One of the most delightful events of my childhood was attending the Tunbridge World's Fair each September. We went every year. There was so much to see and do. We rarely took in the rides (with five children and a farmer's income, it was hard to find pocket change) but sometimes we did. Also we rarely ate "fair food" until we were teenagers and had a few cents of our own.
Well, one year, when we were all pretty young, we were going into Floral Hall to see all the exhibits and see if anyone we knew had won a prize on their pickles or pies or handwork. (These would have been my mother's friends since we were so young...). This was the year of the cotton candy.
Near the Floral Hall there was a cotton candy booth. All we kids begged and begged my father to buy us some. It was so pretty. So fluffy. Such great colors. He finally relented and bought each one of us a cone. That turned out to be a really bad idea. We each had one bite and handed the cones back to him. It was so very sweet! So icky sweet that none of us could eat it.
He found a shovel somewhere, which at this moment seems like a crazy providential thing to find. AND he dug a hole in the ground right there by Floral Hall and buried that cotton candy. We never ever begged for any again.
PS. Maybe the burial took place in front of the cattle shed. I will have to ask my sister if she remembers...
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