Rainford is a smallish rural village on the B52703 road somewhere near St Helens which is within spitting distance of Liverpool, UK.

The annual high point of village life is 'Walking Day', a ritual peculiar to small northern towns and villages.

Why?

Nobody knows why Walking Day exists but half the village lines the street to watch the other half of the village walk up and down it. Flags, bands and the church are all involved somehow, and the fairground comes along to cash in on the excitement.

In the past, British licencing laws used to prohibit all day drinking, and the pubs in Rainford would shut after lunchtime. But on Walking Day, the pubs were open all day long, and by the time the Brownies¹ were in church, the mums, dads and everyone else were making merry in the Eagle and Child, the local pub.

The Big Day

In July of each year the Rotarians², parishioners, Brownies, Girls' Brigade, Scouts and Catholic schoolchildren gather in the car-park opposite the village hall.

All the boys and girls are decked out in their Sunday best, or their Brownie uniforms, or whatever, and the bigger boys and girls get to carry the flag of whatever organisation the represent. The grown-ups carry those really big banners that trade unions had in the olden days; the sort that are ornate and heavily embroidered, with thick tassles and fringes. These banners require three strong people to carry them, but, even then, in the event of a strong wind, people have been known to topple over.

There are normally several bands in the parade and two perennial participants are the Rainford Youth Silver Band and the Scouts' brass band. When all the walkers are amassed around the village hall, the bands strike up (discordantly) and the throng marches the 200 yards along Church Road into the church. There then follows a short service in which the vicar orates and the Brownies giggle and make trouble.

Following the service, the walkers march out of church, and head west towards the village boundary. The magnificent parade passes two florists, three newsagents, a village garage and a Shell garage, half a dozen pubs and finally it reaches the Chinese chippy. Opposite the Chinese chippy there is a D-shaped bus-stop, around which the congregation about turns. They then double-back, head past the church and up to the east boundary of Rainford, which is marked by two ugly green statues with no arms. Finally, it's back to the village hall for some weak orange juice and a couple of soggy Digestives³.

The whole charade of church service, three-mile walk and 'refreshments' takes up most of the afternoon. The evening attraction is Silcocks, the travelling fair that arrives in Rainford just before Walking Day and disappears just after; giving all the girls their only chance of the year to cop off with itinerant fairground mechanics.

As the darkness descends over Rainford, the crackling scent of hundreds of barbecues fills the air (weather permitting) and the whining howl of the waltzer⁴ siren drifts across the village.