Maxim Petoff was the sort of man everyone smiled at. He was tall with brown curly hair like Olga’s and Sasha’s. He had eyes that turned up a bit at the corners as if crinkled with laughing. He had even higher cheek-bones than his children. He had lovely teeth which showed when he smiled. He held out his hand, first to Santa, then to Peter.
‘So this is the nephew and niece of Gus. And there is trouble with a box. Let us go and sit inside and you will tell me.’ He came into the caravan and sat down at the table. There was something so big about him, not so much in the way he was made, as in himself, that the caravan which had seemed quite roomy was suddenly very small. ‘Well?’ He smiled at Peter.
Peter explained what they wanted to know. When he had finished Maxim talked the problem over with himself.
‘That letter is for London?’
Santa and Peter nodded.
‘They get him tomorrow. That is Friday. They must pack the box. Then they must send it to the station. That maybe will be Monday. It costs much money to send by passenger train, so it will be sent by goods. Next week is three days Carlisle. Three days Whitehaven. It is the week before Easter.’ He stopped and took on the proud voice of somebody who has worked out a difficult puzzle. ‘The box must go to White-haven.’
Santa had been enthralled at his casual mention of towns. After all, going to Bridlington had been a great adventure to them, and here was Mr Petoff making long journeys sound no more than walking to Miss Fane for a violin lesson.
‘And where do we go after that?’ She had to accentuate the ‘we’ a little. It was such fun to be able to say it about yourself and a circus.
Maxim laughed.
‘That’s right. Always say “we”. You are already part of us. We’ – he beamed at her – ‘go to Blackpool. We stay all the week.’ He got up. ‘I must go. I am a busy man when there is a build-up.’ He patted Santa’s head and smiled at Peter. ‘We shall be good friends.’
Gus came back just as Mrs Ford’s letter was stuck down for the second time. He nodded approvingly at the two envelopes.
‘That’s right. Two letters in one envelope. Save the pennies. That’s always been my motto.’ He picked up the letter to Mrs Ford. ‘Where are you having your stuff sent?’
Peter and Santa answered at the same time. They both tried not to sound pleased with themselves.
‘Whitehaven.’
But it was evidently no good expecting admiration from Gus. He thought a moment. Then he nodded.
‘Yes. Whitehaven’s best. Week before Easter. Might miss us at Carlisle. Besides, there’s no show on Good Friday. Give us nice time to fix your stuff.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Tea’s at four. I’m going to have a lay down. You two go and have a look round. I’ve told Mr Cob you’re here so you’ll be all right.’
Peter and Santa jumped down the steps. There was no question where they were going. All the animals would have come from the station and they had not seen them. They set off running.
Although they had seen the stables being built, the sight of them full came as a complete surprise. They walked right the way through them awed into silence.
There were horses in the twenty stalls on the right. Ten chestnuts and ten greys. On their left, where before there had been a space, two huge barred cages had been placed. Looking through the bars with sleepy disinterested eyes were lions. Farther down below the lions’ cages, in the ten stalls were more horses. Four were cream-coloured. Over every horse a name was hung. The ten chestnuts were called after things in the kitchen: Pepper, Salt, Vinegar, Mustard, Tapioca, Coffee, Cocoa, Rice, Soda, and Clove. The greys’ names had no connexion with each other: Allah, Juniper, Ferdinand, Biscuit, Halfpenny, Robin, Pennybun, Masterman, Lorenzo, and Canada. The lions’ individual names were not given, but right across the two cages was written: ‘Satan’s Lions’. The four white horses had grand names: King, Emperor, Rajah, and President. The other six were called Rainbow, Whisky, Forrest, Magician, Pie-crust, and Wisher.
They came into the other half of the stables. In the space on the right a great wagon had been placed. On it was written: ‘Schmidt’s Sea-lions.’ From the inside of the wagon there came splashing and queer hoarse barks. Next to the sea-lions a space had been fenced in. There were kennels at the back of it. Playing about outside in the enclosure were four French poodles. They glanced up as the children stopped to look at them. Their eyes were humorous, but behind the humour they seemed a little blasé. On the roofs of the kennels was painted: ‘Lucille’s French Poodles.’ Facing the sea-lions’ wagon and the French poodles were six great heavy horses and ten Shetland ponies. The horses were called sensible names to fit their size: Mack, Fred, Carter, Mike, Paul, and Joseph. The ponies were Prissy, Diamond, Alice, Nixie, Cinderella, Nimbo, Poppy, Fanny, Lucy, and Lassie.
