Appleby Fair and "Silver Dollar"

IT'S only January and the summer sunshine of Appleby Fair seems a long way off from the New Year Chill.

But there's also an Appleby in the heart of most Gypsies and Travellers and it's always a fine June Saturday in there.

These poems, by TT readers Patsy Teale and Sheena Smith, show two different sets of memories from Appleby Fair.

"The Dollar" was written for 'Billy Buck' about his stallion Silver Dollar, who was pictured on the front cover of Travellers' Times in 2008, above. Silver Dollar sadly passed away in Fair Week last year.

Sheena Smith's poem recalls memories of Appleby back in 2000.

The Dollar

By Patsy Teale

 

His name was Silver Dollar.

He was dappled and grey,

The most striking Dales Stallion

Of all in his day.

 

In harness he’d stand

And wait for command.

Never bolt, never kick,

But he did have a trick:

He could drop off his blinders

With a shake and a flick.

 

His fame was wide from North to South

His reputation spread by word of mouth.

Gentle and kind, with mares could run loose

And many a good one did Silver produce.

 

Rosettes he had many

But he didn’t care

Silver was happy trotting round Lee Gap Fair.

 

Many would have had him and had back some luck

But his owner he loved him,

That man ‘Billy Buck’.

Ten thousand was bid, but still he said No,

His pace is unequalled, he likes him to show.

 

At Appleby Fair were trotters and cobs

And ponies alike

But it was old Silver Dollar

That set ‘em alight.

 

He bounced down the hill

Lifting all fours

With head held high and tail spread wide,

Year after year he was Yorkshire Pride.

 

Now the years have passed by

And the dapples are gone

But Silver’s still here, he’s still going strong.

His spirits are high, they’ll never die

What else can you say;

He was a very cushty gry.

 

 

Ambushed

By Sheena Smith

I often picture him standing there

And run my hands through his black, black hair

Like charcoaled trees against the blazing sky

As blue that day as his twinkling eyes.

 

At Appleby Fair I saw him first

And ever since then I have been cursed

For no man could ever come so near

To the beauty of his face so dear.

 

He was reining in his bold piebald,

Horse and man crafted from the same mould.

Spirited, strong-born, wild as the wind

In me a resting place they did find.

 

His freckles shied, scattering in the sun

With a flashing grin my heart he’d won.

He called out in a commanding tone,

I must leave my life and with him roam.

 

I froze still, engulfed by unspent cares.

My Traveller lad with the blackest hair:

My blue eyes crazed with longing and pain,

I would never have this chance again.

 

But my ambushed voice held still within:

My bleeding heart couldn’t go with him.

I burned as they reared and whirled away

And I lost him at the fair that day.