The day of our fund raising fête dawned dim and dismal, dark clouds swirled around in an angry sky and the prospect of a good day faded by the minute. Ever the optimist I got myself ready, gathered up a large tray of home made jam and a big tin of shortbread and trundled off down to the allotments. Those of us who arrived early set up the stalls and erected, with much huffing and puffing a very large gazebo under which the food and drink was to be served. We set up table and chairs for the diners and at eleven thirty the food arrived, wonderful spiced apple cake, sandwiches of all sorts flat bread baked with herbs and topped with goats cheese and spicy tomato relish, spelt cakes a truly amazing bowl of salad made pretty with nasturtium and borage flowers, baked custards topped with a confit of greengages, it all looked amazing.
Twelve O clock came and we were ready to open the fête and in the first half hour a trickle of people came through the gates and then came the rain in torrents for almost an hour. We sat under the gazebo drinking tea eating sandwiches and generally larking about, any one passing by at that time would have thought that we were potty. As soon as thee was a lull two of us went out touting for business along the river and around the park, my friend is the most persuasive person I know and between us we rounded up quite a party who all headed of to the fête. By the time we returned the place was heaving with customers and my home made jam was disappearing fast.
Another lull and another whiz round the block brought in more people ans things began to hum, in spite of the weather we were doing well. I decided on one last trip around and found young family, mum dad and two lovely boys of seven and eleven sitting on a bench by the river, the man asked it there was any where he could buy iced dreams for the boys. I handed them a leaflet for the fête and told them about the lovely cakes and stalls , the boys seemed pleased and so the family followed me back to the fête.
They had a great time, winning tombola prizes trying the cakes and cookies while mum and dad made purchases at all the stalls. Four O clock came and it was time for the grand raffle draw and the youngest boy was chosen to draw the tickets, he was so pleased and proud to be asked and did a sterling job, his older brother was busy learning about vegetable growing at the other end of the field.
I had brought lots of tickets and actually one two prizes, a fabulous glass paperweight beautifully boxed and a gorgeous china plate decorated with a Kingfisher which is destined to hand in my mothers house, she is a collector of plates you see.
The young family thanked us for telling them about the fête and I got a huge hug from the boys who said that they had had the best time ever.
It was a very happy bunch who sat for a last cup of tea under the gazebo before going home, almost all the food had sold, all my jams had gone the vegetables had sold out except for a few apples and all the stalls had been well patronised, we could not believe that we had done so well after such a rotten start. Packing away began and after packing up my bric-a -brac stall I went home to get my son up and ready for work. Pa treated us to fish and chips and it was a treat indeed not to have to cook as I was very tired and sore after my busy day.
I do not know yet how much we made but whatever it is it will be more than we could have hoped for earlier in the day. Our last fund raiser helped to save the churchyard and the bat walks run by the group secretary using the bat detectors we purchased have done much to raise the profile of these rare little creatures. In our area. None of this would have been possible without the funds we have raised this year. What this proves is that a few dedicated people can make a huge difference to their neighbourhood with persistence, a positive attitude and by just having the will to change things for the better, even one person can make a difference but if a few like minded people band together anything is possible.
Tomorrow I shall cook a festival breakfast for my son when he returns from work, hoorah for the holidays. When I was at school we used to sing “One more day to go,one more day of sorrow, one more day in this old dump and we'll be free tomorrow, sung to the tune of “one man went to mow” this song was always sung on the last day of term. Not at all flattering to the teaching staff but always sung with feeling.
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