At the end of the tent where the wooden platform had been put up were six elephants. They were fastened to the ground with ropes but seemed quite unmoved by them. They swayed to and fro with almost a dancing movement. When anyone came near them they held out hopeful trunks which said far better than any beggar’s bowl: ‘Can’t you spare a little something?’
Peter and Santa, having watched the elephants in silence for a minute or two, suddenly let out great sighs as if they had been holding their breaths.
‘Do you realize,’ said Peter, ‘that there are forty-six horses?’
Santa nodded.
‘Um. That’s counting the little ones. What do you like best?’
Peter needed no time to think.
‘The horses. Don’t you?’
They heard a chuckle behind them, and there was old Ben. He had his usual straw in his mouth. He nodded in an approving way at Peter.
‘That’s sense, that is. Elephants are all right. This lot are clever as paint. But when you’ve trained them no matter what they do they’re always kind of funny. Now ’osses, they’re beautiful.’
‘There’s the poodles,’ Santa put in. ‘You like them, don’t you?’
Ben chewed thoughtfully at his straw.
‘Very pretty little act,’ he said at last. ‘But, you know, to me those dogs aren’t dogs, if you follow. Myself I always fancy a fox-terrier. But clever!’ He spat out his straw and stooped to choose another. ‘Almost indecent clever those French dogs are. D’you know if those dogs spoke English instead of what they do, which is French, I’d mind what I said in front of them. ’Tis my belief they’d understand every word.’
Peter and Santa looked at him carefully to see if he was being funny. But he was not. His face was quite serious. He saw what they were thinking.
‘No, I’m not joking. If you’d seen as much of circus animals as I have you’d know what I mean. There’s some so clever ’tain’t natural.’
Peter picked up a straw and chewed it too. He did not like it much but it seemed the right thing to do in a stable.
‘Do you like the sea-lions?’
Ben grinned.
‘Yes. I’m always glad when we have them out with us.
‘You know, to me those dogs aren’t dogs … But clever!’ Does you good to hear the children laugh when they come in the ring.’
Santa leant against a tent pole.
‘Are they clever?’
Ben looked across at the sea-lions’ wagon. He smiled at it affectionately.
‘Never made up me mind. You know how ’tis with some children. Sharp as needles. They don’t know they’re clever. Just born that way. Sometimes I think that’s how ’tis with sea-lions. Born for the job.’ He paused and broke a piece off his straw. ‘Great artistes are like that. That’s how ’tis with the best of my ’osses.’
Peter moved away out of reach of one of the elephants who was blowing down his ear.
‘Which are the best of the horses?’
Ben jerked his head to show them they were to come with him. He went past the ponies and over to Mack, Fred, Carter, Mike, Paul, and Joseph. He felt in his pocket and got out some sugar. He gave half to Peter and half to Santa.
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‘You go up and give them a bit. Gentle as babies they are!’ He gave Fred a friendly slap to make him move so that Santa could get into his stall. ‘Get over, Fred.’
Peter looked round from giving a lump of sugar to Carter.
‘They look much bigger than the other horses.’
Ben spat out his straw.
‘So they are, too. We use ’m for what we call “jockey acts”. You’ll see when you’ve watched the show. These six are Suffolk punches. Can’t beat ’m for rosin-backs.’
‘Rosin-backs?’ Santa came out of Paul’s stall. ‘What’s that?’
Ben found another straw. He cleaned it on his coat.
‘It’s hard tellin’ you two things. Gus was saying you’ve never seen a show. But maybe he’ll get Mr Cob to pass you in tonight. Well, you watch “The Arizonas”. That’s what they call them on the programme. It’s a trick-riding act. The Kenets do it. There’s four brothers, Ted, Jo, Willy, and George, and they’ve Paula Petoff in with them.’
