by T E Kinsey
As we approached we could hear cheering from the other side of the green as the parade marched back inside the enclosure. We were just in time to see the elephant make its stately way in through the main gate and to hear the last boom of the band’s bass drum before the villagers, chattering excitedly, began to disperse.
The village was crowded with locals out enjoying the warm evening air, and visitors from all around come to see the circus on the green. Old Joe was already doing a brisk trade in food and drink at the Dog and Duck and the mood was buoyant.
There was, I realized, no chance whatsoever of us not being noticed and so I decided that there was nothing for it but to be brazen. Together we strode towards the circus entrance, our hair flowing loose down our backs and the mouths of the villagers falling open one by one as we passed. I heard a matronly, ‘Well I never,’ from someone I thought I recognized as Daisy Spratt’s mother and at least one, ‘Shameful,’ but by and large the reaction was rather pleasing. Several young men doffed their caps and bowed as we passed and there was a loud, ‘Wah-hey,’ from a lad in a small group that contained Arthur Tressle – obviously the cricket team.
The local police had been on hand to maintain order, though their presence was scarcely necessary in such a good natured crowd. Constable Hancock caught sight of us and came over to bid us good evening.
‘I say, ladies, don’t you look...’
‘Delightful?’ suggested Lady Hardcastle.
‘I was thinking more along the lines of “surprising”, m’lady, but there’s delight to be had, that’s for certain.’
‘You’re very charming, constable.’
‘Are you dressed up for something special, m’lady?’ he asked, obviously trying hard not to look anywhere he felt he shouldn’t.
‘We’re having dinner with a friend of mine from the circus,’ she said with a grin.
‘Are you? Are you indeed? Well I hope you have a most pleasant evening, m’lady.’
‘Thank you, constable.’
‘And you, too, Miss Armstrong.’
‘Thank you, constable,’ I said and curtseyed.
He was about to stammer something else when Sergeant Dobson appeared.
‘Ladies,’ he said, touching the brim of his helmet with his finger.
‘Good evening, sergeant. I trust we find you well,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Very well indeed, m’lady,’ he said.
‘They’re going to dinner in the circus, Sarge,’ said Hancock.
‘Then you’d better let them get on with it, hadn’t you,’ said Dobson. ‘And put your tongue away, lad. I’m sure they don’t want to see you drooling.’ He winked at us and led the mortified constable away.
Laughing, we carried on to the main circus entrance.
A red, wooden arch bearing the legend “Bradley & Stoke’s Carnival & Circus” in golden lettering marked the gateway to the wonderful otherworld within. The walkway beneath it led to an ornate wooden structure with another red and gold board above it reading, “Admissions”. Two ticket windows were each manned by a smiling old woman of more than seventy years in red tunic with gold trim. As we approached, it became apparent that the women were identical.
‘Good evening,’ they said in unison.
‘Er,’ said Lady Hardcastle, looking from one to the other. ‘Good evening.’
‘Welcome to...’ said the first.
‘...Bradley and Stoke’s...’ said the second.
‘...Carnival and Circus,’ finished the first.
‘How may we...’ said the second.
‘...help you?’ asked the first.
‘I’m Lady Hardcastle.’
‘Ah yes...’ said the first woman, consulting a piece of paper on the counter before her.
‘...Lady Hardcastle. Colonel...’ said the second.
‘...Dawlish is expecting you. Please...’
‘...wait a moment and...’
‘...I’ll let him know...’
‘...you’re here.’
Lady Hardcastle and I exchanged glances.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That will be...’
‘...splendid,’ I finished. ‘It’s a lovely...’
‘...evening.’
The two old ladies laughed and clapped delightedly. Then the first took a whistle from the counter and blew it sharply three times.
‘I’m Milly,’ she said, putting the whistle down. ‘And this is my...’
‘...twin sister Molly.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, ladies,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘And this is my... my good friend Florence Armstrong.’
I raised an eyebrow but her look said, ‘Play along.’
‘Good evening, ladies,’ I said.
‘It certainly seems to be a magnificent circus. Have you been with it long?’ she asked.
