Chasing the Paper Dragon by Caitlin Stimpson
Photo by Ridwan Meah on Unsplash
The Dawlish Chinese Carnivals happened on an annual basis. It’s a small town, located on the south coast of Devon. There’s not much to do in terms of sightseeing, but there’s a lot of tourist attractions, perfect for small families like ours. So, we did what every White British Southerners do when they are on a caravan holiday in England: we visited a street carnival that capitalised on a Chinese holiday we had never even celebrated.
The atmospheric nature rings happy as faces stare mesmerised while the screaming fireworks reflect off everyone’s eyes. My dad and my brother giggle to each other as women with prominent cleavages pass by. I pretend I don’t notice what my dad and brother are laughing at, but I know fully well. That’s how it is when you grow up with a brother who obsessed over Cheryl Cole and a dad whose vast toilet humour has you in stitches. Your understanding of their perverse humour becomes second nature, and it becomes a part of yourself too.
There are eight-foot-long paper dragons veering through the streets along with exotic birds and dolled-up women in heavy makeup and spandex. These women have legs as long as bean stalks, caged by colourful fishnet tights. I watch these women dance intricately, observing it so intensely It’s almost as if they’re moving in slow motion. I’m trying to retain and memorise everything that’s going on around me. I am amazed. I am carefree, for once in my life, just as a young child should be.
The music is different, but by no means boring. The music is fast-paced, flute-like sounds weave through the occasional gong sounds like its being knitted compactly into a cultured narrative that is entirely its own. The gong sounds feel like mini intervals between the flute noises. As if the knitted flute is taking a rest and the gong takes over momentarily. The combination of senses is overwhelming. I feel as if I need a break, which is not unusual for me, a child who is so sensitive to noise she cries in frustration when the school alarm bells ring. Except, in this scenario, it is a positive overload of the senses. It is entertaining, admirable, even. How long did it take for them to practice this choreography? I wonder just how their arms and hips move perfectly in tune with the sound waves that surround my ears.
Families are staring in awe as they soak up the vibrant and enthusiastic performance of a culture, they are not accustomed to witnessing. They all react in that stock-image way. The same way you expect white people to react to a dance that is not Mambo No. 5 or YMCA. Dads are clapping way louder than is needed saying ‘wheeeeyyyy’ while the mums are holding their children’s hands, moving their hips from side to side awkwardly with a small spritzer in the mother’s hand, trying to fit in with the exotic dances that look way too flirtatious for their liking.
It feels nice to be able to blend in somewhere, where everyone is being kind to one another, smiling, laughing, singing, and clapping. No one is focussed on too much. I think the other families like the bright colours and the seemingly never-ending street parade. It could go on for miles and miles, it made the small town of Dawlish look like The Great Wall of China: long, distant, and picturesque. The path is non-linear, it is complete chaos. Every turn you take, there’s a different performance or pop-up stall welcoming you to mingle, and reel you in with the knock-off Tamagotchi’s and a distinct white porcelain tea set with a little pink rose in the middle that I promised my mum that I’m going to use every day, for sure.
The smell of hot doughnuts and chocolate fountain stalls are causing a fire-like hunger in me. I’m secretly hoping my dad will convince my mum to allow him to buy some. My dad can never resist some good street food. ‘Dirty burgers’ are a personal favourite of his, you know, the ones from the small vans at local fayres and football matches.
As if by my own telepathic powers, my dad walks back towards my brother and I from the pop-up stall with a bag of hot doughnuts for us to share. We both snap our heads turning towards each other in glee as if we had won the lottery. It was good enough that we were at a carnival on holiday at 8pm, (past our usual bedtime, by the way!) but now we get to have doughnuts also. Way too good to be true.
My mum wipes the sugar off mine and my brother’s hands and faces with a wet wipe she pulled out of her handbag. She tells me to walk ahead of herself and my dad. She says to stay with my older brother, and to only follow the direction that the paper dragon is going. We must not walk in any other direction.
So, off we go. My brother and I run ahead and talk about what we want to do when we get back to the caravan site. He wants to play pick a pair, which I love, because I always win. But first, I want to play with my new porcelain tea set. My brother quickly forgets what we ere talking about, and says to me, “Cate, lets chase the paper dragon, first one to get to the dragon’s head wins.” Of course, I agree. I’m not doing anything my parents specifically told me not to do. And common sense isn’t a thing for a nine-year-old with a neurological condition, so what the heck.
We raced and ran, giggling and belly laughing at the hilarity of the way each of us are running. Before I know it, I’m talking to a stranger. My body is turning into ice as I freeze in the same spot in the crowd, my eyes frantically scanning the carnival for my brother, or failing that, my parents.
People pass by like never-ending traffic, rushing to see the next performance, not one of them notices that I am alone and panicking. Fear instils into my body like a drip, slowly, but then all at once. My frantic heartbeat suffocates my throat and sends my limbs floppy. My hands are becoming clammier and they feel like I have pins and needles in them, my breathing is getting faster, and I am feeling nauseous. I know I should stay in the same place as I got lost, and I know my parents always came and found me when I got lost before. However, I’m pretty sure they found it easy as I’ve only ever been lost at the big Tesco before now. Nothing quite as open and as large scale as this event. It is night-time too, so things are incredibly dark, now. This is an unfamiliar town my family and I are visiting. I am not sure where I should go. I need to stay calm and hope that they find me soon. But what if they never find me and drive back home from holiday without me?
