The Town Moor, around 1000 acres of close cropped cow-strewn pasture land, lies between the medieval northern boundary of the city of Newcastle-upon-Tyne and one of its posher Victorian suburbs. This area, bigger once in some directions but always clearly defined, dates back to 1100.
Yes, cow-strewn, for the Freemen of the City have had the right, since 1216, to graze cattle here, either on the main Northern section or on Leazes Moor, a similar though smaller area to the West. This last is said to have been given personally to the people of the City by King John. Today few, if any, of the existing Freemen own a cow, but for income they sell their birthright to certain local farmers. So, twice a year, when the grass is good and long, a motley crowd of up to 600 cows (Highland, Jersey, Hereford and so on) arrive in lorries and enjoy the chance to dine here, less than a mile from the City Centre, just as they and their ancestors have for 800 years.
Over time the Moor has played host, in different areas, to various concerns. Along its northern edge stood the City’s racecourse. Hence today’s ‘Grandstand Road’, which has long outlived events which once took place here. To the west there were large military barracks, now a small industrial estate but retaining the original high brick walls. In three areas there were coal mines in the 19th Century. In Victorian times a brick-lined tunnel served one of these pits, stretching underneath the town down to the coal staithes beside the river. Loaded wagons ran by gravity down to the Tyne, being pulled back up to be reloaded. In one area there was a chemical works, at which in 1867 there was a terrible explosion, audible in the town centre; in two others there were isolation hospitals. In 1873 over 200,000 citizens met on the Moor to call for male suffrage.
Nowadays, for ten days in the summer the night air is filled with screams, as the Moor plays host to the Hoppings. Screams of horror or screams of joy? The Hoppings is a Fun Fair, but no ordinary one. Each June, one of the largest travelling fairs in Europe congregates here with over 300 stalls or rides, ‘Freak Shows’ even, stretching in four rows South to North, each up to half a mile long, open every night until 11.00 p.m. There is a tradition, borne out almost every year, that at least once in these ten days it will rain. And when it rains it RAINS. But the crowds keep coming, teenagers mainly, wading through the deepening mix of mud and torn up grass. Getting gradually wetter, they cluster under the canopies around coconut shies and the like or clamber, slithering, on the boards as they mount terrifying rides. The rain goes on, the Fair goes on.
How do I know this? We oldies, who cut our own teeth on the three R’s — really rickety rides — over 40 years ago, usually walk over there each year to stroll amongst the crowds. We take in the atmosphere; the wild mix of noises, machinery and people; the blaze of flashing lights, generators, the steam-driven roundabout; the smells of coffee and hot dog stalls. If feeling rich and at all young-at-heart we might still take a ride on the Big Wheel, ostensibly because we expect a good view of the City but perhaps because we want a cautious thrill?
The Hoppings is not everybody’s ‘cup of tea’ and with many rides costing up to £5 each, some may see them as just a waste of money. I remember thirty years ago my then boss suggesting that he offered each of his sons £25 (at today’s prices) if they wanted to go, £50 if they didn’t!
Harrogate has ‘The Stray’ and is doubtless proud of it — nice green open space and all that, but rather sedate perhaps? We Geordies know what grass is for — feeding cows. And we really enjoy scary, gut-wrenching rides, tea in a paper mug and a hotdog, all in a good rainstorm — most of us.
Dr John Pearson, vice-Chair of SOF Trustees, has recently retired from his job as a lecturer at Northumbria University.