THE story of how a cow in Westhoughton got its head caught in a barred gate, and to release it the farmer cut off its head is well-known, of course, and that is why Westhoughton is known to some as Keaw Yed City.

Here, MRS JOAN JONES (nee Barlow), of Cheviot Close, Bolton, tells about growing up in that town, and going to the Wakes Fair.

You may recall that some weeks ago I printed an article about life at Burton's, Halliwell, during the war, and Mrs Jones tells me that she, also worked in the raincoat department at that firm. "I was there from 1943, aged 14, until 1950, and loved it. I left because the factory was being taken over by grim-faced men with stop watches timing everyone, and telling them to only take so many minutes to make a particular garment. In other words, piece-work had arrived. No-one even had time to look up, and the whole atmosphere was gone. Still, I have some wonderful memories of Burton's". And, seemingly from this article, of Westhoughton Wakes as well . . .

I REMEMBER, I remember Keah Yed Wakes. Every August the town was in a great state of excited anticipation. Tales were told by thowd uns and us young uns lapped it up, getting more and more excited, with each tale.

The Wakes (fair) have been coming to Westhoughton for hundreds of years, and still do. Us kids went to school and whispered or bragged, depending on personality or circumstances, about how much we'd 'ave t'spend, on the hobby-horses and black peas, and how late we would stay out. Our great thrill was watching the fair men erect all the tents for stalls, and all the gaily painted huge wooden props.

When the fair opened on the Friday night, (always the Friday nearest to August 25) most of Westhoughton were drawn to it like magic. Thowd uns, young uns, babes in arms too. It was a feast for the senses. The music, the smells, the bright lights and of course the tastes. Black peas, Keaw Yed pasties, potatoes in bags, roasted to delicious tenderness. Nothing tasted better than those roasted spuds.

My special favourite thing was a huge painted waggon, and on that beautiful waggon was an array of brass instruments and pipes and three wonderful figures, two of which stood up at the front, and while lifting a leg, the first one blew a flute. The other one banged a pair of symbols and turned its head from side to side, surveying the crowds with proud indifference, or so it seemed to me. Both figures were dressed in the Arabian Knights style. They were brilliantly painted with blues and pinks and a wondrous gold.

I must have stood and stared at those figures for hours and hours. Their music was to me a lovely symphony, although the music itself was that of the then very popular modern music hall songs of the day. It was my own top ten.

We young girls had, in the weeks previous to the Wakes, to coerce the older girls in the district with sweets and flattery and running errands, just so we could pluck courage to ask them if they would tell our mums and dads that they would take us to the Wakes. For this favour we worked jolly hard. If Mum and Dad said it was OK, wow what a thrill it was and off we went.

It was a must to attend the fair on the first Friday night, and the Saturday night and on the following Thursday night, when it shut down and went away. In between the fair was anybody's, we didn't care. We being the 11 year olds and onwards.

The Wakes was always held on spare land on Market Street, almost opposite the Town Hall, and the clock in the tower was the difference between a good hiding for going home late and being banned from the fair. For the next nights we took it in turns to run like mad to a spot where you could see the clock face. Sometimes we would find one girl running back screaming that it was 9 o'clock, having been told we had to be in for that time . . . the delicious excitement was, that all the rest of the family were probably only just on their way home. We ran through all the short-cuts to be waiting like little angels on the doorstep when they arrived. Oh,the deception!

Keaw Yed, as Westhoughton is nick-named, came about many years ago, as the story goes.

A farmer had, to one of his fields, a very broken down gate. It got worse and worse until it fell down altogether. He went and bought a new one, a beautiful five bar gate. He went and told everyone how dear it had cost him, but he was that proud of it.

One day he went to admire it as usual, and one of his cows had got her head fast in the gate. He tried all which ways he could to free her, and finally had to choose between the cow and the gate. He chose the gate and sawed the poor cow's head right off!

During Keaw Yed Wakes week, all or most of the houses had beautiful great big pasties of chicken and mince. Golden pastry and tasty chicken gravy. Sometimes the pasties were three or four feet long and bursting with filling. They were times of little money, then in that mining town, but chicken pasties always appeared at the Wakes. In the pubs, pasties were sold there as well and the same recipe was used. On most tables in them would also be an imitation cows head, lit inside by a candle.

There is one pub, the Waggon and Horses, and on one wall is a mural made of plaster depicting the story of Keaw Yed's nickname.