I can’t help it now, I’ve tried being brave, but now my face has crumbled, and I am crying a lot. My face is red and puffy, my eyes are blurry. Things were so happy; my family were happy. Why did this have to happen? Within an instant it has all changed. My excitement is turning to fear. My calm is turning into some sort of hurricane or storm. My mum and dad are going to be so angry at me. What have I done? I did not mean to scare or upset them, and it certainly wasn’t my intention to steer so far away from my brother. And now, I may have to prepare for the fact that I may never see my family again.
Suddenly, just as I think no one will come and find me, a nice old lady approaches me and asks, “are you alright, dear? Have you lost your mum?” Through mouthfuls of sobs I am trying to articulate my panicked words and explain the situation. I am trying to explain how I was with my brother and we tried to follow the paper dragon and then he vanished, and I cannot find my brother, my mum or my dad. This place is so big and so dark. I don’t know what to do! The nice lady assures me that they will come and find me, but we need to wait here for the time being.
Time is moving so slowly; I feel like I have been here for at least an hour. What was once a positive overload of senses has now turned stale. I was very overwhelmed, and I am still, sort of. But more just agitated. I’m completely numb now from crying for so long. I am so tired and cold, I just want to find my parents and my brother and be safe and warm with the people I love the most.
The night is turning darker by the second, as is my mood. The weather is turning colder, as is my mood. The streetlamps grew brighter as I sat under the bus shelter with the nice lady. It is summer, but it is a UK summer. So, to put it simply, it is still Baltic at night-time.
I’m debating whether I should start walking up and down the streets as it has been so long, and they still have not found me yet. Maybe I should try now. I don’t say anything to the nice lady though, as I know she will tell me I need to stay exactly where I am and says to her friend, “maybe we should call the police? They can take her back to her caravan?” But I told her that was not an option since my parents would not leave the carnival until I was found, so it would just result in them never finding me again. The nice lady understands and asks me where I am staying on holiday. I tell her, “Sunny Bay in Dawlish Holiday Park.”
But before the nice lady can even begin to articulate a reply, my dad comes running towards the bus shelter and sweeps me up. He is crying. Then he says, “thank you!” to the nice lady, through his sobbing voice, and continues to run through the street with me. He holds my head close to his shoulders. “I’m so sorry dad, I’m really sorry.” I keep saying through deep sobs of relief. “It is not your fault darling, I’m just so glad we’ve found you.” I wrap my small arms around his neck as my sobs melt and eventually become silent. I am so relieved to be this close to him again. I never thought I would be.
Dad and Me. Dawlish Warren Holiday Park, 2009. Photo Credit: Neil Stimpson
My dad grabs his phone and calls my mum and says, “I’ve got her.” And continues to run as I hold onto him tightly. I didn’t realise how fast my dad could run. But before I know it, we are back with my mum and brother again. I can tell my mum has been crying, her eyes are glistening with leftover tears and her nose is as red as a raspberry. My brother looks scared, but relieved. My mum looks into my eyes and says, “oh thank god, Neil, where was she?” My dad wipes his tears away and says, “It’s okay, she was stood with some woman, I barely had a chance to thank her I was so relieved, and so scared.” My mum closes her eyes and smiles in relief, and then my dad hands me to my mum, who is holding me tighter than she ever has done before. I think I’m also clutching onto my mum tighter than ever before.
I want to get down from their embraces now, as seeing their leftover silent panic is fuelling some flashback panic and a smidgen of guilt in me. So, I jump down from my mother’s arms, and I ask my brother if he is okay. He seems a little distant, which usually means he is worrying, though he never likes to show it. He takes my hand, and says, “we can play a game you like when we get home?” “I don’t mind, really. It’s your turn.” I smile and then we continue to walk with my parents down the coloured streets.
Gradually, the atmosphere is clearing, and we become happy again. Not quite carefree. But we can see the paper dragon veering down the street once again. Except, now, my dad and brother are not laughing at the dolled-up women with the long legs in fishnets and the prominent cleavages that burst out of their feathered corsets. My brother is holding my hand tightly, which is very unlike him, and my mum and my dad are taking photos of the scenery; with every click of the flat-based digital camera, capturing the essence of the new equilibrium of the Chinese carnival.
It is 10pm. We decide to drive back to our holiday home. It has been a long night with a wide array of emotions. The car ride is quiet, but not awkward. We are listening to some Lily Allen on the CD player and quietly conversing with whoever we are sat opposite to in the car. Now that we are back at the caravan, my mum and dad are putting me in my favourite barbie pyjamas and they are tucking me into bed with my older brother, as we are sharing a double bed in the caravan. We are both given a glass of warm milk, which my mum knows always calms my anxieties. It also helps me and my brother to sleep some-times. Once my mum has left the room, my brother, Josh, turns to me and says, “If I ever ask you to race me again, don’t do it.”
Josh and me. Dawlish Warren, 2009. Photo credit: Emma Gray.
by Caitlin Stimpson