A Pen 4 GodGlobal Ministries Site

ThePen is Mightier Than The Sword

Pack Monday Fair

There is more to Pack Monday Fair than a brief historical account. This we could get from any reputable history book. What a difference it makes when it can be set in reality, a personal account written from personal experience. Here is such an account set in the 1930’s. Pack Monday Fair takes place in Sherborne, Dorset, England, and celebrates the completion of the building of Sherborne Abbey. A whole chapter in my unpublished schoolboy literary masterpiece, Romance in Dorset, is devoted to Pack Monday Fair, and it is from this that this personal account is taken.

Having said all this, however, a little history of Pack Monday Fair may be helpful, in that it will set the scene for a more personal account later. Background material is always useful because it makes any narrative more enjoyable to read and understand. I trust this will be the case here. There are at least two legends as to the origin of the fair, together with Teddy Roe’s Band, so closely allied to the fair, that a simple explanation will help to provide that background material. Pack Monday Fair is held every year on the first Monday after the tenth of October. It is always held on a Monday. But, you may ask, why does it have to be a Monday, and why specifically the Monday after the tenth of October?

The first legend of the fair’s origin, and the one most popular, because when the older generation still living in Sherborne are asked about its history, they will tell you that it has to do with the completion of building work on the Abbey in 1490, following a devastating fire. The second legend has grown up around the specific date of the fair ─ the tenth of October, Old Michaelmas Day. This day, commemorating the feast of St. Michael the Archangel, is always associated with the beginning of Autumn (Fall in the USA). Tradition has it that this was the day when farm labourers and local domestic servants would gather in the town and present themselves for employment to those who were looking for staff. Once they had received employment, the employer and the employee would enter into an agreement, known as a “pact”, and that appears to be the origin of Pack Monday Fair.

Maybe there is truth in both legends and through the years they may have merged into one. There is one thing certain, however, and that is the origin of this fair goes way back into history, though the word “Pack” is of more recent vintage ─ if you can call something that is at least four hundred years recent! Pack Monday Fair always begins with a midnight procession through the streets of the town known as Teddy Roe’s Band, when a group of local people creating as much noise as possible by using “instruments” of anything that would make a din, such as dustbin lids clashing together, rattles similar to those used at football matches, whistles, trumpets; you name it, they used it, as long as it made a noise! It has been said that this ritual goes back into pagan times, when the noise was said to frighten away the devil, but the significance lies in the name of this “band” ─ Teddy Roe ─ because he was the foreman overseeing the rebuilding work of the Abbey completed in 1490. This, then, gives the greater credence to the first legend mentioned above.

On a personal note, I have to admit that I have always favoured the first legend. Although the origin of the fair is admittedly very ancient, and was known as Michaelmas Fair (this favours the second legend), tradition has it that Abbot Peter Ramsan, together with his foreman of works, Teddy Roe, and all the labour force, completed the work on the nave of the Abbey, damaged by fire, on the tenth day of October 1490. (This favours the first legend.) It is suggested that the new name for the fair originated from the action of the workmen packing up their tools on that day. There may well have also been an element of PR back then in that the work was planned to be completed on that day when the town would have been full of people from the surrounding countryside, as well as the townspeople themselves, attending the Michaelmas Fair. The purpose of this (and here is where the public relations exercise comes in) was to “cash in” on the crowds in the hope that they would contribute towards the cost of the new work completed that day.

Whichever legend we favour does not alter the fact that Pack Monday Fair still exists today, although, when it was actually changed from “Michaelmas” to “Pack” is unclear. An entry in the town’s records dated 1585 suggests it was some considerable time after 1490. “Pd. Richard Chaffyn for cleaning Churchyard after S. Michael’s Fair. 6d.” [2½p] Of course, it is possible that both names were used over a number of years with the older name gradually fading out with time. Before turning to the personal account written from personal experience, as promised at the beginning of this article, it might be interesting, and on occasions quite amusing, to read some other accounts written during the Nineteenth Century.

The first from 1815 ─ “There are three annual fairs held in this town” [of Sherborne] “…the third in the church-yard, on the first Monday after the feast of St. Michael, O.S. This last is the most considerable, and is a great holiday for the inhabitants and neighbourhood. It is ushered in by the ringing of the great bell at a very early hour in the morning, and by the boys and young men perambulating the streets with cows’ horns, to the no small annoyance of their less wakeful neighbours. It has been an immemorial custom in Sherbourne, for the boys to blow horns in the evenings, in the streets, for some weeks before the fair.”

