The Invisible Woman of Walmington on Sea

Elizabeth Mainwaring (pronounced Mannering) was the wife of George, the Captain of the fictional Home Guard of Walmington on Sea as depicted in the 1968 to 1977 comedy classic- Dad’s Army. 

For all of the long running and still repeated episodes Elizabeth remained as an unseen character at the end of a phone conversation, heard moving about upstairs at her home, at best as a vague shadow or in the bulging shape of someone on the top bunk in the bomb shelter. 

Her influence over her husband and as a consequence his subsequent moods, attitudes and behaviour in relation to the members of the Platoon was nevertheless tangible and an important undercurrent to the adventures and antics of the principal characters. 

The writers, Perry and Croft did invent a back story for Elizabeth to give her depth and as an explanation for some of her later unconventional or illogical outbursts and acts. 

These regularly ran within the main scripted dialogues.

For example, Captain Mainwaring surprised everyone in his ability to play the bagpipes which he attributed to spending his honeymoon on a remote Scottish Island where there was nothing else to do. 

In conversation with the haughty and foppish Sergeant Wilson, Mainwaring tells him about his wife’s fondness for silent movies but only because she was so shocked to hear a character on a film speak a line that she refused to return to any cinema. 

Her regular criticism of George is attributed to a privileged fictional upbringing as the daughter of a Suffragan Bishop and that she and her family believe that she married below her own social standing.

George is very hard done by as he has attained the heady heights for a provincial town of Bank Manager through working hard at his education and banking exams. He does have her best interests at heart however and strives to provide goods and services even though these sometimes go against his own morals and sense of citizenship, especially in wartime. 

This is particularly evident in his turning a blind eye to contraband from the black marketeer spiv Private Walker or gifts such as an extra portion of sausages or offal from the good natured Corporal Jones, the town butcher. Mainwaring also sourced scarce items through the Black Marketeer, Private Walker. He excitedly phoned his wife at home on Walmington 92 with news of mature cheddar only to be underwhelmed by her response. 

He is also protective of Elizabeth in saying that she had led a sheltered life in not even trying tomato sauce before she met him and a fondness shows through in his referring to her as the little woman and alluding to a blissful married life. 

His selflessness is to be admired as Elizabeth’s reclusive nature will have impeded any upward mobility that George may have hoped for within the hierarchy of the Bank at a time when socialising and hospitality were an essential part of getting ahead in commerce. The actuality of his domestic situation will have been behind his complete lack of hesitation in putting himself forward, uncharacteristically pushily, as leader of the Local Defence Volunteers, or as they became known, the Home Guard. 

Mrs Mainwaring’s persona is achieved, in her very obvious absence, by clever writing by which we assume that she is a larger than life woman ( described as being a bit bigger in physical dimensions that the effervescent Mrs Fox- a friend of Jonesy), a bit handy with her fists with George suffering a black eye in a hushed up domestic incident and always making an excuse on the grounds of health or fear of being bombed so as not to participate in the social functions of the platoon family.

One visualisation, conjured up in my mind, of the mysterious Elizabeth is of her in a siren suit, a sort of one piece flight or boiler suit so much trademark attire of Winston Churchill when out and about visiting his blitz affected countrymen and women. Unfortunately this produces the startling image of a character part Michelin Man and part Gas Engineer and hardly flattering.

Jokes at her expense are regularly inserted into the dialogue such as her not having left the house at 23 Lime Crescent,  “since Munich” or when George, excited at having obtained some scarce cheese rang Elizabeth to say that he might have a surprise for her that evening. This double entendre meant that he ended up eating the delicacy with Sergeant Wilson in the Vicar’s Office. 

Gradually we come to the realisation that she is always to be an elusive figure but then are shocked, as is George,  by revelations such as her playing the role of Lady Godiva on horseback riding through Walmington on Sea to raise funds for a Spitfire fighter plane. 

