Henley Regatta -The Fair & Rastus.

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Henley Regatta -The Fair & Rastus.

Growing up in the village of Wargrave in the 50’s was a
full time adventure, and unlike today, a totally ‘white’ one. By that I mean there were no coloured people in the community. There were foreign residents, but all were white. So when a young lad called ‘Rastus’ started as an apprentice chef at the St George & Dragon Hotel it really was a novelty. He instantly became the talk of the village.

Call me ‘pushy’ if you like, but whenever anyone new came to the village, I was generally the first one there to claim them as ‘my mate’. The village was then, and probably still is a magnet for overseas visitors, and back in the day, there were several railway coaches down at the railway siding that were permanently hired out as ‘holiday homes’.

People from all over the world would take their vacations camping in these fully equipped train carriages, and I was a bit of a ‘goal poacher’ as far as befriending the kids that holidayed there. So when Rastus came on the scene it was only natural that ‘I’ got to him first. Albeit that he was 16 and I was only 11. (I always thought I was 17, even at the age of eight. Still do)

Everybody in the village took to Rastus as he had the wickedest grin and greatest sense of humour. Wherever he went, he lit up the place. He was an orphan from a children’s home in Somerset, so it was even funnier to hear him speak in a strong west-country accent. But growing up in an orphanage environment made him very street-wise, and for a slightly built chap, he was as tough as old boots. Which brings me on to our visit to the Henley Regatta Fair.

Rastus, being a worker, had bought himself a little BSA bantam to race about on. He used to let us ride it up the ‘Straight Mile’ on the way to ‘Crazies Hill’ next to the Wargrave Manor grounds after it got dark. One of the best feelings in the world is the very first time you ride a motorbike and you feel that power ‘dragging’ you through the air at what seems like phenomenal speed, but probably only 20 or 30 miles per hour. Naturally, I was always begging him to take us on the back somewhere, just to get that ‘rush’.

The summer before I left Wargrave in 1963, Rastus said he’d take me on the motorbike to the Henley Regatta Fair. He’d pay if I wanted to go. Naturally, I didn’t need asking twice, but then he gave me a crash helmet to put on. In those days, only ‘squares’ wore crash helmets. Wearing them was a personal choice which not too many people took up. So at first I said “no way”, but then he said I’d definitely need it and he wasn’t taking me unless I put it on. (So I did).

We arrived at the packed fair that was in full swing, and because we were on a motorbike, could park up right next to the fair. But instead of just leaving the helmets on the handlebars which was the ‘usual’ thing to do in those days, Rastus said we needed to take them with us.

Now I don’t know if you’ve read my previous post about the Henley Royal regatta Fair, but I did mention the overpowering and bullying tactics of the ‘Hooray-Henry’s’ at the fair. We wanted to get onto the dodgems, and we wanted to ‘stay’ on them for several goes, so when our chance came we made a bee-line for a car and got in with a bit of bumping and bashing.

OK, we’re going round hell-for-leather, whacking the Hooray’s as hard as we could, (when we weren’t getting whacked first that is.) then Rastus told me to put my hand inside the helmet and grab the webbing inside as tightly as possible, we were staying on this little missile and no Hooray was going to get us out.

The cars stopped. The usual bashing, thumping and screaming started as the Hooray’s ran riot grabbing all the cars for themselves. (Until they got to ours that was).
Rastus was first to take aim and fire with his helmet, and in a state of sheer panic, I followed suit. We were swatting them like flies until they gave up and we got another ride in the same car.

This was fine until it came to the end of the second ride, because they were about to employ ‘new’ tactics. They came at us with brollies this time, so instead of hitting them with my crash helmet, I put it on my head to protect it while I just lashed out in defence. Rastus, on the other hand took a different tack. He gave me his helmet to hold and then started to set about them like a whirling dervish.
Kids think these days that Bruce Lee was fast, and he was. Well Rastus was certainly the fastest I’d ever seen in my life and he frightened the life out of the Hooray’s.

Strangely enough, the dodgems seemed to return to some form of order and normality after that, and we stayed on for several more rides before the money ran out and we high-tailed it back to the Bantam and off home.

Happy days.

Pete.

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The Henley Royal Regatta Fair.

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The Henley Royal Regatta Fair.

When you’re a youngster, the fair is a magical, mystical wonderland.
(At least it was for us in the 50’s and 60’s.)

The problem was though, that money was very scarce in most working-class
families back then. But the lure of the fair was SO powerful it just
couldn’t be resisted.

At the Royal Henley Regatta, in the 50’s and 60’s the fair used to be
almost directly behind the ‘Finish Line’ of the boat races, in the field
that they now use as the ‘hospitality’ area.

