Nick Grant

  I'd heard stories of Nick Grant around the craft fair circuit. He used to knock out quick watercolours in big frames and sell them like apples, and the tales about him where legendary. A big black guy who lived for enjoying himself and was well liked as far as I could tell.
I had my chance to meet him when I was doing a craft fair near Dawlish. The guest house Ian and I were staying at must have been fine when Dawlish was popular and Butlins or Pontins were starting up. But it hadn't changed one bit. The beds had nylon sheets and thick woollen blankets and the bedframe groaned with any movement.

We were told we would have to go out during the day and come back at tea time. This was not a problem as we were working, but the landlady brought to our attention a board in the hall way. It was divided into room numbers with an 'in' and 'out' for each room and a slide to move across it.
"Whenever you leave you must move the slide to cover the 'in' so I know you are out and when you come back you must again move the slide over the 'out' so I know you are in". "when I see your slide over the 'in' I know you are out, and when I see your slide over the 'out' I know you are in and can lock up for the night".  Needless to say next morning at breakfast I was admonished by the landlady for leaving my slide on the 'in' when it should have been over the 'out'. How she knew I was in was beyond me, unless the bedframe gave it away.

Anyway it was Saturday night and Ian and I set out to visit the drinking establishments of Dawlish. We had just been in the second or third pub when in came Nick Grant and a couple from another craft stand. We had some drinks and then I watched as Nick proceeded to work his charm over all the locals in the bar and the lounge. As I said he is big but his personality is bigger and his voice and laughter attracted everyone around him especially the girls, to the annoyance of some boyfriends.

He shouted for quiet and then announced to everyone that "Its my friend Eric's birthday today", and could we all join him in singing Happy Birthday to my best mate Eric. I'd only known him for 10 minutes and my birthday was months away but who cares. They all sang with passion and blokes bought me drinks and women gave me kisses. It was the best birthday I've ever had.
But the night was not over. At around 10.30pm Nick asked the landlord if there was a nightclub near. There was one about 2 miles away but one had to be a member, and anyhow how would we get there. As luck had it the landlord said he could sign us in and would take us when the bar closed at 11.30.
This was no good to Nick who wanted to go now, so he persuaded the landlord to shut early and then called out to the locals to "drink up" as the bar was closing early. And do you know it, they did, but not before Nick had borrowed a white stetson from one of them.
That was the first and only time I met him. The last sight I had of Nick Grant was a white stetson floating across the nightclub dance floor followed by many girls and angry young men. He never turned up next day at the craft fair.
As for Ian and me, I managed to bundle him drunk as a skunk into a taxi and we set off for our digs determined to remove the 'in/out' board from its hinges.