It is not all one way traffic in terms of who obviously wears the trousers in the Mainwaring household as in one series episode George has a platonic tea room and station platform liaison with one of the new female recruits to the platoon but is mindful of his married status and upholding his position of responsibility in the bank and town. 

There is an underlying melancholy to the relationship between George and Elizabeth but it works so very well in the cleverly woven story lines and characterisations that have made Dad’s Army such a loved bit of British television. 

Telegram Boys in Hull in the wartime years

It is really amazing how a simple passing conversation on the street can bring forth a lot of wonderful personal nostalgia and local history facts. 

Rummaging about in the boot of my car on a residential street in my home city of Hull I saw an elderly gentleman making his way carefully along a wintry wet and icy pavement. I had almost come a cropper that same morning in not appreciating a patch of black ice as I walked across a street and so passed on my experience to the cautious pedestrian. 

At the age of 94 he was still very mobile, excepting the challenging weather conditions, and dismissed my concerns in a kindly but authoritative manner. He qualified this by mentioning that he was no stranger to adversity as in 1943 in Hull, very much on the front line of Luftwaffe Attacks ,he was a Telegram Messenger or Boy Messenger which exposed him to hostile action in conveying, by bike, sometimes urgent but also mundane communications from the Post Office to business and private citizen recipients. 

That will have been quite a role for him as a 14 year old but as part of a cohort of 60 Hull Messengers in smart uniforms and very aware of representing the auspicious and much respected HM Post Office.

Although a junior position it had to be very disciplined and as well as the uniform there was a rigid code of conduct and on arriving for a shift there was an inspection for smart turnout with the sanction of being sent home if not up to the expected high standards. 

In wartime many Messenger Boys had initially to provide their own bicycles and quite a lucrative income could be gained from a 4 penny a mile allowance before being provided with an official mode of transport. 

A typical weekly wage was fifteen shillings and eightpence equating in modern money to 78 pence. 

The Messengers worked three different shifts starting at 8am, 8.30am and 10am on a seven day week and working through to around 8pm in the evening. The Messenger Boy ranks were very important as the majority of the able bodied men were recruited into the fighting ranks leaving an aged demographic of working Postmen supported by women on the rounds and in the sorting offices. 

In the war years few people had telephones and so Telegrams were a quick means of communication. In the heyday of telegrams in the 1930's an average of 65 million were delivered although on a loss making basis for the Post Office estimated at £1million annually. 

The cost of a telegram was sixpence (6d) for 9 words and a penny for each additional word. This included the address and text but very abbreviated so save cost to the sender. A good local knowledge amongst the Telegram Boys was therefore essential. 

Greetings Telegrams were in a pale blue envelope and the message printed or, in smaller Post Offices, actually hand written by an employee. 

The Code of Practice on delivery was for the Messenger Boy to only hand over to the addressee and not simply push the Telegram through the letterbox or leave with anyone else. It was then a case of waiting for the telegram to be read and asking if there was a reply and acting on that. A card could be left for a failed delivery but it was necessary to leave and come back another time with the message. 

The Rule Book, often carried around whilst on Duty, forbade accepting gifts or gratuities but tips were graciously received anyway. 

In Hull a main destination for Telegrams was companies trading and operating on the Docks and Quays onto the Humber Estuary serving the North Sea trade and beyond. The extensive complex of docks were key targets for enemy aerial bombing and so the Boy Messengers ran the risk of injury or death.

There were also risks from dock traffic on the road and the maze of freight railway lines which had to be crossed on a daily basis. 

A Telegram delivered to a residential address was quite an event sparking curiosity and intrigue amongst nosey neighbours. There was also the on going battling with dogs who found great sport in chasing, cornering and biting a Telegram Boy. 

As a fourteen year old my pavement acquaintance will have seen a lot of city life, not all of it wholesome and moral. 

There was also quit an emotional aspect particularly where the contents of a Telegram were bad or sad news. 

