Traditions

I have pointed out before how England is a land steeped in tradition.  Kings and Queens and chopping off heads.  Christmas Pantomimes.  Transvestitism.  Summer brings with it a very special, closely held tradition, the School Fete.

Just as every Panto must have a cross dresser, there are a number of stock elements at a School Fair.  A BBQ.  Pimm's.  At least one bouncy castle.  A stall selling used stuffed animals at hyperinflated prices.  A raffle.

Our school is under construction (a project which, mercifully, is due to complete by the opening of the next school year in September), so our Fair this year was in a park near the school, a pretty Victorian flower garden called South Park Gardens.  I am nominally a trustee of the school fundraising committee, though I must admit I've been too busy lately with work to contribute much.  Which is just as well, really, because the whole affair went really well without my meddling and fretting over how much booze to order.  Granted, it was smaller than last year's do (which involved about 30 stalls selling various things, a lady with candy floss and popcorn machines that tripped the school's circuit breakers at least seven times in the course of the day, and a bouncy castle guy who didn't turn up), but this year's was more intimate.  The folks on the committee who ran it did a really good job, and I think it probably raised close to £1,000 for the school.

My job was to be the raffle master.  This was not the not the doddle I'd expected.  For starters, it was very windy, and the tickets kept threatening to blow out of the candy tin.  Then, the PA system was not very loud, and people kept complaining that they couldn't hear me.  Some were vicious in their attacks.  Even my own daughter got in on it.  "You need to talk louder daddy," she whined, "no one can hear you over there."  Well, that's exactly the problem, isn't it?  They're OVER THERE!  The thing's turned up to 11, folks, maybe you could move a few feet closer, is that really too much to ask?

Then, there was the crowd of sweet little children arrayed in front of me.  Probably blocking the sound from the speaker, the little blighters.  "Pick me, pick me!" they screeched, pawing, candy-sticky, at the microphone.  I'll pick ya.  I'll pick you right up and...but I digress.  And it went on for bloody ages.  There must've been 50 prizes in the children's raffle.  This wouldn't have been so bad, except that every ticket I pulled had a name written on the back which I had to decipher.  Honestly, I don't know why I bothered, no one could hear me anyway.  "Jane, um, what does that say, a hundred and ten yards?  Oh, Lloyd!  Jane Lloyd from year one," I'd shout into the microphone.  "Is there a Jane from year one here?  No?  Jane?"  Over and over and over.  "Pick me, pick me!"  "We can't hear you!"  "Jane?"

And to make this even more fun, I kept picking the same names.  Apparently, Jane from year one REALLY wanted a prize, so she bought at least a hundred tickets.  I think everyone bought large numbers of tickets, because toward the end, I had to pull at least ten names every time to get a new one.  I guess I was somewhat arbitrary with the rules, but giving all the prizes to the same five people didn't really seem fair to the little chocolate-mouthed littleuns arrayed around my legs scrunching their ticket stubs into sweaty little wads and praying to the raffle gods to win a wooden whistle or a Sponge Bob wall clock.  After all, it was a fund raiser.  Don't let that get around, though, or we'll have a scandal in our little school. Rafflegate, they'll call it, and I'll be vilified and pilloried and whatever else they do to you here.  Maybe they'll chop off my head.  I pulled Michael's name early on and thought it was funny.  When I pulled Michele's name a while later I felt a little uncomfortable, but when Caroline's came up, I didn't even bother calling it - I just handed it to the lady helping me and moved on.  Next time, I'm calling numbers only.  If you get ten prizes, good on ya.  That other kid crying bitterly in the corner should've bought more tickets.

My two raffles (children and adult) drawn, I proceeded to spend the rest of the evening drinking beer with the other dads and making a general nuisance of myself trying to help.  I had more than my share of sausages, but when the Antipodean chap working the grill threw on his pork and steak at the end, though, I must admit I went a little overboard, food wise.  When the whole thing broke up at about 10pm, I made myself useful by returning a punchbowl to a neighbor and we all agreed that it was a lovely affair.

And there's one more tradition packed away for another year.