The next description, dating from 1827, is rather long, so I tried to edit it, but without success. Where could I cut it? The writing is so quaint in places that it would be a great shame to cut it anywhere! So I decided to record it verbatim, as with the previous description where Sherborne was spelt Sherbourne, and include the old fashioned spelling of “etc” ─ &c. ─ as well as the quaint prose in places, so very different from the way we would write today.

“This fair…is a mart for the sale of horses, cows, fat and lean oxen, sheep, lambs and pigs; cloth, earthenware, onions, wall and hazel nuts, apples, fruit trees, and the usual nick nacks for children, toys, ginger-bread, sweetmeats, sugar plums, &c. &c. with drapery, hats, bonnets, caps, ribands, &c. for the country belles, of whom, when the weather is favourable, a great number is drawn together from the neighbouring villages…(The fair has been removed from the churchyard about six or seven years, and is now held on a spacious parade, in a street not far from the Church.) To the present time Pack Monday fair is annually announced three or four weeks previous by all the little urchins who can procure and blow a cow’s horn, parading the streets in the evenings and sending forth the different tones of their horny bugles, sometimes beating an old saucepan for a drum, to render the sweet sound more delicious, and not unfrequently a whistle-pipe or a fife is added to the band. The clock’s striking twelve on the Sunday night previous, is the summons for ushering in the fair, when the boys assemble with their horns, and parade the town with a noisy shout, and prepare to forage for fuel to light a bonfire, generally of straw, obtained from some of the neighbouring farmyards, which are sure to be plundered, without respect to the owners, if they have not been fortunate enough to secure the material in some safe part of their premises. In this way the youths enjoy themselves in boisterous triumph, to the annoyance of the sleeping part of the inhabitants, many of whom deplore, whilst others, who entertain respect for old customs, delight in the deafening mirth. At four o’clock the great bell is rang for a quarter of an hour. From this time, the bustle commences by the preparations for the coming scene: stalls erecting, windows cleaning and decorating, shepherds and drovers going forth for their flocks and herds, which are depastured for the night in the neighbouring fields, and every individual seems on the alert. The business in the sheep and cattle fairs (which are held in different fields, nearly in the centre of the town, and well attended by the gentlemen farmers of Dorset, Somerset and Devon), takes precedence, and is generally concluded by twelve o’clock, when what is called the in-fair begins to wear the appearance of business-like activity, and from this time till three or four o’clock more business is transacted in the shop, counting-houses, parlour, hall, and kitchen, than at any other time of the day, it being a custom of the trades-people to have their yearly accounts settled about this time, and scarcely a draper, grocer, hatter, ironmonger, bookseller, or other respectable tradesman, but is provided with an ample store of beef and home-brewed October, for the welcome of their numerous customers, few of whom depart without quantum suff of the old English fare placed before them.”

The next description, dated 1849, is much shorter than the last one! It shows that unruly behaviour and vandalism is not exclusively the scourge of modern society. History is really only repeating itself! “Pack Monday Fair ─ The recurrence of this ancient holiday was ushered in, according to long established custom with a nocturnal serenade, from a large body of very diligent performers. If it ended here perhaps there would be no great damage done, but the itinerant musicians were not content this year with their melody: they rang violently the door bells at some of the houses, broke many windows, and amongst the number those of one or two persons who were seriously ill, thereby creating considerable alarm and annoyance, if not endangering life. We hear a memorial is about to be presented to the Magistrates of the Sherborne division, with the hope of preventing a repetition of such disgraceful pranks in future.”

The penultimate description from nineteenth century writings is dated 1862 ─ “Pack-Monday Fair was small, but satisfactory. Cattle were in somewhat larger force than last year, but in sheep there was a falling off of from 2,000 to 3,000, which is sufficiently accounted for by the recent alarm respecting small-pox, the consequent number of private sales, and the general scarceness of sheep, which the large fairs in Ireland and Hants have made manifest. There was a quick sale in cattle, but 11 sh” [11/-, 55 p] “was not exceeded for the best things shown. The horse fair was a very ‘weedy’ affair. The best cart suckers sold at from £9 to £13 each; Horn lambs from 21 sh” [£1-1-0d, 21/-, £1.05p] “to 31 sh;” [£1-11-0d, 31/-, £1.55p] “Ewes, 36 sh” [£1-16-0d, 36/-, £1.70p] “to 45 sh;” [£2-5-0d, 45/-, £2.25p] Devon steers £12 to 16.”