In Wartime the Telegram Service was used by the War Office to inform families of those killed in action, lost at sea or taken as a Prisoner of War. 

Many Messenger Boys continued to be employed after the war and progressed to the roles of Junior Postmen and then full time adult employees. At the age of 16 it was necessary to sit a Civil Service Exam which was quite wide ranging but basically was to establish competency in the three R’s of reading, ‘riting and ‘rithmetic for continued employment. 

In parting on the pavement the old gentleman brought out from his wallet a black and white photograph of him in his Messenger Boy uniform. 

As he headed to the bus stop on the main road he appeared to have a new spring in his step after availing me of part of his life story.

(inspired by a brief pavement exchange on Hotham Road North and supplemented by the memoirs of John Vickers sourced from 1993 BBC WW2 Peoples at War)

Hull Trawlers. Fortune and Fates of War

This is the first new piece of writing for some time on the Hull Maritime Theme which I find very fascinating. 

It is a testament to the engineering quality and durability of Hull based Trawlers that many were requisitioned by the Admiralty for service in the Second World War as Auxiliary Support vessels. 

One such Trawler was Lady Shirley with the original trawler number H411. 

She was just one of the prolific output of the Beverley, East Yorkshire shipbuilders of Cook, Welton and Gemmell and was completed in 1937 for Jutland Amalgamated Trawlers Limited of Hull just a short trip along the river from that great Maritime Port City. 

The outbreak of hostilities in 1939 saw Lady Shirley, now with the HMT designation and number T464 equipped with armaments including a 4 inch deck gun, machine guns and depth charges. 

In February 1940 whilst on patrol in the Firth of Tay, Scotland she was strafed by enemy raiding aircraft but not as the man focus of their intentions in what was a busy shipping lane. 

Lady Shirley was typical of the Cook, Welton and Gemmell pedigree at 177 tons, 164 feet in length and with a top speed of 12 knots. Her principal wartime role was patrol and support for Convoys and reconnaissance aircraft and by 1941 she was operating out of Gibraltar in the very militarily active waters of the Atlantic and Western Mediterranean. 

The crew were not re-purposed Hull Trawlermen but Royal Naval Patrol Service Ratings. The total on- board compliment was 33 under an Australian, Lieutenant Commander A H Calloway.

Meanwhile, on a fast converging course was the German U Boat U-111. 

Built in Bremen in 1940 the submarine was quickly into service and on its first active service foray in May 1941 the U-111 ranged widely from the Faroe Islands and Iceland claiming the sinking of two convoy ships and damaging of another contributing around 20000 tons to the fast accelerating Merchant losses on the perilous North Atlantic supply routes. 

Amongst other U-Boats there was the targeting of Convoy 12 HX126 off Greenland although the Captain, William Kleinschmidt, was thwarted in further kills by the activities of competing submarines in what was, for the Kriegsmarine, a successful campaign. 

When other U Boats were recalled to their base in Lorient, France for replenishment of armaments, supplies and crews or given fresh orders to relocate the role of U-111 was as a spotter for the battleships Bismarck and Prinz Eugen as they sought out and sank HMS Hood. 

It must have been a tragic sight, subsequently for U-111 to help look for survivors of the Bismarck after the Royal Navy hunted down and sank the major threat in the following weeks. 

In July 1941 the inaugural mission ended with a return to base and much welcome shore leave and maintenance, To acknowledge the action of U-111 in northern waters the conning tower was decorated with a polar bear and iceberg motif.

By all accounts U-111 had been an effective weapon and this will have been much exploited by Nazi Propaganda in the portrayal of the great morale and efficiency of its naval forces. 

