Malcolm Wheatman, 83, recalls the fairground arriving at hiring time

YEARS ago, at hiring time, farmers and farmhands came together in Kendal’s jostling crowds, hoping for an association to their mutual advantage. This was sometimes sealed with a spit in the handshake.

Celebrations took the form of mechanical rides that, over the years, became more thrilling, eg swingboats to ‘dive-bombers’.

There were also shooting galleries. Rostrons was a favourite with live .22 bullets. The range went through their immaculate caravan, the shots travelling inside a metal tube.

There were no prizes, just the punctured target card, a keepsake memento for the Saturday marksman.

There were also tricksters about, one with a card-table and no more than three cards for the notorious illegal ‘find-the-lady’ trick.

High prizes were offered to those who thought their eye quicker than the hand of the operator. An accomplice posing as a punter would show people how easy it was to win a disproportionately large cash prize. The fee to have a go was extortionate but did not deter the bold.

Once, a murmur went through the crowd, and I looked round expecting to see a policeman. When I turned back, the operator, his fist full of notes, the ‘stooge’ and the folding card table had all disappeared.

I liked the roll-a-penny boards and ‘one-armed-bandits’, and was very lucky one afternoon. Once home, my father began to lecture me about wasting money. But I had the last laugh as, hardly able to believe it myself, I had won ten jackpots in quick succession on the slot machines. I proudly transferred the pennies from my laden pockets to the kitchen table. They probably amounted to about 15 shillings (180 old pennies). Nothing more was said.