The final nineteenth century description is dated 1884, and comes from a letter written by Mr. E. Archdall Fooks, quoted in Dorsetshire Folk-Lore by J. S. Udal ─ “The old custom of horn blowing has now, through the aid of the police, been reduced to reasonable limits. A few years ago small boys blew horns at all hours of the day and night until their bedtime for more than a month before Pack Monday Fair. Then the inhabitants complained of the nuisance, and the police were instructed to prevent it and to take away the horns, with the result that now only a few occasional horns are heard for about a week beforehand. On Sunday evening about 10 p.m. on October 12th (1884) a few horns in different parts, calling together those who were to take part in the march round were heard; and these gradually increased in number and became mingled with an occasional tin tray etc. until 12 o’clock, when the whole body of about 300 assembled at the Antelope Hotel moved off in no particular order and marched once all over the town, starting down Cheap Street and then passing through as many as possible until all the most important had been visited, keeping up an incessant din the whole time with horns, bugles, and all sorts of tin trays, etc. that would make a noise. About 2 a.m. the town is allowed to go to sleep. This what is left of the old custom, and seems likely to last in about its same proportion until something puts an end to Pack Monday Fair itself.”    

We commented at the beginning of this article, what a difference it makes when a description of Pack Monday Fair can be set in reality, a personal account written from personal experience. So now we come to that promised account set in the 1930’s. A whole chapter in my unpublished schoolboy literary masterpiece, Romance in Dorset, is devoted to Pack Monday Fair, and it is from this that this personal account is taken. By way of introduction I want to quote a description from another source, not written by me, which may well be describing the fair only a few years earlier than my account. It is dated 1935 ─ “A crowd of 200 marched, ran, danced, and sang through some of the principal streets on Sunday night and early Monday morning. The band assembled at Greenhill and moved off on the stroke of midnight, and scores joined in the fun on the way. The noise was deafening at times. Door knockers were knocked with resounding thumps and door bells were rung.”

After much deliberation, to maintain the “atmosphere” of this personal account, I have decided to quote this chapter from my “schoolboy masterpiece” almost word for word. I have even retained my original punctuation. I would not write like it today! The juvenile form of writing shows through but, I believe, this adds charm to what is essentially a faithful memory drawing on that precious gift of memory, from some of my very earliest writing.

Pack Monday Fair ─ a fair that everyone in Sherborne looks forward to. It is held on the first Monday after Old Michaelmas Day. When Abbot de Ramsam completed the Abbey nave, he told his workmen to “be off bag and baggage” before midnight on the Sunday; and now, every year when the clock strikes twelve, on the first Sunday after Old Michaelmas Day, there is such a din of horn-blowing, beating of drums, and a clattering of tins, old kettles, dustbin-lids (yes, and sometimes the dustbins themselves) and ringing of bells, as effectually to end sleep for the poor townspeople who felt so inclined. This what is known as Teddy Roe’s Band (Teddy Roe, I believe, being the works foreman, under Abbot de Ramsan) the entrance “Music” of Pack Monday Fair. Then after comes the Monday’s fair and merry making.

This is what happened the first time I joined Teddy Roe’s Band.

It was a cold, starlit night when I ventured forth from my home somewhere around the region of mid-night. My Father and Mother were with me (not forgetting, of course, that I was still fairly young) and we could hear in the distance the first arrivals “tuning up” on their “instruments.” It was fun to hear them!

At last we arrived at the starting place ─ the bottom of Bristol Road, by the fair field. The fair was dark and silent now, but the “band” made up for that; with their many torches, lanterns, and flares made from straw soaked in paraffin, and wired to the end of a stout stick, they made a merry crowd. Then mid-night ─ the appointed hour. With a terrific crashing and banging, the “band”, slowly at first, began to move up Bristol Road; and what a din!

We did not wish to follow the crowd, so we walked along Cold Harbour (the main road to London) to the bottom of Wooton Grove. The “band” soon appeared, still as noisy as ever ─ if not more so.

When the crowd had walked nearly all the streets in Sherborne, it was the usual custom for them to come to a halt on the Parade. This is a fairly wide, flag-stoned square near the centre of the town. In one corner stands the old fourteenth-century Abbey conduit. [There is more about the Conduit in another article on this website.] My parents and myself waited here for the crowds to finish their “walk”, when the real fun would begin. At last they arrived, with a rattling and thumping, the usual din ─ they came to a halt.