‘Sixty years this...’
‘...November,’ they said.
‘Young girls we were then,’ said Milly. ‘We were...
‘...acrobats,’ said Molly.
‘Oh, how wonderful,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘What a life you must have led.’
‘We had our...’
‘...moments,’ they said.
‘Alas,’ said Molly, ‘time passed and our...’
‘...joints stiffened,’ said Milly. ‘And so now we’re here...’
‘...selling tickets and welcoming...’
‘...the world to meet our...’
‘...wonderful family.’
I was very much warming to these two old charmers and was keen to find out more about them and their lives in he circus, but another charmer had appeared.
‘Emily! Emily,’ said Colonel Dawlish. ‘You came.’
‘But of course,’ she replied.
‘And you brought... but wait, who’s this with you? Surely that’s not Florence Armstrong, lady’s maid and all-England Mazurka champion? In rational costume?’
I bowed.
‘Why the devil,’ he asked, laughing, ‘are you dressed like that?’
‘You distinctly said, “riding togs”,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Didn’t he, Flo?’
‘He did, it’s true,’ I said.
‘I suppose I did at that,’ he said with a grin. ‘Well done, you. But where did you get...?’
‘I shall tell you the full story one day, dear heart, but it shall suffice for you to know for now that I had need of a disguise at Kidderminster in 1904.’
‘I’d like to meet the man who would be fooled by the sight of that behind in those jodhpurs and give him the address of my optician,’ he said. ‘But in truth you look fantastic, the pair of you. Just right for the circus. Come on, I’ll show you round.’
We offered our thanks to Milly and Molly for their hospitality and took our leave.
The walkway led from the box office, forming a short avenue that led to the entrance to the magnificent Big Top. About halfway there, it branched to left and right at a small crossroads, with an oversized road sign at its centre pointing to “Big Top”, “Mysteries” and “Wonders”. We took the left turn to the mysteries.
The meandering path took us past a series of small tents, each with a sign above. There was “The Great Sandino – Magician” and “Pierre Marron – Mind Reader”.
‘How wonderfully exotic,’ I said, longing to go inside and see a show.
‘Leonard Sanderson from Ipswich and Peter Brown from Salford,’ said Dawlish. ‘Lovely chaps, great showmen.’
There were smaller tents for clairvoyants, palmists, and mediums and then as the path rounded the corner, yet more containing, so said the signs, a fat lady, a tattooed lady and “Wilfred Carney – England’s Seventh Smallest Man”.
‘Seventh smallest?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘So we boldly claim,’ said Dawlish. ‘To be honest, I doubt if he’s in the top twenty, but, you know, “seven dwarves” and all that? Brothers Grimm?’
‘Aha,’ she said. ‘Of course.’
There were more tents farther on,
but we’d already turned back.
‘You look quite giddy there, Flo,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
Against all my instincts, I really was rather enchanted by the place. ‘It’s like the most wonderful little fantasy village,’ I said,
‘Very much like one,’ said Dawlish. ‘A greedy, hungry, messy, chaotic village with all the squabbles, rivalries, friendships and romance of the real thing. And when we’ve sucked a place entirely dry of all its spare cash we can pack it all up and move out in less than twelve hours to go and find somebody else to fleece.’
‘You can’t fool me with your sham cynicism, George Dawlish,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I see through you. You love it.’
‘The truth is, I really rather think I do. It’s the camaraderie of the army without the shouting and shooting. Don’t get me wrong, I do love to shout and shoot – there’s not a man this side of the Shanghai docks who loves the army more than I – but there’s something really rather splendid about this ragtag troop of misfits and outsiders. And although they’ll happily relieve a chap of his last farthing, they offer him a belly laugh or a few moments’ goggle-eyed amazement in return.’
By now we’d passed the crossroads and were heading towards “Wonders”. Here we found larger tents for the acrobats and jugglers, the contortionist, the strongman and the prize fighter. We carried on through to a canvas wall and Colonel Dawlish lifted a flap and ushered us behind the scenes.