However, there was a degree of disquiet amongst the crew with criticism of Captain Kleinschmidt being, at 34 years, too old for his command. The usual U-Boat deployment was 43 crew but for the second mission, this time in the theatre of war in tropical waters, there were 52 on board of whom only 5 had any previous experience of action. Conditions will, at best have been cramped and claustrophobic with the additional contingent. The excessively high casualty rate amongst U boat crews, to reach 75% by the end of the U Boat campaign,  will have been well known. This did not augur well for the appetite to fight and morale, unlike the propaganda portrayal, was likely to be low.

The Lady Shirley and U-111 came up against each other on Thursday 9^th October 1941 in the Atlantic just to the south west of Tenerife.

Cruising on the surface, Captain Kleinschmidt, mistook the smokestack and superstructure of Lady Shirley for a stricken vessel separated from a convoy formation and not therefore a perceived immediate threat. 

At the same time the masthead lookout aboard the armed Trawler saw the distinctive conning tower of a U-Boat and in an aggressive action Lieutenant Commander Calloway headed for the enemy position.

Kleinschmidt ordered a rapid evasive dive but not enough to avoid the depth charges from Lady Shirley and with a now panicking crew and taking on water he decided to surface and confront the ship directly. 

The deck gun and machine guns on Lady Shirley were quickly causing damage although return fire from the German crew killed Seamen Pizzey, a side gunner. 

U-111 received several hits and the death of Kleinschmidt and 7 others in the gun battle caused the submarine crew to signal they wanted to surrender. The 44 survivors, now in the water as U-111 sank beneath the waves, were rescued. 

When seeing the actual smaller size, crew numbers and lesser firepower of Lady Shirley two senior German officers tried to organise a plan to storm and take the Trawler and head for the neutral Spain. 

The demoralised and defeated crew had no compulsion to continue the battle even though they could not believe they had succumbed to an inferior foe. Although U-111 did sink this was not from the initial depth charge attack and so the emergency surfacing might not have been necessary. 

As always, in a conflict there is a footnote.

Just two months after the action the Lady Shirley was on an operation in the Straits of Gibraltar. 

Whilst on patrol with another Cook, Welton and Gemmell built vessel, St Nectan (incidentally resuming work as a trawler until 1967) there was a prolonged squall. 

After the storm had passed it was found that Lady Shirley had disappeared without a trace with the loss of Calloway and all crew members.

There was a reported claim by an active submarine, the U-374 that they had torpedoed the armed trawler although this could not be substantiated as the U Boat was lost shortly after and no validation of the sinking was possible.. 

It was suspected that Lady Shirley had been sabotaged through a time bomb placed on board, whilst in Gibraltar Dockyard, by a Spanish Agent for the Nazis

The heroism of Calloway and his crew had resulted in the first time that prisoners of war had been captured from a U-Boat in the South Atlantic. The U-111 was the first submarine to be lost in that theatre of war..

 Calloway received a Distinguished Service Order Medal for the action. 

                                The photograph is of Lady Shirley in what could be Gibraltar

Arcticulation on a weather front

The wind from the North, from the far Arctic reaches brought some snow to our part of the UK today. 

We do pretty well to escape the worst excesses of typical wintry weather on the mid-eastern side of England and I think that today’s intermittent flurries were only the second throughout the whole of 2023. 

It has been a welcome change to have normal seasonal temperatures after much of the autumn and winter so far having attained double figures. 

That critical air temperature of 1 degree Celsius was persistent through the daylight hours today and the snow just kept coming, then quickly thawing or turning to slush before the process repeated itself with some regularity. 

The light dusting of snow on pavements and parked vehicles was enough to remind me of some of my favourite jokes and stories from this seasonal weather. 

One is about a conversation between an Eskimo father and his son whilst they are sitting around cosily in an ice block igloo away from the harsh chill of the winds and the relentless white-out of their natural environment. 

It is quality time in which the senior member of an Eskimo family can pass down wisdom and practical advice learned the hard way and indeed carrying on the traditions and practices of a proud and resourceful race. 

Story telling is a major part of the inheritance skills with the dramatic recounting of epic struggles against the elements and of course the wildlife who feature culturally and as an essential ingredient in the requirements of survival. 