Fireworks night was not far away (less than a month) and as the fireworks were on sale in the shops about six weeks before the Fifth, you could well imagine that a few would be “going off” on Teddy Roe’s Band night. Sure enough, before the crowd had been there five minutes, fireworks began to explode; not the rocket type, or the coloured light kind, but the “bangers.” Young boys (rather silly boys, I think) would stand on the edge of the crowd, light the fireworks, and throw them into the middle. It was certainly very funny to see the people jump and run when they exploded. It was impossible to hear them cry out in fright, for the rest were making too much noise for that; with their singing and dancing, shouting and screaming, and (people loath to lay aside their “instruments”) bangings and thumpings.

It would be between two and three o’clock in the morning before the last of the merry crowd would dwindle away back to their homes. By two-thirty, however, I was in bed; but with the noise of Teddy Roe’s Band still fresh in my ears, it was not an easy thing to get to sleep.

Pack Monday Fair had begun!

No sooner had I gone to bed, then I had to get up again ─ or so it seemed. The next morning I was up at eight o’clock, and after breakfast, my mother and I went into the town to see the fun. (My father was at work.) It was the usual custom for us to go to the sheep fair first, which was held in a field not far from my home in Hounds Street. Farm labourers had driven the animals for sale to the fair very early that morning. Numerous sheep were there: black ones and white ones, sheep with horns, clean ones and dirty ones: they all added to the “fun of the fair.”

Not far from this field the market place is situated. Here one or two cheapjacks were selling farm and stable implements, and farther into the centre of the market, hoses and animals (other than sheep) were being sold.

After a short time here (not being farmers, we were less interested than we might have been) we went into the main street. Cheap Street being on a slope, and my mother and myself being near the top, we could look down at all the coloured stalls of the cheapjacks, and the hundreds of people in the town for this yearly revel.

Cheapjacks were not all; there were gipsies, fighting and squabbling in the streets; singing and dancing, certainly making high holiday.

Up till lunch time ─ which was at one o’clock ─ we walked around in and out of the stalls, buying little things of no value for scandalous prices, watching men make toffee and mint, stretching and pulling it on a big hook, then cutting it up with large scissors on a long board. There were people writing on rings, telling fortunes, performing feats of strength, and numerous other ludicrous acts.

[As a personal interjection, even after all these years I can still remember what we had for lunch. It was repeated every year on Pack Monday so that it became a bit of a tradition ─ cold lamb from the Sunday joint, mashed potato and very rich gravy. My mouth still waters to this day!]

In the evening we went to the pleasure fair in Cold Harbour beside Bristol Road. It was a whirl of merry-go-rounds, helter-skelters, shooting galleries, with the little balls dancing around on the top of jets of water, side shows, and masses of coloured lights. Big steam engines were providing the electricity. You could hear them puffing away at the edge of the fair.

There was the Wall of Death, where one would have to walk to the top of a tower-like arrangement and look down into a deep pit with very smooth sides. When a crowd had gathered at the top, from a small door at the bottom would come the motor-cyclists. Sometimes a lion would accompany them in a side-car. With a roar from the motor-cycles (and sometimes the lion) they would ride around on the walls, getting faster and faster and higher and higher until they were almost at the top of the pit. In wonder and amazement we would stand at the top and watch.

After many “goes” on the side-shows, and numerous rides on the merry-go-rounds, we thought it about time to return home. It was late in the evening ─ about eleven-thirty. As we were leaving, our arms full of prizes, we were encouraged to buy some “brandy-snaps” from a stall at the entrance to the fair-ground. A stout, rosy-faced, old lady served us.

So Pack Monday Fair came to a close for another year. The pleasure fair would stay on for a few days, but there would be no fun in the streets.

So ends my schoolboy description of Pack Monday Fair!

Back in 1884, Archdall Fooks was quoted as saying, “This what is left of the old custom, and seems likely to last in about its same proportion until something puts an end to Pack Monday Fair itself.” It is now eleven years into the 21st Century (as I write this) and Pack Monday Fair is still going strong, and no doubt will do so for many years to come. Looking back nearly seventy years, I have to admit that I have been wallowing in nostalgia as I exercised my precious gift of memory and used this “key” from my “schoolboy masterpiece” to unlock and recall those balmy days before the Second World War ─ and if you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it, then that is an added bonus.