In For A Penny
As a writer I am always interested in new experiences. With my latest book being self-published I was devising ways to promote it, and concluded a stall at a local Craft Fair would be ideal. It wouldn’t cost a fortune so worth a try. Sewing and knitting may be a dying art with youngsters today, but Craft Fairs are booming apparently.
I spent a fascinating, (but rather unrewarding from a book sale point of view) three days over the Bank Holiday weekend in a small, but touristy village. What an eye opener it proved to be! If you ever thought it was money for old rope then think again. The weather was decidedly changeable, ranging from squally showers one minute to brilliant sunshine the next. Perhaps it was suitable for the occasion – I wouldn’t know. It took perhaps half an hour to set up and arrange my table, and then one sat waiting for the potential customers. They arrived eventually in dribs and drabs, then things slowly gathered momentum towards lunchtime, but we were not exactly rushed off our feet at any time. The visitors strolled from stall to stall in their dripping cagoules, trailing bored-looking children complete with the inevitable ice creams, and often as not accompanied by oversized dogs on extending leads.
On the whole I thought most of them looked thoroughly disinterested in what was on display, and it was just a means to and end, filling in time before the coach left, or they had used up their allotted parking ticket time. Little did many of these potential customers seem to realise the time and effort that went into the exhibited goods, and that the stallholders barely covered the cost of the materials used. They seemed jaded and bored, while the stallholders were a cheerful bunch despite the PPP (pick up, put down, pass on) as was so often the case.
One stallholder worked out that he probably earned one penny an hour if he took everything into account! How’s that for logic? And yet they were the happiest group of people I’ve come across for a long time. They are their own bosses – they work for themselves at their own pace, and their reward is appreciation of their expertise and workmanship. Financial recompense hardly comes into the equation.
Next time you visit a Craft Fair do take the time to consider how much you would want to charge for the goods if you had spent the hours working on the item, whether it be a floral decoration, a ceramic tile, a wood turned bowl, or some imaginative piece of hand-crafted jewellery. Think of the ingenuity of the sewer or the knitter with hand-made garments, many to their own intricate design, or the kitchen produce just like mother used to make. You can’t get goods like these in the supermarket, especially at the prices. Added to that is the time travelling twenty or thirty miles, packing and unpacking, the setting up the displays, then sitting for seven or so hours in a draughty hall.
As a craft stallholder there is no way of second guessing the general public’s taste. One day a certain item might sell exceptionally well, but the next day none at all. Does fashion affect sales I wonder, or perhaps the weather over which we have no control? What in fact does the public want? It appeared to me the crowds were seeking something unusual –a novelty, with perhaps local association, or homemade produce, but above all something cheap.
Having spent three days observing while vainly trying to sell my own books and booklets, I now have the greatest admiration for those people who do it for a living. They are remarkably resilient, cheerfully accepting whatever fate throws their way. They are philosophically resigned to spending time demonstrating their wares, and having them subjected to careless handling, many a time without a resulting purchase. Just as you begin to wonder why you are putting yourself through this torture someone actually makes a purchase and praises your endeavours. Suddenly it all seems worthwhile. Service with a smile – held grimly in place at times I’ve no doubt, seems to be the motto of this remarkable fraternity.
I enjoyed the time I spent with them, participating in the friendly atmosphere and good-humoured camaraderie. It was fantastic, but I am glad to be back at my desk, and don’t for one moment envy them their chosen way of life. They all admit they enjoy making things, and if they didn’t have the Craft Fairs in which to sell their wares their homes would soon be snowed under, but trying to please the fickle public and all for a pittance takes some comprehending. One stall holder remarked, on a particularly quiet day, that since she had been sewing all the time she was there she was actually taking back more items than she came with.
That’s what I would call True British Stamina – true grit in the face of adversity. But wait a moment…isn’t that what writers have? When I consider how much time I devote to a manuscript that often never gets published, perhaps I am not too far removed from those craft stallholders. I have never clocked up how many hours I have sat at my computer working on a story, but overall I think I will be lucky to be earning a penny an hour!
One last thought – I actually paid for the privilege of sitting for those three days in that draughty hall. I didn’t sell enough books to cover even the cost of the table fee, and what’s more I don’t think many of the other stallholders did either!
The end.
