Toy Stall

A Memory of Earlestown.

I loved the Friday markets. The crowded stalls transformed the drab square. The cries of the stall holders, the bustle of shoppers, the baskets laden with fruit and veg. My favourite stall was the toy stall and I spent all of my weekly pocket money here - fake cigarettes with their puff of 'smoke', fake flies that looked so incredibly real to an 8 year old - I would hide them in a slice of bread or cup of tea to scare my Mum and Grandma. As fascinating as all the toys were, the biggest draw to this stall was the storeholder who always wore a scarf and fingerless gloves and had a perpetual drip on the end of his nose and I would delay my purchase waiting, waiting to see if that tremulous drip would finally drop.
At market end I would trundle home with orange boxes for kindling all tied together with string, and stuffed with discarded lettuce leaves for our rabbits, dragging the lot noisly down Haydock Street.
If I was really lucky my Mum would treat me to hot raisin toast with thick melted butter in the cafe across from the bus stops.