The Eskimo is not an aggressive character by nature as there is an essential co-existence with their fellow inhabitants as dictated by some of the most inhospitable and unforgiving terrain in the world. That is apart from having to be a ruthless hunter and to be prepared to make life or death decisions. 

In the flickering light of a whale oil lantern (although in reality likely to be conventional lighting from a petrol generator) the father teaches his son about all manner of things that will prove useful in their chosen lifestyle. 

I like to think that one piece of wisdom would be, of course, never eat yellow snow. 

The igloo resonates from the booming of a deep winter storm. 

Shadows flicker magically across the smooth dome of the ceiling and chase around its perimeter as has been the case for millenia. It is as if generations of ancestors are visiting at that time and partaking in the rituals and customs. 

As the perpetual night above the Arctic Circle continues the teachings of the father come around to how a young Eskimo hunter should behave for his own honour and for that of his family and particular tribal group. 

It is a case of self discipline, care of his own person and those who depend upon him when he himself becomes head of the igloo and main bread or rather blubber-winner. 

The father delivers the lectures with humour and gravity as each subject demands but captures wholeheartedly the attention and concentration of his young protégé. As they bond in that igloo, representing the extent of their wintry world, the father imparts the greatest single piece of advice, that being to always be upstanding and fight your corner. 

At that point and in a bit of a state of confusion the son looks enquires “What is a corner?”

Just one more. 

The remotest habitats amongst Antarctica are now within the itinerary of tour companies who offer an educational cruise with on board tuition about that continent and time on the ice shelf itself. 

There are climatologists, naturalists, ecologists and a whole host of experts on hand to answer any question from the guests. 

On one landing party an elderly participant tried repeatedly to catch the attention of the guide, an expert on the creatures who inhabit Antarctica. 

Eventually she managed to voice her query on the subject of the penguins in a large colony. 

Could she ask what was the difference between the white penguins and the black penguins. 

The expert gave it some careful thought before answering “the white penguins are walking towards you and………………” 

For Fawkes Sake

 Last thursday evening I stood briefly in the hallway of the birthplace of Guy Fawkes in York.

I was not on a pilgrimage or following in the footsteps of the cult hero and stylish beard wearer but stepped inside because it was a cold night and the building has for many years operated as a bar and eatery and was warm and inviting.

A good proportion of those shopping, posing or just wandering about the historic city seemed to have the same destination because there was no available seating, hardly any standing room and certainly no prospect of getting served at the bar, already four deep with persons, each trying to persuade the single indifferently cool barman that their displayed and waved banknotes were any more acceptable as legal tender.

Just resting the back of my legs on a scorchingly hot radiator for a few minutes was as much a reviver as a stiff drink and so much less of an outgoing.

I was in a good position to just gaze casually around. Perhaps the place had not really changed all that much since Mr Fawkes had lived there and the decor, shabby chic, suggested a fairly minimal amount of cash had been spent internally, but why should it be necessary given the pedigree and provenance of such a place. The wood panelling was stained black which accentuated its old age although there was some suggestion of charring and scoring from fire damage whcih I speculated may have been from some early-years arsonist tendencies from the former celebrity resident.

My visit to High Petergate was five days before Guy Fawkes Night or just bonfire night as it is referred to in non-contentious, neutral political and inoffensive speak. Already and every night for some preceeding days there had been regular jarring disturbance from exploding fireworks of every conceivable tone and reverberation as mischievous youths and anarchic adults could not wait for the actual night of commemoration/celebration.

I had noticed that this year there was no problem whatsoever in tracking down a supply of fireworks with seemingly every sales outlet offering discount prices and special offers. The austerity and, until last week officially, recessionary conditions affecting the UK economy seem to have by passed the fireworks industry. There remains and contrary to all trends and frugality a  willingness of the general public to spend their hard earned cash in large amounts  on items that explode and disappear in a puff of smoke and possibly not as satisfyingly loud a bang as you might have hoped for ,given the outlay.

