All The Fun Of The Fair - Southport Pleasureland

As with the header picture, many of the photos in this post are vintage black and whites that I have borrowed from the Liverpool Echo. I would like to make it clear that I never lived in black and white times.

Hello there

Right, I’m on a roll.  After literally a whole year (at least) of not contributing to the All The Fun Of The Fair posts, I’m bringing the thunder.  In a way.

The actual truth is I’m way too cold to do anything but sit and do writing in the art room, which I’ve managed to turn into a little oven.  I've got a fan heater and a refusal to look at my smart meter, and I'm sorted. When I leave this room, the cold of the rest of the house hits me like a sledgehammer, so I’m kind of working from prison. These are my dispatches from incarceration. It is my sincerest contention that the worst thing to happen for creative folk is not writer’s block or lack of ideas or anything like that, but rather extreme cold. I’m happy to make an exception for ice-sculptors, but - generally speaking - it’s utterly debilitating.  I am terrible with the cold.  Or “soft” as my Dad assessed it.

Still, as Jack Nicholson said at the end of The Shining, I shall ignore it and soldier on.  Never did him any harm.

So…Southport.  The Bridesmaid of the North-West coast.

When I first mentioned I was going to be writing about Southport Fair, there was a swelling of anticipation from some of you. I suspect it’s one of those places that is geographically niche and relatively anonymous to anyone outside that.  My experience was that it always felt, unfairly, like a runner-up prize compared to Blackpool (or even Morecambe).  They were the trio of leisure weekends in my childhood, and it was a case of make-do and mend when Southport was the destination.  Utterly compounded by the fact that, on a clear day,  you can see Blackpool up the coast from Southport.

As I say, this was completely unfair, and – retrospectively – rather unfounded too, as Southport Fair (or Pleasureland as it was then) was excellent. It was the superior comparisons along the coast that tainted it.

My family were creatures of habit, and each day went the same way.  Thinking about it, this may have been enforced by me, rather than their plan.  I was a bit of an excitable nightmare at fairgrounds. I remain a creature of habit, but the habit is now unpredictability.  Who knows what fleeting obsession I’ll awaken with on any given day?  Presently it’s clearly vintage Star Wars toys and fairground rides, but just wait me out and something else will be along soon enough.

To Pleasureland!

We always entered from the seafront entrance, through a narrow little sandy corridor that felt like the entrance to an olden days public toilet.  Round the corner though, Pleasureland opened up before you.  The branding at that time was very similar to Blackpool Pleasure Beach (who owned Pleasureland too), but it was certainly a scaled down effort.

Actually, before we get into the Boldsworth itinerary, I’d like to mention the Crazy Cottage.  As I recall it (and please do correct me if my memory has played tricks) but this attraction wasn’t actually in the fair itself, but more in the car park near to the pier. I always assumed it was an independent attraction but my in-depth research (quick Google) has it listed as part of the park. It was a small, crooked house (again, not dissimilar to a public toilet) that was a walkaround attraction.  It was one of two attractions at Pleasureland that never seemed to be open (possibly because they were waiting for Swarfega supplies after children had got stuck in its uneven corridors and wonky turns).  I have also discovered that it was rebranded as a Haunted Inn (like we need another of them in the UK) and then burnt down.  

Which would nowadays prove it was cursed to some daft dinnerladies.

The other attraction that never seemed to be open was to the right as you came through the entrance.  I have no idea what it was called, and Google isn’t helping on this occasion.  It was basically a track ride which cars went around.  I was completely enamoured with it and disappointed every time it wasn’t open.  It does feel like it was years before I finally got to ride it.  It was all artificial greenery with the track winding through it, but the attraction to me was the fact that it had lots of popular culture characters painted all around it. Disney and cartoon folk, that sort of thing. This was compounded by the fact there was a bit of the ride that appeared to go indoors.  It was right at the back, but I could clearly see a place where the cars would have disappeared from view.  As we know, dark rides do it for me and always have, and the curiosity of that ate away at me.  I needed to know what was in there, and was sure it would be been brilliant. When I finally got to go on it, that part of the ride was a couple of seconds where the car went behind a wooden flat.  There was nothing there.  Can you imagine?  After all that time? Sometimes the anticipation is the most exciting bit. It also went around the full track about twenty times which got a bit samey.

Let’s get on with our tour from memory though (with the disclaimer that it’s almost certainly unreliable).  The first time I visited Pleasureland, there was – like at Blackpool Pleasure Beach – a Noah’s Ark.

These were walkaround attractions, constantly tilting back and forth in a wave motion, where you saw all the (artificial) animals in the ark.  There was one at Morecambe which has obviously gone the same way as the rest of Frontierland, but the Blackpool Ark is still there.  

