Tonight a work friend posted on Facebook about the origins of her name. So I followed the link and typed in my birth family name, Wittingslow, and was directed to a page with the history of the name in Australia:
For many years Wittingslow was Australia’s (and one of the world’s) largest travelling carnival operations, spanning more than 60 years..
The explanation, as begins above, is a history I know well. The founder of the Wittingslow carnival was Tom Wittingslow, my great uncle. In later years my immediate family was somewhat estranged from my extended family and as a result I don’t actually know many of my relations anymore. What happened between me being a little girl and a ‘carnie kid’ during several summers of my childhood and the rest of my life where I haven’t seen most of this family I don’t really know. What I do remember though is the wonderful summers on the beachfront being part of the Wittingslow carnival on the other side of the fence.
It felt special being on the other side of that fence. As an adult I have heard taunts about carnival workers that I guess I don’t understand. Because what I knew was magical. Maybe because I was a kid. Or maybe because it was simply special on the other side of that fence. We did anything we wanted. We were young and our parents were strict enough that we weren’t allowed to run wild, but it was a family on that side of the fence. Even people who didn’t know each other by name looked out for each other. But best of all was the complete and absolute world that left reality behind and allowed us carnie kids to be whoever and whatever we wanted to be… all day long.
Whether it was playing in the sand, or walking to the dangerous White Cliffs where man-eating plants lived, or swimming and making sand castles. We’d race our horses with their manes and tails flying behind us in the wind. We’d wander through the empty carnival by day under the baking sun and collect torn lucky dip tickets and laugh at the clowns and pick up coins that had dropped out of people’s pockets on the rides. We all named our horses and each bragged that our merry-go-round horse could beat all the others. We’d hide in the gypsy’s tent in the middle of the carnival and dare each other to make her cockatoo squawk and then run screaming when he did in case she appeared and cast a spell on us. We dodged seaweed in the shallows with our nan, invented stories about the hermit in the hut in the middle of the sea and we ruled the sand dunes where the sea grasses would tickle our legs as we ran down to the sea every morning. And we never went to the other side of the fence.
But the most magical time of all was as night fell and the carnival came to life and we were all ushered into our caravan beds as our parents went off to work in the carnival. The lights would dance across the darkened roof as music blared from speakers and the screams of teenagers grew loud and soft as the cha-cha threw them around and around. The sounds of Tijuana Taxi and Spanish Flea would twirl around my head. And I’d fall asleep content that the world was a magical place of fairy floss and laughter.
And then the summer ended and we went back to our everyday lives where parents worked real jobs and kids went to school. But we had the next magical summer, and the next…
And then I grew up… and the carnival was over.
That was nice to read. I am wondering who you are. My name is Susan. I am Tom Wittingslow’s step-daughter,he was my father since I was ten years old. And I also was at the summer carnivals in summer. I miss him greatly. Not really the carnivals- upon growing up, I didnt like them much, but as a kid- it was exciting and yes- as you say- so differnt and magical at times. All the best, Susan.
Hi Susan, what lovely a surprise! I always think it’s probably only a couple of people ever read my blog so I’m always shocked if someone says they read it, let along leave a message. My grandfather was Tom’s brother Albert. My dad was his son from his first marriage. As I say we didn’t see much of the family but in the later years of his life we were in touch with pa again. My dad was great at remembering family histories and so I grew up hearing about family that I didn’t really know. It was a bit strange. My dad died nearly two years ago now and like you I miss my dad a great deal. I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately which is what inspired this blog post. I must admit I haven’t been to the carnival in maybe 20 years and probably won’t ever go again as an adult. But the memory of them as a kid is amazing. Abi