The purchase of fireworks represents a great opportunity for one-upmanship, unfortunately an extension of other but less noisy forms of competition in everyday life. It also represents the highest form of rebellion without usually incurring the attention of the law or other Civil sanctions. As a means of acting in an anti social manner in the setting afire of things, bombarding the neighbours, terrorising local animals and handling explosives it cannot be rivalled. I speak from personal experience as a red blooded male with very few activities left available for misbehaving and acting my shoe size (Imperial not Continental Sizing).

The actual reason for 5th November clouds into insignificance amongst the commercial hype and merchandising.

The date in 1605 represented a difficult period in the history of this Nation and although it is one of those stock dates firmly entrenched in memory from schooldays I would challenge many of the current population to providing a reasonable explanation of why it was significant enough to have lasted beyond such comparable events as (in no particular order) , 'Canutes wet sock day', 'Alfred burn the cakes day', 'King John's Lost Treasure Day', 'Is that something in your eye, Harold day',' Queen Victoria's not very amused day' and other historical milestones.

I am not trying to appear superior in my knowledge of the Gunpowder Plot but wasn't it just an amazing coincidence that Guy Fawkes' fellow conspirators were called Billy Bonfire, Freddie Firework and Robbie Rocket.

My very spurious link to the Gunpowder Plot

I came out of a secondary education with some decent qualifications that allowed me to pursue a career for now just over a third of a century. It actually seems just like a journey of a few minutes duration.

In a quiet moment I may log onto the Old Boys website of the school and see what is going on or if any of my contemporaries have achieved notoriety, anything else or sadly have passed away prematurely. I am that sort of age group where a dodgy prostate or a fast motorbike can finish you off.

Trawling through my own secondary school magazines during a clear-out I was reminded that I had followed in the long faded footsteps of quite a character by the name of Thomas Percy who had attended the same place of learning in the mid to late 16th Century.

By all accounts a tall, striking character with a bit of a reputation as a ladies man in his adult years and a born leader and motivator. I have in comparison about 20% of his traits I am ashamed to say but can still identify with his motivation and his later place in English history. 

His background was certainly not without connections and patronage from the great Percy dynasty which ran from their ancestral home at Alnwick Castle to some considerable distance beyond including some representation in East Yorkshire and the City, that I call my home, of full true name Kingstown Upon Hull.

He was born in 1560 which was a busy time in England contributing to a few chapters of the nations history. Little is actually known about his early years other than he went to what the same school as I had- Beverley Grammar School, the oldest state school in England having been founded in 700 AD.

Born a Protestant he became disenchanted with the faith and at some time in the late 1500's he converted to Catholicism and embraced the doctrine leaving behind the erstwhile antics of his youth. I like to think that the Grammar School, as with myself, gave him a strong knowledge base and he became good at matters of finance and property. This proved quite useful in the company of others including Christopher Wright, John Wright, Robert Catesby and their impressionable compatriot Guido.

He was adept at raising monies for a particular quest and also skilful at negotiating leases on London properties including the Undercroft or cellars to the seat of Government, The House of Lords. 

The group, which may have been successful if left under the more prominent marshalling of Thomas Percy failed when Guido, or under his anglicised name Guy Fawkes was discovered just at the point of lighting the fuse to some powder kegs in protest against Parliament. 

In full flight from the fury of the Authorities Thomas was hunted down and reputedly killed by the same musket ball as Robert Catesby. 

His body was later exhumed and displayed on a pike as a lesson to those intent on the same protest path. 

I got detention at Beverley Grammar once for something quite similar.

His name remains fairly unknown amongst the conspirators in the regular telling of the tale of that 5th November but will always be mentioned with pride in the coming together of us Old Boys who never really did very much at all.

