It was an unarguable point, but Peter felt (not for the first time since he had known her) that he would like to hit Fritzi. He could see Santa felt the same.
They told Gus all about Alexsis’s troubles, driving to Maidstone on Thursday morning. It was not a very good day to talk about troubles, because the country was looking so nice. There were nuts in the hedges. Trails of traveller’s joy looked like snow. The first berries were forming on the bushes. The leaves were turning colour. Peter sniffed at the air. This was one of those October mornings when Ben said Mustard missed the hunting. ‘When it’s sharp, and you get a smell of leaves like.’ It was sharp today. There was a smell of dropped leaves. Peter made a mental resolution to take Mustard a little something extra.
Santa started the story of Alexsis. Gus had heard bits of it, but not that Maxim had definitely refused to let Alexsis go.
‘Well,’ he said, when they had finished telling him, ‘like most arguments there’s points both sides.’
Santa, who was sitting in front, looked back at Peter. They both thought it a mean-spirited answer. Everybody ought to take sides.
Gus drove along in silence for a bit. Then he slowed down the car.
‘Talking of Alexsis reminds me it’s time I had a word with you two. After these three days at Maidstone we’ve only a fortnight’s tenting to go.’ He paused and Peter and Santa held their breaths. ‘When you first came and were such a couple of ninnies I had planned to send you to those orphanages after we were through on the road. I thought maybe a year or two in one of those places would put guts into you and teach Peter not to argue.’
‘And you don’t mean to now?’ Santa hardly dared ask the question.
‘No. You’ve come on a lot. And you don’t like being separated, so I’ve fixed something different.’
He stopped again. They were coming nearer Maidstone. He had his eyes on the road ahead, looking for the first green stars.
‘What are you going to do with us?’ said Peter.
‘Watch for the stars, you two.’ Gus went dead slow for a flock of sheep. ‘Well, I’ve written to that Reverend Stibbings. He speaks well of Mrs Ford. I’m fixing to take two rooms for you in her house. You’ll go to school from there. Later there’s good technical schools in the neighbourhood. We’ll see how you shape. They’ll maybe be able to fix you both in offices.’
‘Gus, you wouldn’t sent us back to Mrs Ford?’ Santa’s voice had a crack in it.
Gus was hurt.
‘What funny kids you are. I thought you’d be pleased. After all, it’s that or the orphanages.’
Peter and Santa somehow directed Gus to the ground. It was not easy. All the green stars swam. Both of them had tears in their eyes.
At the ground they did not wait even to fill the kettle. They dashed off in different directions. Santa lay on her face behind the staff wagons. She shook with sobs.
‘Back to Mrs Ford. I can’t bear it.’
Peter did not cry at first. He stood in a corner of the ground where he could see the stables built up.
No more horses. To go in an office. It couldn’t be true. He swallowed. Then tears ran down his cheeks.
17
The End of Tenting
The end of anything you have enjoyed terribly is dreadfully depressing, even when you are going home or somewhere nice. But when you are going somewhere you know you will simply hate it’s difficult to be brave about it. Peter and Santa did manage to seem fairly cheerful when they were with people. By themselves they sunk into depths of gloom. They tried to cheer each other up.
‘I expect you can be a groom just the same,’ Santa said.
But Peter knew it was a false hope.
‘What, after just six months with horses? Not likely. If I’d had another year I might have had a chance. Fat chance I’ve got of even seeing a horse, living with Mrs Ford.’
‘It’s the same with me. If I’d had a bit longer lessons with Ted I might have been able to train to teach gymnasium. I wouldn’t like it much, but I’d like it more than going in an office.’
‘Well, you can practise your exercises. That’s more than I can my riding.’
Santa shook her head.
‘I’m not twelve yet. Over three years of living with Mrs Ford will kill all ambition in me. When I’m fifteen I’ll just take the first job I’m offered.’
‘We’ll be very lucky if we get jobs in offices. I might start as an office-boy, but I shouldn’t think I’d ever get any farther. I can’t spell.’