It’s now just as a cosmetic part of the main entrance rather than an operating attraction, but it still stands as a testament to the nonsense idea of these rides being cursed (more about that in a moment).  I’d very much love to walk up that gangplank again, but that may have to be a break-in quest. It’s fared better than it’s Southport counterpart though. The fate of the Southport Noah’s Ark might have been my first trauma as a child, as it burnt down not long after my first visit (I was four at this point so please refrain from pointing the finger of blame at me).  I do recall that the gap where it used to be remained an unnerving thing. I later found out that the gentleman who designed the ride, and had built the Morecambe and Blackpool ones before it, was actually killed in a fall during the construction of the Southport one. Could it be that his ghost returned to burn down the cause of his death?  

No, no it can’t. Ghosts can’t hold matches, let alone strike them. They just fall right through their transparent palms.

That’s the Blackpool one so you can see they were identical. No harm in being a one-trick-pony if your trick is as good as this.

The River Caves was a flagship attraction of Pleasureland, thanks to its grand façade.  Another Blackpool Pleasure Beach spin-off, this was one that – on the surface – upgraded.  The inside was much of a muchness, a longboat ride through tableaus of dinosaurs and the like, but the exterior had a real sense of depth.  Blackpool was very flat by comparison, but Southport had a huge waterfall flowing down, amazing rock work, and spinning wheels.  It was also where I first became obsessed with blue water.  Honestly.  To this day, blue water makes me giddy.  I have no idea why, but the water flowing outside the River Caves was blue.  That’s still really exciting to me. A sure way to get me to have a bath as a kid was by hammering blue bubble bath into it.  Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe it’s a weird latent kink or something.

To the left of the park we get into territory that promises much and delivers little.  The Cyclone was the famous rollercoaster at the park, which has nothing to apologise for and there were few wooden coasters to better it (another ride that seemed to be regularly hit by fire and survive). 

However there were two neighbouring rides that contributed greatly to the second best feel of Southport Pleasureland...

Journey Into Space and the Ghost Train. Two dark rides, side by side, both of which you’d have thought would have been tailor made for me. A space-themed ride for a Star Wars obsessed kid, and a Ghost Train ride for a Ghost Train obsessed kid.

The Ghost Train was no better than the ghost trains in the travelling Silcocks Fair.  Perfectly serviceable and enjoyable, but for a permanent attraction – particularly one deriving from the classic Blackpool ride – you really need more than the bare basics. Clattering doors and tableaus from the same old moulds, all with the traditional high-pitched air-raid crescendo noise

I mean, looking at it now, I love the simple declaration of the ride title and find the aesthetic amazing – particularly the challenge “Betcha daren’t go in”, but we can all be swayed by nostalgia.

The Journey Into Space did have more than the bare basics of a dark ride, but that failed too.

I can’t find a picture online of it, which is annoying because there is definitely a picture of me in front of it at my mums house.  My grandad had it on his window ledge for years.  I’ve got a monkey on my shoulder.  There’s loads of pictures of me as a child holding a monkey.  When did that stop as a thing? Probably when it became clear they were cold blooded killers who happened to be cute.

The ride though was notoriously disorientating for a dark ride, with strobe lighting and a stark black and white colour scheme.  As if this wasn’t enough, the cars span like a waltzer.  You know, like in space? I always rode this ride alone as none of my family would subject themselves to the nausea again.

Apparently the Ghost Train and Journey Into Space were ultimately merged into one ghost train, but I never saw that.  It would definitely have been better though.

There were two more rides after these “favourites” in my traditional route through Pleasureland (three if you count getting donuts – which actually were the best in the business), before the day ended with the ultimate tradition.

Firstly, the Hurricane Jets, with their centrepiece God-like spaceman, arms aloft as though controlling the ships that circled him.

This, you could be surprised to hear, was my favourite ride in Pleasureland.  This ride supplied the Star Wars fantasies that the Journey Into Space unfairly teased me.  The Hurricane Jets, in my mind, were X-Wing fighters and – the big selling point was – the rider controlled the height.  You flew them.  A yoke in the vehicle could be pulled back and you’d take off.  It was brilliant. Shove your grandad in the jet in front of you, and you’re involved in a real life dogfight. I’m confident this isn’t rose-tinted nostalgia, it was the most amazing thing. I once cried because my jet stopped working halfway through a ride and just went round and round at ground level at an uncomfortable tilt.

I’ve also just read that it was offered for sale when the park originally closed down, but no buyer was found so they scrapped it.  I’d have bought it.  Like, I’d have only given them five hundred quid or something, but it would have cost them more to scrap it.  I guess this may have caused me storage issues, trying to get it in the loft, but the fact it’s gone forever is a heartbreaker.

As a side point, I choose to deal with these things by living in denial.  I went back to Southport after the original fair shut down just one time, to do an awful gig, and couldn’t get my head around the fair being gone.  I had the same with Morecambe when I went to the Eric Morecambe statue, but there were still some remnants left at that point I think.  Pretty sure I could still see some of the Log Flume (it’s all gone now). In fact, Morecambe still has some ghosts to this day.  The old water park is long gone, but enough of the shell remains to be able to feel as though it still exists in some form.  It’s a casual skate park now I believe. Just like with Saints' old Knowsley Road ground, if I don't go there, I can kid myself it's still standing. 