The Money Go Round- Hull Fair

I gave in to a stereotypical middle aged geek urge to try to calculate the hourly income generation of Hull Fair.

This was written a couple of years ago now and so some of the prices for rides and nosh might have shown a small increase with inflationary pressures- especially the novelty balloons.

This is my calculation based on guesstimate, prejudice, inappropriate stock judgements and not a very detailed knowledge of the economics of a very large, slick and efficient commercial enterprise.

I divided up the Fair into broad groups based on form and function.

This covers the multi-million pound Mega Rides right down to the individual hawker with a fistful of helium balloons.

I then estimated the average spend of a visitor to each category, how many visitors could be served at a time and how many times the transaction could be done per hour.

For example, Bob Carvers Chip Emporium has about 15 servers who could turn around a punter every two minutes from order to payment therefore 30 per hour at an average spend of £7.40 assuming 2 portions of pattie, chips and peas.

I applied this across the full range even down to Eva Petulengro Fortune Teller and stalker of Coronation  Street Stars who can, I guess, throw considerable uncertainty into the ongoing lives of 6 people per hour for £5 a go.

The full calculation is as follows;

Fast Food Concessions.
Average take £3, 5 servings at a time, 2 minutes duration, 30 per hour, 50 stalls

Fortune Tellers.
Average take £5, 1 at a time but with 5 caravan based clairvoyants, 10 minutes consultation, so 6 per hour.

Major Rides.
£2.50 average fare, 25 per ride, 12 revolutions, cycles or inversions per hour, 20 such high tech marvels of inertia and motion.

Traditional side stalls.
£1.50 per chuck, launch, shot, hook a duck, 10 people at a time, 2 minutes of adrenaline soaked enjoyment, 30 per hour across 40 very similar stalls with this years top promotion of Meerkats.
Special category for dart throwing stalls.£1.50 , 10 men, 2 minutes including a cigarette, 30 per hour, 20 anachronistic and chauvinistic booth operators.

Bob Carvers, carried over from the illustrative section above.

Children's rides.
£1 fare from grandma's purse. 20 per ride unless the toy cars have not yet been dettol'd so allow for 75% occupancy, 12 sessions per hour, I reckon about 10 old style rides just surviving the high tech expectations of the under-5's.

Amusements/slots/falls.
£2 average spend, a lot of 2p's, 50 punters per arcade, disillusionment kicks in with fresh blood every 5 minutes, 5 arcades all possibly operated by the same company.

One-off specials.
Difficult to see how these actually pay the operators. Cost of £10 per person, teamed up possibly with a perfect stranger to be elastic-launched no-where and be photographed of how you would look faced with the your worst nightmare or entering the Big Brother House. 10 minute set up and ride time so only 5 boings per hour. Possibly 2 of these ridiculous pieces of showboating equipment.

Traditional stalls selling candy floss, toffee apples, liquorice whips.
Average spend £2, well staffed so 10 people served at a time, 2 minutes customer interface time, 30 similar stalls but strong representation from Wrights of Brighouse.

Hawkers
Vendors of balloons, light-up hats, battery operated pets in baskets, whistles reminiscent of childhood Punch and Judy but cringingly annoying after 5 seconds. £3 per spend, 12 sales per hour with 30 high viz vested sellers.

I think that I have covered all income generating areas but if you can think of any more please fill in the dotted lines and carry over to my gross figure....................................................................................
..........................................................................................................................................................

As the Americans always say incorrectly ' Now for the math'.

My hourly gross figure working through my calculations comes to £105,420 per hour for the peak evening sessions from 7pm to closing time.

This produces a global gross figure for the peak hours and over the 8 nights of the Fair of £3,373,440.

Making allowances for bad weather, exceptionally fine weather and those afraid of the dark who only attend in the daylight hours there is considerable scope for fluctuations in figures.

There are of course significant costs to be offset against this figure which I, no doubt, will ponder in the wee small waking hours of the next week or so.