‘Nor me.’ Santa sighed miserably. ‘Ours is a very bad outlook.’
‘All the same we’ll have a try.’ Peter looked a bit embarrassed. ‘Gus is spending his savings on us.’
‘I know. He’s giving us a fine start. Everybody says so.’
Peter made a face.
‘I do wish he wouldn’t. There’s one thing, we shan’t cost him anything at technical schools. I shouldn’t think we’d ever get in. It’s a shame he’s got such stupid relations.’
‘Oh, I wish we could ask him if we couldn’t stop with him,’ said Santa. ‘I’d work my fingers to the bone looking after him.’
‘My goodness, how he’d hate that!’
‘I know,’ Santa agreed. ‘Such a pity Gus isn’t the sort of man that likes being looked after.’
As the days went by they felt worse and worse. Everybody else seemed to have such nice things to do. The Moulins were off to Paris. They would show the dogs in theaters. Fifi was to work with them over Christmas. Then, when the Moulins and the dogs came back to tent in April, she would stay to train with Mink.
The Schmidts were going to Germany. They would see the relations who were The Flying Mistrals. Fritzi would have some more lessons on the trapeze. Hans would stay with the uncle who had the five lions, three panthers, four bears, and two tigers, with which he would work when he was fifteen. They they would go back to England and spend another lovely six months tenting.
The Petoffs were going to the winter quarters, as were Ben, the Kenets, and Gus. Peter envied them most of all. They were to break some new horses, and work at new acts for the Christmas show.
The only person who was as miserable as Peter and Santa was Alexsis. When the Elgins went to Paris his hopes would go with them. They had finished their contract with Mr Cob. After Paris they were going to America. All his chances of working with them faded the farther away they went. He felt just like Peter and Santa. He was going where he did not want to go, and, like them, could not help himself. It was no good his threatening to run away. He could not go to France with the Elgins without a passport. How could he get a passport without his father knowing?
It is terrible how fast last days go. There had been a fortnight and three days left when Gus told them what was to happen to them. But somehow they did not last as long as a fortnight and three days should. Before you would think even one day had passed they had moved on to Dover. It was too wet and cold there to bathe; besides, time was getting so short they hated to leave the ground. In fact, Peter would not. Every second that he was not in school he spent in the stables. It was awful when they got to Whitstable. Just three days there. Then on the Thursday they moved to Margate. That was the end.
To make it even worse that they were going to live with Mrs Ford, they made big strides in what they were working at. Ted Kenet was really surprised at Santa. On the Friday at Margate he gave her a last lesson after tea.
‘Mind you,’ he said, speaking rather stuffily through his sweet which he was sucking, ‘old Gus is doing right by you. Nothing like education. Never had much of it myself, but I know it’s a fine thing to have. All the same, it’s a pity you can’t keep this up. You’ve come on wonderful. If I could have had you another year I’d have made a smart little acrobat of you.’
Santa had to turn away and drag on her coat so that he should not see she was crying.
‘It’s been awfully nice of you to teach me,’ she gulped.
Ted looked at her in surprise.
‘Just a bit.’
‘You come over to my caravan. I’ll mix you a glass of peppermint and hot water. Nothing like it in the winter for keeping out the cold.’ He looked in her face. Then he gave her arm a squeeze. ‘Nor for keeping your spirits up.’
They sat at the table in the caravan and drank their peppermint. Ted told her funny stories about the circus until he made her laugh. Something, either the funny stories or the peppermint, certainly did her good. She went back to her own caravan feeling better.
Ben never was one to say things that would make trouble. He did not say to Peter that he thought it a pity he had to give up riding. It was Gus’s decision that they should stay in one place and be educated. Peter was Gus’s nephew. If Gus thought it right there was no more to be said. But Peter knew Ben was sorry. He knew he was pleased with the way he had got on. He was doing quite difficult work now: the Spanish walk, all sorts of pirouettes, piaffers; and he was learning to rein back without touching the reins.
On the Friday morning after the lesson Ben came with Peter to feed Mustard.
