The White Elephant Trail Reg and Aud Woodyer
We took on the stall some 8 years ago it having been declared defunct. We had no conception of how to run it or even what it was. That stall got to us. It ended by taking over some 3 months of our year and turning us into sales people who would not have disgraced an Arab souk.
Perhaps if we had looked up the definition of the term in the first place it might have given us pause. "A burdensome possession -the allusion to the story of the king of Siam who used to make a present of a white elephant to courtiers he wished to ruin". Our sympathies are with the courtiers.
The stall cycle was simple. Get the goods; clean the goods; store the goods; sell the goods. Getting the goods depended on adverts distributed by Pat and Fred Wheatons' girls and boys of the paper rounds, by word of mouth and by keeping one's ear to the ground. The latter two operations being designed to find out who was moving house, who had been left possessions they did not want and whose garage was most likely to prove an Aladdin’s cave.
The donors varied widely from the sweet old lady who had to be persuaded that the particular set of crockery she offered should undoubtedly go to Christies for her own benefit to those who saw this as a great opportunity to have their junk taken to the tip without having to raise a finger. Fortunately there were few of the latter.
Cleaning the goods was not onerous but could prove lengthy. Some were pristine, most were not. Wire wool and paint were in demand. Decisions had to be made as to whether it was worth spending time or money or both on an item to enhance its value or let it take its chance.
Electrical items were tricky. Fortunately we could call on the services of two altruistic electricians whose advice we invariably took and who were willing to supply a certificate of repair.
Storing was a nightmare. When the outhouse was full we used the garden shed, when that was full we used the outside loo (much resented by keen gardeners). Finally the tide would creep into the house. "If you stick that under the bed I'll kill you". One thing that could be safely relied on was that on the eve of the Fete when everything was assembled another load would arrive to restart the cycle.
Battle was joined early on Beeston Fete Day 6 am to be precise. In loading our car and those of our two stalwart neighbours ingenuity of the highest order was displayed that would have left Pickfords cold. Driving to Beeston Castle was a certain adrenaline pump as something unyielding like a standard lamp or a small lawn mower would invariably try to take over the wheel. Arrival time at the side gate was 8 am invariably opened and manned, sadly until this year, by the reassuring and unflappable figure of Mr. Bulger.
Unloading was easy . Open all doors and jump back. Swoop on the refreshment tent and acquire some extra tables then go back for another load. One of us was left behind to set up the stall, not an enviable job as all the boxes appeared to contain a completely different set of items from those loaded. This is part of Kelly's Law with which we became very familiar. In the midst of this turmoil would arrive the bargain hunters. These display vulture like tendencies. They try to pick over unopened boxes. They should not be there, we are not open but all of them are not to be deterred. Having got in illegally they feel it is their sworn duty to get something cheap to flog at various car-boot sales. They are known as ‘dealers’. It is not the word we would apply and treat them accordingly.
Finally and legitimately come the customers. We have never priced any item. Encourage them to ask, to bargain. The British are not prone to haggle but once they get over this reluctance and find what a lot of fun it is they can become world beaters, the best part is that they keep coming back to the stall.
Mums with off-spring at university are eager customers for substantial crockery and cutlery. They find, to their cost, that once their undergraduate hopefuls have completed the first year they leave the halls of residence and have to find lodging, hence the search for culinary bargains.
There were always the eccentrics. One gentleman of mature years, accompanied by his wife, came every year searching for old tools, any condition. We would always put these on one side for him and he never failed to buy. We asked him what he did with them, he said he just collected them, had a shed full. His wife was very relaxed about it "he's just barmy" she said.
We always tried to have a good display of cheap costume jewellery and make-up. It invariably attracted the attention of the female young, 5 -10 year bracket who invariably hunt in small packs. Placed before a mirror they made some surprising purchases. Armed with these they have been known to reappear at the stall bedecked and made-up. What their parents' reaction was to the sight of their young daughters looking like juvenile ladies of the night we thankfully never found out.
Later in the afternoon would come the welcome influx of the visitors from Beeston Market and gradually it would all die down. We would begin to pack up. We used to reckon that about 5% of the goods we had brought could be taken home to form the nucleus of next years stall. The rest, and it was not very much, could go in the skip which was always handily placed by our stall. And that skip attracted some surprising scavengers.
We reckoned to arrive home at about 6 pm very much in need of a stiff drink. Anno Domini and its attendant infirmities has stopped us running the stall in the future, a matter of much regret to us. It had its vicissitudes but it was also a lot of fun. We have always comforted ourselves with encouragement that used to be given to conscripts. "If you can't take a joke you shouldn't have joined".