The Wake
The ‘Wake’, or local fair, was a holiday in Earl Shilton and held, traditionally, on the Saints day of the parish church. According to old accounts in the parish, Ale drunk on Feast Day (Wake) in 1809 was £5 12s. 0d, and in 1820 £6 5s. 6d.
The "Wake," was always held on the last Sunday in October. People had a full week’s holiday from work, public houses were open all day, and "captains" were elected to take charge of the singing. The captain was also responsible for the whips round for beer, which entitled all and sundry to drink together and so retain the company.
The wide portion of the Hollow, nearest the Wesleyan Chapel, was the earliest site for the Wake amusements. The stalls and roundabouts extended the full length of Wood Street the wakes also incorporated a procession around the village.
Mr. Hopkins, a well-known resident of Keat’s Lane, was a proprietor of amusements A large boat on wheels, and drawn by horses, went the whole length of the village, and was patronised very much by the children.
At the turn of the 20th century A field in Station road also became the site for the annual wake or fair. The amusement part of the "Wakes," roundabouts, etc., were very prominent on this field.
On the other side of the road there were also numerous entertainments from time to time, including those well-known "Strolling Players" of Holloway’s Theatre. Many people enjoyed these shows and were able to see fresh plays every night during the thespians stay at Shilton. No one may now recall the plays "Maria Martin and the Red Barn," "The Face at the Window," "The Dumb Man of Manchester," but they did pull in the crowds (John Lawrence).
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Famous quotes containing the word wake:
“And if tonight my soul may find her peace
in sleep, and sink in good oblivion,
and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower
then I have been dipped again in God, and new-created.”
—D.H. (David Herbert)
“Why should the generations overlap one another at all? Why cannot we be buried as eggs in neat little cells with ten or twenty thousand pounds each wrapped round us in Bank of England notes, and wake up, as the Sphinx wasp does, to find that its papa and mamma have not only left ample provision at its elbow but have been eaten by sparrows some weeks before we began to live consciously on our own accounts?”
—Samuel Butler (1835–1902)