Part of me was disappointed by how prosaic the camp was beyond the public areas. The magic of the bright colours and cleverly-laid pathways that slowly revealed new delights to the wandering visitor gave way to an orderly array of tents and wagons very much like – as one might expect from something organized by Colonel Dawlish – an army camp. Sleeping quarters, a mess tent, an open area for meetings and rehearsals and, off to one side, rows of wagons for the wild animals and “stables” for the many, many horses. The circus was rare in that it didn’t seem to have a menagerie, but I could see a lion cage as well as an enormous travelling cage for the elephant.
‘I hope you’re both hungry,’ said Colonel Dawlish and led the way to the mess tent.
The tent was already filling up with high-spirited circus folk, many already sitting and eating, chattering noisily, and some still queuing for their bowl of stew. There was bread and fruit on the tables, and jugs of ale and water.
We waited in line behind Colonel Dawlish who introduced us to the cook, a mountain of a man with a prodigious beard and a ready laugh who seemed to be called Babble. He dolloped generous helpings of a delicious-looking vegetable stew into tin bowls and we carried them towards a table near the corner of the tent where there appeared to be a little space remaining.
‘Did you say that man’s name was Babble, Colonel?’ I asked as we sat down.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Babbling Brook: cook. It got shortened to Babble. His real name’s Bert Smith but I don’t remember the last time anyone called him that.’
We seemed to be joining a group of friends at the table and they shuffled along the benches a little to make room for us.
‘Lady Hardcastle,’ said Colonel Dawlish with formality, ‘please allow me to introduce my dear friends and colleagues.’
He indicated the first, a fair-haired woman of average height, lightly built but with the appearance of a subtle strength. Even sitting down she appeared graceful. ‘This is Miss Prudence Hallows, our trapeze artist.’
Next to her was a large, dark-haired man with an impressively luxuriant beard and an avuncular twinkle in his eyes. His shoulders seemed about to burst from his shirt and the forearms which emerged from his rolled-up sleeves looked to be thicker than my own legs. ‘This is Mr Abraham Bernbaum,’ said Colonel Dawlish, ‘our strongman.’
‘Next, we have Mr Jonas Grafton, our chief clown.’ He was clean shaven and plain and might easily have been a chief clerk rather than a chief clown. Or even a clergyman.
‘Mr Augustus Noakes, our lion tamer,’ said Colonel Dawlish, indicating a red-headed man with an extravagantly curled moustache.
His attention turned to a beautiful woman will long blonde hair, and the ruggedly handsome man beside her. ‘And then we have Miss Veronica Prentice and Mr Wilfred Carney.’ Colonel Dawlish didn’t mention their roles but it was obvious from their appearance that these two were the Fat Lady and the dwarf.
‘Our lead juggler is Mr Hubert Parvin.’ This was a mischievous-looking man in his 20s with a pointed goatee beard.
Next to him was a tiny girl, not yet 20 by the looks of her, who never looked up from her plate, but smiled nervously as Colonel Dawlish said, ‘And here’s Miss Adeline Rosethorn, the contortionist.’
And then all our attention was directed to the most exquisitely beautiful woman I had ever seen. Dark hair, cut and styled with exquisite care, the darkest eyes, and features that looked as though they had been painted by an artist as an example of physical perfection. ‘Mademoiselle Sabine Mathieu, equestrienne extraordinaire,’ said Colonel Dawlish.
‘And then last, and by any measure least,’ he said, ‘we have Mr Mickey O’Bannon, pugilist.’ The curly-haired man with a broken nose and a ready smile waved a greeting.
‘Gracious,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘I promise to try my very hardest to remember all that, but please forgive me if I slip up.’
There were shouts of, ‘Don’t worry about it, love,’ and, ‘I can’t remember any of their bloomin’ names myself and I’ve been working with them for five years.’
‘And next to her is Miss Florence Armstrong, Lady Hardcastle’s–’
‘My dear friend,’ interrupted Lady Hardcastle.
‘Indeed,’ said Colonel Dawlish with an approving nod.
