Scrap CH THREE part 31

Scrap CH THREE part 31
The dockyard approach road is lined with decorated floats and people milling about waiting for the judging to get underway. Frank and Jason inspect the various entries, pointing out those which are of some interest and looking for their own charge, which is near the back of the parade. They pass a band of shivering girls from the All Star Majorettes who are trying to keep warm in their skimpy outfits and practising twirling and dropping their batons. ‘Bloody state of that,’ mutters Jay, indicating a particularly fat girl who is busting out of her lurex costume, her face heavily made up and her plaited hair adorned with red white and blue ribbons, ‘what are their mothers thinking of letting them go out like that?’ Frank gives him a playful shove and says they aren’t doing any harm so let them have their day in the public eye, it’s probably the only chance most of them will get.
They linger at the Carnival Queen float, admiring the young women in their bathing suits and sashes, the one in the middle on a higher perch and holding her sceptre of office, proudly trying out her best toothy grin on the two men as they make appreciative comments. The Boys Brigade band strike up ‘When the Saints go Marching In’ which is one of the few tunes the whole group have mastered, and some of the gathering join in with singing the words not necessarily in the manner they were written. Two police motorcyclists are busy chatting up the Holiday Princess and her attendants eager to show off their skills later when they all meet up for the fireworks display. They have been trying out their wheelies for weeks and have had some success although they had to give up on the idea of riding handstands after they both fell off and scratched their machines.
Robbie spots them from his position in the cab beside his father and they all wave in greeting. ‘Don’t fancy the look of your lot,’ grins Scotty as he leans out the window and hands down a few cans of beer. ‘I’ve been lumbered with the Round Table lot and a right po-faced mob they are too. We’ll have some sport with them when we go round corners.’ His trailer is decked out as an Edwardian grocery shop and the middle-aged ‘assistants’ are ready to hand out free tea bags, sweets and biscuits to bystanders in the hope they will throw a few coins into their charity buckets. There is a prize for whichever float collects the most and they usually do very well.
A dozen or so decorated prams containing grown men in baby costume pushed by other grown men dressed as Edwardian nannies wave their beer bottles and cry for more when they haven’t even started yet. They will be half cut before the parade gets underway but it’s all in a good cause so nobody cares.
‘Oh my god, this is our lot,’ Frank groans as he sees the shower grouped on the trailer, ‘good job we’re in the cab instead of up there with them.’ The float is done up as the Miss World contest, every one of the lovelies being a stevedore in drag with their titles emblazoned on sashes across their lumpy chests. ‘Miss Behave’ is brandishing a whip in her right hand, a beer can in her left,’ Miss Hap’ is propped on a hospital bed with her legs in plaster casts, ‘Miss Fit’ is parading up and down the trailer flexing her muscles and showing off her hairy chest, ‘Miss Chief’ is dressed in a fetching red Indian costume complete with feather head dress and ‘Miss Tress’ is strutting about almost naked apart from a long flowing blonde wig. Frank and Jay climb up into the cab and wait for the mayor to finish his inaudible address before the parade sets off towards the town.
The streets are lined with spectators, many of them waving flags and blowing whistles or gripping tightly to the strings of helium filled balloons, all of which have been sold by hawkers licenced specially for the day. Others sell peanuts, candy floss and commemorative programmes which have been produced by the local newspaper. Excited children hop in and out of the road eager to be the first to see the front runners and cheers gather momentum as the Police Band strikes up a Sousa march. Loud applause ripples through the crowd as they make their way towards the clock tower, where they turn left into the Broadway, the other groups behind trying their best to keep up. Coins are thrown up onto the floats as they pass by, with others deposited in buckets carried by ‘helpers’ with grinning faces rattling their collections to encourage more donations and giving out kisses of gratitude to selected donors on the way.
Beanpole Brett jinks his four-wheeler as he turns the corner, causing his group of nurses to sway, stagger and grab onto each other for support as they yell out to him to take care. Beanpole grins to himself as he watches in the mirrors, hoping to see a bit of leg beneath the demure uniforms. The crowd cheer enthusiastically as the staff from their local hospital pass slowly by and rush forward to throw money into the collecting boxes held out by the smiling young nurses.
The twenty or so members of the All Star Majorettes mince along repeating their laboriously rehearsed routine over and over again, mostly in step but with the inevitable mishap when someone or other drops their stick and has to break ranks to retrieve it, hurrying back into place ready to start again. Proud mums call out as their particular little darling appears, trying to ignore the distraction whilst putting on their best show and hoping the photographer will get them into his shot. They will scan the local papers later in the week and buy several copies if they are featured, their moment of fame to treasure for all time.
Steadily the parade progresses on its route and some of the children race through the back alleyways through to the High Street after the last band has passed, so they can see the whole parade again as it heads back towards the dockyard for dispersal. By the time they have arrived most of the participants, including the drivers, are pie-eyed but nobody cares as they have all had a good time and collected hundreds of pounds for local charities.
Fat Frank and Jason leave the empty crate in the cab and lug what remains of the booze up to the sea front where they enjoy the warmth of the late sunshine for an hour. Scotty arrives, swaying along with a bag bumping against his leg and a can of beer in his free hand. He joins his fellow Company Directors on the sea wall and hands out the parcels of fish and chips he has ben queuing for half an hour to buy. ‘Great,’ say Frank and Jay in unison, ‘just what the doctor ordered,’ and they shovel the hot food into their mouths barely leaving time to taste it.