‘Shan’t be able to take you tomorrer. It’s a lot of work when we finish tentin’. Some of the stuff goes one place, and some another.’ He paused while he picked up a straw. ‘You work hard where you’re going. You try to get into this technical school, because that’s what Gus fancies, and ’e’s payin’ the piper and ’as a right to call the tune. But if you can’t make it, then let me know. I’ll have a talk with Gus. Maybe we could fix something for you.’ Peter’s face lit up. Ben put his hand on his arm. ‘But mind you, don’t you write to me unless you can say honest that you worked all you knew. Neither in a stables nor anywhere else is there room for one as doesn’t.’
The Saturday at Margate was a day just in keeping with how Peter and Santa felt. Santa was sleeping in the caravan again as the weather was turning cold. She and Peter woke in the night to a new sensation. The caravan was rocking. They could hear the screaming wail overhead of the wind. They woke in the morning to find grey lowering clouds scudding across the sky. The sea was black and angry. Great waves reared up and hurled across the sea front, scattering pebbles as they went.
Everybody in the circus was anxious. In spite of it being a busy day they had time to stand in knots and watch the sky and stare at the big top. All the morning gossip drifted up from the town. Some tiles had been blown off a church roof. Some bathing huts had been smashed and were drifting out to sea. An old woman had been blown right across a street.
At one o’clock Mr Cob called a committee. The tentmaster, Maxim, the eldest Kenet, and Gus. Was there too much wind? Should they play for safety and pull down the big top?
It was the end of the season. Tents the size used in a circus cost a lot of money. On the whole everyone was in favour of packing up, but Mr Cob was worried. He did not mind about the booked seats. That was easy. He could give their money back. He was thinking of the children who had been looking forward to seeing the circus for weeks, and the poorer of the grown-up people who had perhaps been saving to come.
‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘we’ll risk it. We’ll play the matinée and see if we can stand up. Then we’ll try the first show. Then all being well we’ll risk the last show. My old father used to say: ‘A showman’s duty is to his public.’ Well, pulling down the big top may be safe, but it’s not my duty to my public. Put out watchers. If the big top tears, the orchestra plays the people out and we pack up.’
The wind did not get better. It seemed extraordinary hearing it howl by to think a great tent could stand. But stand it did all through the matinée. The house was packed. ‘Oohs’ and ‘Ahs’ and roars of laughter came from the audience. Only the people of the circus knew that round the tent in a circle stood watchers staring at the roof. Would the big top beat its worst enemy – wind?
The first evening show too finished safely. The people were battering their way through the gale to the last show.
‘Thought maybe it would be too windy for you to keep up,’ one man said to Mr Cob, as he hurried his wife and six excited children into their seats.
Mr Cob smiled as if he had not a care in the world and was not a ring-master with one eye glued to the roof.
‘It is a bit windy, sir,’ he agreed cheerfully, ‘but unless it gets worse we hope to get through the show.’
Peter and Santa were too nervous to stay in any one place. The wind made them like that. So it did the artistes and staff. Usually on a last night there are a lot of extra gags and funny make-ups and people congregating in the artistes’ entrance to say just one extra ‘Good-bye.’ So it would have been with Cob’s Circus that night. Plenty of jokes had been planned. There were a lot of sad good-byes to say. So many of the artistes were off to other parts of the world. These performers might never see each other again, or they might meet in Buenos Aires or San Francisco; it was a matter of luck. But tonight, with the wind howling and tearing at the canvas, nobody had time for jokes or good-byes. It was ‘Hurry, hurry! Shall we get through before the wind blows us down?’ Peter and Santa watched part of the show from the entrance and the rest of the time stood with the watchers outside. In a way it was less frightening outside. There you were just banged about with the gale. You could only stare through the night at the roof of the big top. If a ray of light came through, then the canvas was ripped. If the canvas ripped, then there must be the quickest pull-down on record. No ripped canvas could live many minutes; once the wind found a way to get in, it would tear it to pieces.
