we transform into cackling shapeshifters, flying where broomsticks once fell. Clown’s faces are drenched by watercannons, and the workers warm their hands with a well-stewed cuppa. In the flustering glare, tricks are performed and the jack-of-all-trades master their performative pieces, their lives work, a shadowy vendor, spinner or operator in an obscure scene. 

Soundbites of airhorns blast into the night as riders enter the dance, grinning maniacally at their family and friends, a shared excitement across the ages. The memories rush back as the ageing sample plays through the army of speakers, watching the wizened Showman embody his heritage and purpose. As buttons are pressed, a fleeting thought passes his weathered brow, how much longer can this pilgrimage to Dumfries last, with the rising waters of the Nith ever-encroaching on his family heirloom? 

Many remember their travels with the Showpeople. Being picked up in small towns and travelling with the families, meeting friends, earning a few quid and for some, finding love. A mother and father look to their child as they are swirled around in a teacup, rain dripping from the end of their noses, reliving the memory of whirling round and round on the Coronation Waltzer, once a young worker and a thrill-seeker, now parents, pirouetting once again, years down the line. They, like many others, live a life that embodies the hope that this magnetic event must live on to resonate through the ages.

Where would the folk be if not here? Deep within a crystal ball images appear of mothers and bairns, watching the relentless rain replenish the river, unastonished. Teens and their video games sit in their rooms, apathetic and becoming ever more digitally present, whilst organisations push to have something as inclusive and homely as this spectacle. Insights on the future fade as fate falls in the hands of the people, the beholders, in the dark and awakening to the prospects before them. 

Biddall’s Bridge stands proudly at the lower end of the fair, a gifted landmark from the Biddall’s, a valued family of Showpeople, based in Dumfries throughout WWII. This structure evokes subtler, parallel ponderings of uneasiness and excitement to the folk that cross it. Children bounce along it, with fraught mothers at their side, clinging to the handrails, begging them to “stop jumping!”, as the suspension bridge wobbles before them. A girl catches a glimpse of the children crossing the bridge from atop the KMG Booster, a sky-scraping pendulum ride, and feels the familiar lurch of her stomach as she is plummeted downward, clinging to the restraints. The Showpeople: forever mastering security under the illusion of death-traps.

As the rides are compacted on to trailers and trucks once more, uncertainty fills the air like generator’s smog, but without the candyfloss top note. The sound of airhorns now no more than an echo as drips still drop from the end of noses, while we consider the loss of this clockwork spectacle of vibrancy and collaboration. Fairgoers hope for her return as determinedly as she ever has, moving with the times, but not quite as fast as the fumbling world that surrounds us.

Like the course of the river, The Fair must find a way to proceed in the face of adversity, just as society must continue to recognise and preserve cultural practises which have benefitted communities for centuries. In the minds eye, a vision of The Fair yet to come must be observed and manifested, the invaluable riches of this collaboration cannot embody what she is in danger of becoming: a ghost, a figment, or just another parting thrill.  

Images by Caitlin Wells