And we now come to the final “ride” I’ve selected, which is the Caterpillar…

There it is.  It said the image may be subject to copyright but that means it may not as well, so if they’re not going to tell me then I’ll take my chances until told otherwise. I have no patience with vague threats. Also, it's “Fair Use” as this post is very educational and academic.

That’s the Caterpillar, and my overriding memory of it was my mum hinting that it may have been a place of courting for her in the olden-olden days. That’s a very troubling image for a kid to shake on a ride. Thinking about it, it’s difficult to imagine what other purpose that ride had.  It was quite clearly designed for necking. In fact, I would bet big that there were conceptions on it.

It was a simple thing.  A very fast caterpillar themed train went around and round a circular track.  There were bits of dips and surges of speed, but the attraction of the ride was the moment where – once at full speed – a canopy encased the train and the folk riding it.  I’ve searched for an image of the Southport ride in that state and it’s turned up nowt.  However, I have discovered, predictably, that this ride wasn’t bespoke to Southport. 

That's the same ride at Canobie Lake Park, wherever that is.  Help me folk from Canobie, you're my only hope...

Now, this feat of engineering is worth noting.  A mechanical canopy with a cloth cover, extended over a train moving at speed and not just being ripped to shreds before blowing into the Irish Sea is impressive.  I had a convertible car in 2007 and you weren’t even allowed to put the roof up or down when you were driving, lest you take off.

There’s not much else to say about it though.  It was fast and exhilarating, there were fans beneath it that blew up at you, it had the same smell you get in a tent, and would have been a good place to cop off with somebody.  

I was about to say it would be years till I would have anyone to cop off with, but a long-buried memory has just sprang from me.  I’m typing really quick because I can’t believe in all my planned reminiscences I hadn’t recalled this till this very moment.  I hadn’t recalled it in 35 years tbh, but better late than never.  I did go to Southport with my first ever girlfriend, and we had a pizza on Lord Street.  It was a secret that we were going out with each other, but when we got in the restaurant there was one of our teachers in there.  This wasn’t a school trip, it was just a weird coincidence.  And after that, we went to Pleasureland.  And whilst at Pleasureland, we did go on the Caterpillar.  I COPPED OFF IN THE CATERPILLAR!  ME!  OF ALL PEOPLE!  ALL THOSE FOOLS AT SCHOOL THOUGHT I WAS JUST THE FAT, FUNNY LAD WHO WAS SURPRISINGLY GOOD AT RUGBY LEAGUE BUT I WAS COPPING OFF AT THE FAIR!  I wonder if there’s a Facebook group where I can go and finally reveal it to them all…

And now we get to the end…

Southport Fun House.  

Better than Blackpool’s Fun House by a country mile and completely legendary.  I suspect it was the end to everyone’s day.  You always kept 60p in your pocket to get you in there for the rest of the afternoon.  That’s what the deal was.  You paid entry and could stay in there as long as you wanted.

"Tell us more Grandad" I hear you say. Well, It’s a hard thing to describe now.  Imagine if the foreman of a factory went mad one day and came to work saying “Everyone!  Get these lathe machines out of here – let’s put massive rotating barrels, and a cake-walk, and spinning wheels all over the place and just have a laugh!  We could shove a weird fairytale house thing in the corner as well?  So fat kids could get stuck in it and panic before being rescued by their grandad who had every right to still be sulking after being shot down in the Hurricane Jets dogfight…yeah?  Who’s with me??”.

Now imagine all the factory workers just agreeing and building it.  That was the Fun House at Pleasureland.  60p all in.

On a personal note, the Fun House was the epitome example of quite how shy and unconfident I was as a child.  The main thing I recall about it (barring the fairytale house incident, which rather compounded these traits) was how much I observed rather than join in.  There were too many challenges to fail.  A spinning disc on the floor that you had to sit on and not get thrown off it (the trick was to get your arse on the absolute dead centre before anyone else got there), and the challenge of the rotating barrel was to have your arms and legs spread out so you went upside down with it.  No way was I doing any of that when people were watching.  Only on very quiet days did I ever join in.  And I was essentially joining in with myself.  And my grandad, in fairness, who’s commitment to the Southport monkey picture implied he had as fond memories as I did of it.

That's the spinning disc from Wikipedia.  Please note there are no children in this picture. The children are out of view being too shy to try to go on it.

So, there we are, a gargantuan post of scattered memories from a destroyed fairground.  There’s far less media available of the park in the seventies than there are of its big Blackpool brother up the coast, but for myself and (my guess is) maybe two people on here who can relate, it stays in the heart.

I really wish I’d known the Hurricane Jets were for sale.  I could have at least bought one of the planes from it for the garden/on top of my car.

Hope you are all well there and managing to keep as warm as possible in the UK. See you for Loopholes tomorrow.

Much love as always

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