All the children were running round. The Petoffs and the Schmidts would see each other that summer, but Fifi was not coming back, nor were Peter and Santa. They made wild plans to meet. Fifi said she would come to England for August and stay with her family. Peter and Santa said they would persuade Gus to let them come for the summer holidays. If that happened they would be all together again next year. But even as they made the plan they knew it would not happen. These six months when they had done everything together were finished. It was no good planning to repeat them.
The interval was over. Peter caught hold of Santa’s arm.
‘Come and see the liberties.’
Glittering and jingling the horses came into the ring. Maxim, looking as cool as usual, gave his orders. He had to raise his voice a little. The side curtains flapped and banged. The tent props creaked. The wind screamed among the guy-ropes. The chestnuts had finished. In came the greys. They stood in a neat ring, all their forelegs on the fence, all their faces looking out over the audience with amused tolerance. The band played The Blue Danube. Juniper and Ferdinand got into position. Then suddenly a man raced up to Mr Cob. Mr Cob nodded. He held up his hand to the orchestra. They stopped playing. The grooms ran in and led out the horses. Mr Cob took off his top-hat. He stood in the middle of the ring.
‘My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, the wind has made a rip in the canvas of this tent. If we leave it up it will tear to pieces. I must ask you all to leave as quickly as possible. And please forgive us for disappointing you, but even a showman cannot rule the weather. Thank you.’
Some of the audience grumbled, but they were silenced by others who knew what wind could do to a tent. The orchestra played a cheerful tune. The commissionaires hurried the people out. ‘Pass along, please!’ They could not say: ‘Pass along, please, as quickly as you can, or the tent may blow down on you,’ for that would mean a panic.
The moment the show was stopped everybody got to work. The girls dragged at the baskets and flew round throwing the covers off the chairs. Santa, Fifi, Olga, and Fritzi helped. They had seen it done so often they had no need to be told what to do. Peter, Hans, and Sasha helped the men get the seating down.
There was never a pull-down like it. Crash! Bang! Hammer! ‘Pass along, please!’ Those that had eyes to spare to look could see the rip in the tent now. It was a piece of material torn clean away. It flapped like a banner.
The people were out now, the chair covers packed, p
art of the seating down, the lorries backed up waiting for their loads. The wagons with the big lamps came and stood by in case the tent should go and the inside wiring snap. Gus and Ted Kenet worked like mad packing their stuff. The Frasconi father and his sons almost tore their trampoline in pieces to get it apart. They were getting the tent-poles out now. Men outside were dragging up the staples. All the ordinary routine of the circus was gone. The quickest way was the best way tonight. Then suddenly Mr Cob was back in the ring. He had a megaphone.
‘Everybody outside. There’s forty rips in the top. We must drop the canvas.’
It was not a minute too soon. All the wooden tent-props that were left standing were snapping like matches. The wind was tearing through the roof, the whole great tent swaying like a ship in a bad sea.
Everybody ran, the men carrying what they could. The tent-master gave his order. There was no measured lowering of the canvas tonight. Down it came with a rush.
It lay on the ground, a great white patch in the darkness. They turned the lights on it. Then they saw the damage. In falling the tent was pierced and torn in dozens of places by what remained of the seating and structure. As for what the wind had done, it was heartbreaking. There was no strip of the tent left that was worth saving. What they were looking at was a pile of useless fragments of canvas. What had been worth over two thousand pounds would not sell for twopence.
Mr Cob’s face showed up in the light as he peered at the damage. They were fond of him. There was no one there who would not have liked to say they were sorry, and no one there who would dare to do it. There was good luck and bad luck and you took it as it came. Mr Cob was not a man who liked pity.
‘Get on, boys, and clear up what you can.’ He turned to the tent-master: ‘Everyone’s done fine. Thank ’em for me.’
Peter and Santa had run with the rest. It was difficult to know where to run to. Everything was being packed outside. The lorries were standing close in. They found themselves pressed up against the side of the stables. They just waited to see the big top fall. Then they climbed through a flap and went in.
Circus Shoes Page 24
