Fair Day in Blyth
Pat Powell's memories
In September of every year, each town had its fair, complete with horse races, cattle shows, pigs, poultry, teams of horses with fancy harness and driving horses with fancy rigs. The fair was all over in one afternoon.
The half-mile track was graded and the old grandstand was checked to see if it was safe for another year. The same horses followed the racing circuit as did the same starters — chief of whom was M.L. “Tory” Gregg, who with booming voice and a megaphone would tell the drivers to “come up together, let the pole horse in, if you don’t get that number 6 up there I’m going without you” Then, “Go!”
Away the horses would go, twice around the track and past the judges’ stand for the decision. No photo finishes, just the judges’ decision which was not always popular with some owners and drivers.
About four o’clock the crowd would start to thin out and our day would get into full swing — we had peaches to sell. I was located halfway up the block from the fairgrounds exit with a truckload of peaches in bushel baskets. George was parked on the fairgrounds with another load. Dad held forth at the store with another hundred baskets on the sidewalk.
All the peaches had to be sold. Everybody form the rural areas knew us and bought our peaches because we sold only number one quality.
By seven o’clock it was all over, with probably only 50 baskets of peaches left, and they would sell readily within the next couple of days.
Another fair was over.