Between races the fair would get ‘swamped’ with the ‘Hooray’s’ who would
push, shove and bully their way onto the rides so that we mere mortals could
hardly get a look in.

Now….as a kid of 8 or 9 I was pretty resourceful. I would walk the three
mile to Henley so that I could be at the fair for early afternoon. The most
popular ride for the Hooray’s was the bumper cars (of course), they ran
amok every time each session stopped, hogging the cars for themselves
each time.

I could see the ‘respectable’ folk looking totally dismayed and frustrated
that they couldn’t get a look in.
Seeing this, I realised that being quite small, tough and hardy, I’d get to
at least One of the cars before the marauders. This I’d do, (most times).
Then I’d catch the eye of someone who’d missed out and beckon them over.
I’d get out letting them take the car, telling them I’d saved it especially
for them.
The look of gratitude on their faces said all I needed to know then.
While the ride ran it’s course, I’d stand on the edge making sure I’d make
eye contact now and again, with a little smile as they got ‘shunted’.

Now I’m not saying that I had a 100% conversion rate, but most of those I
saved a car for would come to me afterwards and thank me, saying they’d had
a great time etc. But more to the point. The people who visited the
Royal Henley Regatta then, were generally pretty well off. I would usually
get a couple of pennies, threepenny-joey, or a tanner handed to me for my consideration.

Occasionally I’d catch the eye of a single rider, and then more often than
not, they’d invite me along for the ride. (No cost of course). So my wily
little plan got me the best of both worlds, and due to the 'greed' and 'slovenliness' of the ‘Hooray’s’, I was able to repeat my little ruse
on other rides at the fair as well.

Did I used to enjoy Henley Royal Regatta week? You bet I did. For several
years on the trot, until they moved the fair OUT of the regatta grounds.

The Hooray’s and the well-off didn’t fancy the long trek to the fair, so it
was left to those with just enough for themselves.

Yep...US....The working class.

Ahhhh…..Those were the days…………

Pete.

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The Royal Henley Regatta..Henley-On-thames.

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Royal Henley Regatta..Henley-On-Thames.

I was laid in the bath today, thinking about the next
few months and what might be happening.
Then from out of nowhere, memories started flooding
back to my childhood visits to 'the most glorious'
event I could ever remember.

Yes, the 'Royal Henley Regatta' was viewed as 'the'
most important event in our small village of Wargrave's
calendar. Henley-on-Thames being just three miles
along a very hilly, windy road, it was right on our door-
step. Our village was 'almost' Royal for a couple of
weeks a year, thanks to the Royal Henley Regatta.

Now Wargrave was generally a sleepy little village
for most of the time, with nothing much happening at all.
Maybe the odd fete, the march on remembrance day,
and the odd sighting of a few of the very famous
residents we had smattered around the place. The
most familiar I suppose was Robert Morley, the rotund
actor of many a comedy and farce.

BUT!….Usually in May, the village would be descended
upon by several removal lorries filled with bedding,
beds, chairs, luggage, catering equipment of every
size and dimension, and a whole load of GIANTS!

Well, as kids, that’s what they looked like to us.
They were of course rowers, preparing for the annual
Royal Regatta. Not just any old rowers mind. These were
the boys from ‘The Thames Rowing Club’
(based in Putney as I remember).

OK you say, a memorable annual event for the entertainment-
starved population of Wargrave, but.....“what else”?

I’ll tell you what else…..’Money!’….Yep, sorry for lowering
the tone here, but the arrival of the ‘Thames Rowers’ meant
the family funds suddenly got a boost!

My Mum knew the ‘main-man’. The co-ordinator of the whole
military operation, on whose broad shoulders it fell to make
sure that these GIANTS had their every whim catered for.

They needed digs, they needed feeding, they needed cleaning
up after, and they needed errands run.
They were also pretty well financed, so guess who used to be
the second-in-command to ‘the main man’?

You guessed right. My Mum……..and her little private army of
deed-doers. Me and my brothers and sisters of course. We were
the cleaner-uppers, the tidy-uppers, and the message-runners
extreme. To top it all, we were very well paid for our few
weeks of hard graft. We got paid by ‘the main-man’. We also
got paid by the GIANTS, who all seemed to have too much money
for their own good anyway.

Does it still happen these days?
Remember….This was in the 1950’s….
When children were FREE human beings.
Allowed to get dirty, cut and bruised.
Who were allowed to use their own imagination and resources
to get by the best way they could, with VERY little in the way
of resources. (Except their wits).

These days, the parents would be hauled before the courts.
The children would be GIVEN their human rights, even though
they don’t want or need them.
The ‘main-man’ would likely be imprisoned for using child labour.


Is it TOO LATE to turn the tide?
This post continues with….
‘What happened at the Regatta Fair’ later.

Cheers,

Pete.

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