He sat down as the welcomes rang out around the table and we tucked in to our delicious food.
The conversation was loud and boisterous and the company, as promised, extremely convivial. The troop were the warmest, most welcoming group I’ve ever met and by the time the meal was drawing to an end I almost felt as though I were part of the circus myself. They had regaled us with stories of their triumphs and disasters, of audiences good and bad, and there was a warmth and comradeship between them that even their incessant teasing didn’t seem to diminish.
As the beer mugs were refilled for the umpteenth time, Lady Hardcastle and I took our turn as the centre of attention as Colonel Dawlish told stories about our time in Calcutta.
‘...and then there’s a flurry of knees and elbows and the robber is lying on the ground, spark out, and Flo here is standing over him with his own knife in her hand.’
‘Well done, girlie,’ said Mickey O’Bannon appreciatively. ‘Where did you learn that? China?’
‘I did, Mr O’Bannon,’ I said. ‘You know the Chinese arts?’
‘Mickey, please,’ he said. ‘I know of them, at least. I met a Chinese sailor once in Cork who fought like that. Placid fella he was, but you wouldn’t want to go picking a barney with him.’
‘Perhaps we should put her in the ring, Mickey,’ said Prudence. ‘Give your poor weary old bones the night off.’
‘I’d certainly like to see you fight, girlie, I truly would,’ said Mickey.
I was about to demur when Veronica suddenly said, ‘Oh!’ and dropped her spoon noisily into her bowl.
Wilfred, who was sitting next to her, jumped in surprise and flung out his arms, knocking Hubert’s beer from his hand.
‘Bravo!’ said Jonas. ‘A new juggling trick for your act, Huey.’
With an ironic bow, Hubert got up and went in search of a cloth to wipe himself and the table.
Veronica was still all of a twitter.
‘Whatever is ze matter?’ asked Sabine.
‘I just counted,’ said Veronica. ‘We’re thirteen at table.’
I expected them to dismiss it as silly superstition but instead a worried murmur ran round the table as they each made their own hasty count. Colonel Dawlish leaned in close and whispered, ‘Superstitious lot, the circu
s fraternity. Don’t scoff, but don’t let them spook you.’
The fuss quickly died down, but the merry mood had been broken and the conversation became more subdued. At length Colonel Dawlish raised a questioning eyebrow to Lady Hardcastle. She nodded in reply, and he put down his beer mug with a thud.
‘Well, my dears,’ he said, standing up. ‘I promised my friends here a tour of the circus and we still have a few things to see so we’ll take our leave. Don’t stay up too late. I want a safety inspection tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp, and a technical rehearsal at eleven. Abe, can you tell the blessed band that that means them as well, please.’
‘Yes, sir!’ they all chorused, saluting sloppily.
‘Scallywags,’ he said, laughing, and we rose to join him as the party said their goodbyes and bade us enjoy the rest of our evening.
As we left, I could hear Veronica saying, ‘Oh. Oh! The colonel was the first to leave the table. Ill will befall him before a year has passed.’
‘Don’t let them spook you,’ said Colonel Dawlish. ‘I left first on purpose so they weren’t stuck there all night.’
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘It was the juggler... Hubert? He got up to get a cloth when he spilt his beer.’
He grimaced. ‘Oh lord, don’t tell them that.’
Outside the mess tent, Lady Hardcastle checked her watch by the light of a lantern hanging from a pole.
‘Actually, it’s getting a little late,’ she said. ‘It’s been the most marvellous evening, George dear, but I feel we mustn’t keep you up, either.’
‘It’s been entirely my pleasure, darling girl. But you’re right, there’s still much to be done. Come on, I’ll show you out.’
He led us back through the flap in the canvas and down the winding path towards the circus entrance. The way was lit with yet more paraffin lanterns making the sideshows seem even more beguiling.
Presently we reached the now empty ticket office and said our farewells.
‘Thank you again,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said. ‘This is quite the most magical place.’
‘It’s been my pleasure to show off for you, ladies,’ he said. ‘You’ll be coming to the show, of course.’