Santa gave her last lump of sugar to Joseph. She came back to Ben.
‘We’ve met Mr Ted Kenet, and we almost know Paula Petoff. At least we’ve met Mr Petoff, and Alexsis, and Olga, and Sasha.’
Ben finished cleaning his straw and put it in his mouth.
‘Well, when you see this jockey act the Arizonas do you have a look at the ’osses’ coats.’ He ran his hand over Mike’s back. ‘You’ll see a grey look on them. That’s rosin. Keeps the artistes’ feet from slipping.’
Peter moved to one side to get out of the way of some people who had come from the town to see the animals.
‘Can anybody come in?’ he asked in a whisper.
Ben shook his head.
‘Pay sixpence. And half the time they give as much trouble as if they’d paid a pound. Mr Cob he sticks up great notices to say “No smoking”. But half of them don’t seem able to read. You would think a baby if two would know you can’t get throwing cigarettes about in a stable. But they don’t. I’ve my boys watchin’ all the time. Even then we had a fire once.’
‘Goodness!’ Santa leant against the wall of Mike’s stall. ‘What happened?’
‘Well’ – Ben moved his straw to the other side of his mouth – ‘it wasn’t in this Mr Cob’s time. It was in his dad’s. ’Course in those days tenting wasn’t what ’tis now. We ’adn’t the staff of grooms and that we carry now. What’s more we ’adn’t water laid on to the ground. Well, after the show the folks could pay same as they do now to see the menagerie. Dirty night it was, with a bit of a wind. Some fool, we never knew who, must have thrown an old end of cigarette in the straw of one of the stalls. Well, maybe the straw was damp. Anyways it doesn’t catch at once. We was all dossed down for the night. The grooms’ bunk house – that’s what we call the men’s sleeping tent – was away at the other end of the ground. I was sleeping in the forage tent which was where it is now just behind the elephants. Suddenly I sits up. You ever smelt fire?’
‘No’. Peter shook his head. ‘Was the tent on fire?’
Ben chewed his straw a moment. His eyes looked far away as if he were seeing that night all those years ago.
‘Funny smartin’ was all I felt at first. Then suddenly there came a puff of wind, and one of the horses screamed’. He shook his head at Peter and Santa. ‘We was out of that forage tent before you could say the word fire. Somebody was sent running to call up the men. The stables weren’t as big as they are now. It was more all in one like. Though that’s sixty years ago, for I was only just turned fifteen at the time, I’ll never forget the noise in that tent. We’d eighteen ’osses and they was all screaming. We’d a mixed wild animal act. One lion, two panthers, three polar bears, and a monkey. The lion was trying to tear down the bars of his cage, and it seemed like the panthers and the polar bears was gone crazy.’
‘What was happening to the monkey?’ Santa asked.
‘I didn’t see the monkey myself, I was busy with the ’osses. But a groom told me later he was actin’ just like a child. Sittin’ in the corner of his cage with great tears runnin’ down his cheeks. Pitiful to see, they said it was. As well we had five elephants all trying to stampede at once. Well, of course, the first thing to do was to get our ’osses out, and meanwhile somebody was running for the men who trained the wild animals and the elephants. Then all the ring boys came along and they started a chain of buckets. Then before we knew where we was there was the fire engine up from the town. The wind had got up and was ragin’ round and blowing the flames towards the big top.’
He stopped. Santa tried not to hurry him but she did so want to know what happened.
‘And did the big top catch fire?’
‘No. They saved it.’
‘And how about the animals?’ asked Peter. ‘Did you get them out all right?’
Ben’s face was sad.
‘All except the ’oss in whose stall the fire started. Brandy-ball his name was. Been a hunter. We used him in a high-school act. He was burned to death.’
Santa’s face was horrified.
‘How awful!’
‘It was.’ Ben began to move slowly up the stables. ‘Sometimes today Mr Cob will ’ear me speak a bit rough to someone I catch smokin’. Mind you, I never speak rough the first time. But if they don’t put it out quick I may speak a bit sharp. But I always say to Mr Cob: “You’d speak sharp if you could remember old Brandy-ball.”’
