The Nostalgia column with Margaret Watson: Remembering Dewsbury Feasts

We did the same in Dewsbury but we didn’t call it “Dewsbury’s Wakes”, we called it “Dewsbury Feast”.

All the mills and factories in Dewsbury were silenced at the same time and weren’t switched back on until the following week.

Workers couldn’t choose what week they wanted for their holidays.

They had to take the same week every year.

Here in Dewsbury it had to always be in July and always starting on the Saturday nearest July 25.

This date was set in stone by the mill owners who had agreed between each other to close down their factories at the same time.

Some years ago, this one week’s paid holiday was extended to two week’s but only after much deliberation between employers and trade unions.

It felt eerie walking along roads lined with mills, like Bradford Road, and not being able to hear the clattering of looms inside.

It was the same in Savile Town, Thornhill Lees and Ravensthorpe, all industrial areas which had lots of noisy factories belching out smoke from giant mill chimneys.

Not everyone could afford to go on holiday to the seaside. No Costa Del Sol in those days, but this didn’t stop them enjoying their week’s break in other ways.

The shops didn’t close down until Feast Monday so on Feast Saturday they were open as usual.

There was a carnival feeling about the place with people crowding into the town centre wearing their Sunday best.

The holiday mood was infectious because everyone in the town was on a break at exactly the same time of year, all happy and relaxed.

And, why shouldn’t they be? No work for a week and still getting paid for it, something our grandparents never had.

Many in my neighbourhood, who couldn’t afford a holiday away, would go on day trips to places such as Blackpool and Bridlington, Cleethorpes and Scarborough.

Many went to Crow Nest Park where there were brass bands playing in the afternoon and dancing round the bandstand at night.

The biggest attraction, however, was the feast which arrived in town on the Friday evening with its colourful caravans, loud, raucous music and fascinating sideshows.

The first to see its arrival were those living in Earlsheaton who from the top of the hill could look down and see the sideshows and the big wheel being set up.

They could hear the music and the smell of hot dogs, long before anyone else in town, and the excitement for the children was overwhelming.

People living in Springfield where I was born, were luckier than most because we were within walking distance of it and could go there every day.

The feast ground was situated on a large piece of land behind where Sainsbury’s supermarket now stands, and it took us only five minutes to get there.

No-one except those who experienced the joys of Dewsbury Feast can begin to imagine the thrill of it all.

Nothing could be more exciting to a young child than having a fairground on its doorstep and having the freedom to go every day of the week.

We’d set off with our pockets jangling, something which didn’t happen often, and could hear the music of the carousels long before they came into view.

Our parents and relatives were especially generous during feast week and gave us extra pocket money, so we had lots of pennies and ha’pennies to put in the slot machines.

We rarely won anything but when we did, we always put it back in and lost it again because no child went home with a penny left in their pocket.

There was always something to look at, something to enjoy, and how we loved watching people get off the Shamrock or Columbia, looking a bit green around the gills.

We also enjoyed watching the young men about town trying to impress their lady friends with their skill at the shooting range.

I never saw anyone win a coconut, although my eldest brother Joseph once brought one home, but nobody could open it.

That coconut defeated us all. We bashed at it with a hammer and watched in frustration as it kept rolling all over the kitchen table still intact.

Eventually we bashed it open on the pavement outside with a big piece of stone, but how disappointing when we all finally got a taste – it was awful!

Still, we always enjoyed our toffee apples and candy floss which we happily munched as we strolled round this veritable wonderland.

But one thing we made sure we bought before our money ran out, and that was a bag of “chats”.

Unlike chips from the fish shop, these were small and round cut from new potatoes and cooked in oil not beef dripping.

These little “chats” were part of our culinary history, like Caddy’s ice cream, which had a distinctive flavour we will never forget.

All I know is without them it wouldn’t have been Dewsbury Feast.

Happy days!

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I look forward to reading your emails.