Where Centuries Meet Screams of Joy: A Night at the Links Market

There’s just something about a fair with real history, and the Links Market fits that perfectly. It’s been going since the early 1300s—seriously, that long. People say it’s one of Europe’s oldest street fairs. For centuries, crowds have wandered up and down that same stretch of coastline, drawn in by the noise, the fun, a break from whatever’s normal. Standing there this weekend, it was easy to picture all the families over the years doing exactly what we were, year after year.

Whenever a travelling fair rolls into town, it somehow shrinks the years, no matter your age. This weekend, with the Links Market lighting up the shore, I found myself right in the middle, watching my eldest and her friend sprint headlong into all the chaos—laughter, neon lights, wild rides—with their mum right alongside us.

The second we arrived, the air was thick with the familiar combo of fried onions, diesel fumes, and salt from the sea. Lights flickered everywhere, music blasted from every ride, and the whole place thrummed. We could hear it before we even saw it—the distant screams, somewhere between terror and pure, silly excitement.

The girls barely paused. They gave the rides one look and that was it—they were off, barely casting a glance back. Their mum shook her head and laughed, one of those “here we go” smiles, and I trailed behind, happy to just watch and soak everything in. There’s a different type of fun at my age—not the thrill of being flung upside down, but the quiet pleasure of watching other people lose their minds—and sharing that moment with her made it even sweeter.

They started off easy—or, you know, as easy as anything at a fair really is—then headed straight for the wild stuff. Every time they joined a queue, the same thing: nervous giggles, a bit of “Should we really do this?” and instantly, “Of course we should.”

And then the ride would take off.

All you could hear were the screams, cutting through all the other noise. The first drops brought sharp shrieks, but halfway through, that fear melted into helpless laughter. It’s funny how those two things—fear and joy—get all tangled up. Where we stood, their mum and I caught each other’s eyes and grinned. When the girls came off, hair everywhere, eyes wide, they couldn’t talk fast enough about how wild it was and what they wanted to try next.

It was the same around us, too—families, couples, packs of teenagers all caught up in it. Parents juggling bags, pretending they weren’t nervous. Little kids jumping up and down by the smaller rides. Mates daring each other to go on rides they probably shouldn’t.

And honestly, standing there at 45, I felt genuinely happy. Not fake, not some bittersweet nostalgia—just real, simple joy. Life moves so fast these days. Everyone’s got their eyes glued to their phones, rushing everywhere. But here, none of that mattered. It was just lights, noise, and being together.

By the end of the night, the girls were spent but still running high, hoarse from shouting and grinning like crazy. As we walked away, the chaos of the market faded behind us, but you could still catch a stray scream or two floating on the night breeze.

I didn’t set foot on a single ride—and I didn’t need to. Just being there, sharing all of it with them was more than enough.