Santa and Peter got on either side of him. Peter looked up.
‘What’s high school?’
Ben chuckled.
‘You two want to know too much all in one time. You says to me, “Ben, which is the best of the ’osses?” Well, I doesn’t answer that direct. I gets you to meet the rosin-backs. This stable is much like the world outside. There’s simple people, and clever people. Well, those Suffolk punches is simple. They’re like farmin’ folk. Shy maybe, but staunch when you know’m. Well, you get to know’m. You watch them work. When you got them clear you shall meet some of the others. No good gettin’ a whole lot of words in your head and not know what any of them mean.’
They were level with the lions’ cages. Santa stopped.
‘Are they clever?’
Ben looked reflectively at the lions.
‘Wonderful what Satan does with them. ’Course he picked ’em as cubs. He wouldn’t have one in his troupe that was clumsy like. But for me I never fancy performin’ cats, that’s what we call ’em. I don’t like to see any act that ’as to be done behind bars. All the other animals is loose and enjoys their work.’
‘Don’t lions?’ asked Peter.
Ben shook his head.
‘Some say so. But there’s many feels with me, and Mr Cob’s one of them, it’s a pity any circus has a cat act. Same’s it’s a pity there’s so much dangerous stuff, high aerial and that, done without a net.’
Santa propped herself up against the rail which was in front of the lions’ cages.
‘Well, why does Mr Cob have them?’
Ben took a thoughtful suck at his straw.
‘On account of ’uman nature being what it is. There’s ’undreds and thousands of people that don’t come to a circus on account of the skill and the beauty and that, they come on account of seein’ what’s dangerous.’
Peter was puzzled.
‘Why?’
‘Nobody knows. It’s one of the things left over from the time we was savages maybe. Lots of people haven’t got so far from that now. Anyhow it’s a fact, and anyone in the circus business will tell you so, that it’s the savage animal, and the dangerous act, that half the time pulls ’em in.’
Santa made a face at him.
‘Pulls who in, where?’
Ben spat out his straw.
‘That’s the way we speak when we mean getting an audience. If we get some specially big attraction Mr Cob’ll say to me, “That’ll pull them in, Ben.” Do you follow?’ Peter and Santa nodded. Ben gave them a smile. ‘Well, I must be goin’ to my tea. Now if Mr Cob passes
you in tonight don’t forget to watch out for my rosin-backs. And you watch how Paula and the Kenets work.’
Peter and Santa looked after him. Santa threw her hair back off her shoulders.
‘I suppose it’s our tea-time too. Do you suppose “pass you in” means Mr Cob will let us see the circus?’
Peter spat out his straw as nearly as possible in imitation of Ben.
‘Sounds like it. We’ll ask Gus.’
‘Right.’ Santa started to run. ‘Don’t let’s fuss about tearing anything. Let’s race. Bet I get there first.’
Peter shot after her.
‘Bet you don’t.’
7
The Circus
Gus was awake when they got back. Or rather he was just opening his eyes.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘what have you been up to?’
They explained they had been seeing the animals and talking to Ben. Gus yawned. He looked at his watch.
‘Tea-time. Fill the kettle, Peter.’
Peter took the kettle outside. Santa got out the cloth and began to lay the table. Gus came in from the other room and looked at her approvingly.
‘That’s right. I don’t always lay the cloth at tea-time seeing I only have a cup of tea, but with a woman about it’s different.’
Peter came back with the kettle and put it on the stove. Santa gave him a look to show that Gus seemed in a nice temper and so this seemed a good minute to ask about seeing the circus. Peter cleared his throat.
‘If you please – I mean Ben said that perhaps – I mean—’
Gus gave him a pained look.
‘Kedgeree and rum, boy, can’t you say straight out what you want? “If you please” – and “Ben said” – and – “I mean …” Well, what is it?’
Peter turned red. He was looking a fool again. He wished he had left the asking to Santa. However, Gus had his eye fixed on him. He must finish now.
‘We wondered’ – he paused and Santa held her breath, afraid he was going to hesitate again, but he got it out at last – ‘if you would ask Mr Cob if he would pass us in tonight?’
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