‘Sorry, s’cuse me, sorry, hello… Can I just – excuse me,’ I very Englishly make my way through the massive crowd,considering that I should have made myself a staff badge. Or at least put on a High Vis.
Alan’s friendly voice fills the sound system over the Market Place, as more and more people gather around the Town Hall. ‘… and these great guys who put up these lights every year for you all….’
Ok, I still have a minute at least, I can get through this crowd of prams and santa hats in time. ‘Excuse me…. could you- thanks…’
Amid the hundreds of expectant happy faces, I spot Adam, and head thankfully towards him, where my space is beautifully saved.
‘Oh thank you Adam. God, look at this crowd!’
‘I know,’ he says, taking notes for the Wiltshire Times. ‘Was it like this last year?’
‘Not even half. Wait, are we standing in the road now?’
‘Yeah, the traffic is just turning around, they can’t get by at all! Did you get a good shot from upstairs?’
‘God yeah, people are all the way over the other side of the roundabout, what do you reckon, two thousand?’
Alan’s voice is back on the speakers, leading the crowd in an excited countdown.
I carefully position the camera towards the Town Hall, take a deep breath of beautiful cold night air, and get ready to click.
‘Three… two…. ONE!’
A hundred thousand lights come on, the sky fills with fireworks, the crowd cheers and squeels in delight, snow flurries over us from high above and I stand there in this awestruck crowd of Melksham, trying to take as many photos as I can while tears fill my eyes.
The pictures never do justice to the moment, the minute, the few seconds of utter perfection that is the switching on of Melksham’s Christmas Lights.
The fact that the build up happens right outside my office window means I have at least a glimpse of the months and months of creativity, dedication and endurance of the happily high-vis wearing constantly committed Christmas Lights guys who start work as soon as the leaves begin to fall. I see some of the several hundred hours up ladders, affixing many metres of cable, garland and festive string; attaching homemade shooting stars, snowmen and trees to lampposts; carefully tracing the rooftops of the entire high street with a perfect skyline of brilliant bulbs. Throughout November, I help where I can with the best art project in town, delivering messages, taking pictures, making tea for the team when they let me, watching in awe as each new line of lights goes up, waiting with as much anticipation as the guys for the evening, months of work later, when they, and the town they love, will finally see the result of their amazing effort. It is a complete privelige to be there in the middle of that delighted crowd for that glorious moment when the black silhouette of the Town Hall in its dark Market Place, along with the shadowy buildings and empty trees in every direction, are all magnificently transformed into a dazzling illumation of amazing light.
Two hours later the crowd, full of happy Christmas spirit, has drifted away to warm homes and cosy pubs. The volunteers have finished picking up the litter and lost gloves, the road closure signs are taken down, the burger van drives off with a nod of thanks and the Market Place is quiet again.
A few of us stand on the pavement in the still cold night, staring up at the lights.
‘It’s all pretty awesome isn’t it?’
Stars cascade silently against the dark sky around the brightly illuminated words: ‘Melksham Christmas Lights.’
‘Yeah, it’s alright.’
Myriad 