STATIC these days but forever on the move, John Culine MBE was last week elected president of the Showmen’s Guild, the trade association for fairground folk.

Though the Culines ran waltzers and dodgems and galloping horses – “entertaining the public since the 17th century” says his notepaper – it may not be said to have been a roundabout route. The new top man has held Guild office for 40 years.

He’s immensely proud of their way of life, determined to promote a community conscious culture and to keep the shows on the road, anxious that the showmen aren’t supposed synonymous with some other travellers and particularly not with Big Fat Gypsy Wedding.

“The Guild is there to regulate the profession, just like doctors or whatever. We’re in a very responsible industry,” says the new president.

“We want our own identity but there’s no way in a million years that I’d call a true Romany. I know and respect a lot of them but I do worry about how they’re portrayed on Big Fat Gypsy Wedding.

“We have five daughters and none of them has ever walked down the aisle in a big silly wedding dress with a fireman walking behind her in case she blows up.

“People say we’ll never lose the image, but I think that we can. I’ll do anything I can to help.”

HE was born in 1947 in a caravan on Jubilee Park, Spennymoor, the Co Durham town where his great grandfather is buried, and for almost 40 years has spent most of the time barely a mile away, in a large static caravan at the end of an industrial estate on the site of the former Tudhoe Colliery.

Had he not been born into a fairground family, he supposes, he’d have liked to have been a policeman. “I’ve always admired them, especially the detective work.” He has now sold his rides in order to concentrate on Guild and community activity.

The caravan’s luxurious, the surroundings less so. “We want nothing else. I’ve never even thought about living in a house,” says his wife, Davina. They met at the Newcastle Town Moor Hoppings in 1967 and have 13 grandchildren. “I’d be useless without her,” says John.

Originally they were a circus family called Cullen. Culine – properly pronounced Cu-lean – enabled Victorian shows to be opened with the announcement “We’re not kings, we’re not queens, we’re the marvellous Culines.”

John produces an 1853 playbill from the Princess Theatre in Leeds which promises that Madame Culine “will dance a hornpipe in real fetters” on the corde elastique.” She’d gone through the same routine in front of Queen Victoria.

Monsieur Culine, further down and in humbler type, would introduce Prince, the “celebrated” fire dog.

John Clifford Culine left King Street school in Spennymoor at the age of 11, never returned to formal education, taught himself typing – “I remember the book cost half a crown” – subsequently mastered new technology and has furthered his education by observing the more structured teaching programmes now in place for the travelling community.

“I’ve learned all sorts, especially punctuation,” he says. “I didn’t know what a semi-colon was until quite recently.”

Anticipating the three-year presidency he also bought The ABC of Chairmanship, a yellowing volume that originally cost 7/6d and was £25 on eBay. “I want to do things right,” he says. “It stops with me now.”

He’s been involved in the Spennymoor community for four decades, was town mayor in 2004-05 – raising £22,000 for the children’s caner unit at Newcastle RVI – and remains a councillor. “I’ve had meetings with several top government people,” he says. “I didn’t tell them I was a Labour councillor, but I would have done if they’d asked.”

He was made MBE in the 2006 New Year honours list, services to the Showmen’s Guild of Great Britain and to the community of Spennymoor. “I told Prince Charles that his family watched my family,” he recalls. “He put back his head and roared.”

THE Showmen’s Guild was formed as the Van Dwellers Association at the Black Lion in Salford in 1889. John becomes the fourth North-East fairground man to hold top office after Colin Noble, John Oughton and Frank Newsome, all well remembered.

In the First World War they raised enough money to buy 12 ambulances. In the second they bought a Spitfire named Fun of the Fair.

These days the Guild represents around 5,000 fairground families, regulates the industry, helps maintain high standards of health and safety and of discipline and pursues legal and planning issues. Members can be fined up to £10,000 not just for their own misconduct but for that of family members and those considered “resident” with them.

“If any of my daughters goes out and causes trouble,” he says – the prospect seems unlikely – “then I’m in trouble, too.

“We still have a bit of an image problem, but the Guild is very much about building relationships with the community. It’s in our interests to do so.

“I remember going to Byers Green, the first time they’d had a fairground for years, and there were petitions and all sorts. I just asked to be given a chance. By the end of the week we were good friends, and we often leave places cleaner than when we found them.

“I’m a gamekeeper who used to be a poacher. I know exactly how they think, but fairground people are nice people and if you see me, you see us all. I’m just here to ensure that everything’s done right.”

WHAT goes around comes around but it’s changing, nonetheless – not least because many rides are what’s kindly described as white knuckle. The president doesn’t go on them.

“They’re very safe. They’re taken down every week and rigorously checked but I get sick just reading the paper in he passenger seat of a car. “

It’s also becoming harder to find pitches. “Money is right everywhere. The major fairs will always be there but the village green fairs, when you could have a good weekend at the Evenwoods of this world – table money, we used to call it – are gone.”

In the next few weeks, World’s Fair will also publish his first book – a slightly fictionalised account of his family history in the 19th century. “Come to think,” he says, “I could tell quite a story myself.”

His term of office will end early in 2019, after which he still plans to be involved with the Guild. Davina thinks it a certainty. “You’ve seen hundreds of people who retire and then suddenly find they’re on their last legs.

“John will never retire. It’s in our blood. Whatever happens, he’ll always be on the road.”