Becoming Billy Dare

by Kirsty Murray

  Someone grabbed Paddy by the collar.

  ‘You shouldn't be making money from a man's suffering!’ shouted Paddy. ‘It's not Christian. He's a human being, a poor starving wreck of a man!’

  The crowd murmured as the showman flushed red and hauled Paddy over to the door.

  ‘The skeleton gets paid good money, you're robbing him of his livelihood,’ he hissed in Paddy's ear.

  ‘You're robbing him of his dignity. Can't you see he's dying!’

  The showman's reply was to throw Paddy bodily into the street, all the while cursing under his breath. ‘Reckon I oughta put a sign up - “No dogs, no Irish”,’ he said. ‘Now clear off, you bloody larrikin.’

  Paddy stood up. Looking down the street, he noticed a pair of boys watching him and sniggering behind their hands. Paddy broke into a run, the folds of Dai's coat flapping around him like wings.

  All day, Paddy wandered the city. By evening, he had started to worry about where he was going to spend the night. He'd already determined not to go back to the Seamen's Home, but as the dark came down he found himself down at the wharves with nowhere to go. There was a slick on the water that was sour and unpleasant, not like the fresh, briny scent of the open sea. Paddy sat down, his legs dangling over the side of the wharf, and leant against a bollard. He looked down at the black water and then across at the docks and the pinpricks of light that illuminated the wharves. He pulled the coat tighter around him and thought of Dai lying somewhere out there, amongst the coral and the fishes.

  ‘Blimey, there he is, that's the dumb Mick what was blueing with Jim Crilly,’ came a voice from behind him.

  ‘So? He's no use to us. May as well chuck him in the bay,’ said another voice in disgust.

  ‘Garn. Leave him alone. He's got guts, even if he's got no brains.’

  Paddy couldn't help grinning to himself. It felt like the first time he'd smiled since the shipwreck. He looked over his shoulder. They were just a pair of boys and even in this light he could see their clothes were ragged. One of them held a cane in one hand and was leaning on it, his head tilted to one side.

  ‘Oi, he's looking at us, Nugget,’ said the surly one.

  ‘Nugget’ took a step closer to Paddy and nudged him with his worn boot.

  ‘You're lucky me and Tiddler came along when we did. You looked like you was about to jump and do yourself in. And ain't that a mortal sin?’

  ‘What would you know about it?’

  They ignored the question. Tiddler leant closer and stared at Paddy. ‘I reckon he looks like a right sinner. You know, Jim Crilly took the skeleton over to Prahran this arvo and the bugger dropped dead on stage! That would have been a sight worth sixpence. I heard Jim reckons it was indigestion from the bun this bugger gave away what killed the skeleton. His last supper from a right Judas, that's what Jim Crilly reckoned.’

  Paddy got to his feet angrily.

  ‘Sure, but I'm grateful for the news,’ he said. ‘If you'd like me to serve you the same dish, come a little closer.’

  ‘Strike me fat, he's dumber than he looks!’ laughed Tiddler, but he took one step back.

  ‘Shut up, Tiddler,’ said Nugget. He pulled a pipe out of his pocket and lit up. ‘Look, Goldilocks, we're just heading downriver for a bit of a lark. There's a circus down on the river flats. You can tag along if you fancy.’

  ‘We don't want him along,’ said Tiddler, disgusted.

  ‘I reckon any bloke that takes your measure and calls your bluff, Tiddler, is a man worth knowing.’

  Paddy laughed. He decided to join them, if for no other reason than to annoy Tiddler.

  ‘So what brings you to old Melbourne town?’ asked Nugget.

  ‘Shipwreck. My boat went down at Point Nepean.’

  ‘Oi, you wasn't on that Lapwing, was you?’ asked Tiddler, suddenly impressed.

  ‘To be sure. There were twenty-nine of us on board but only five survived.’

  ‘So youse a sailor?’ asked Tiddler.

  ‘Not any more,’ said Paddy.

  It was almost dark by the time they reached the circus. A huge tent stood glowing on the banks of the river.

  ‘How much will it cost?’ asked Paddy. ‘I don't have much money left.’

  ‘Don't worry about it, cobber. Nugget Malloy don't pay for nothing.’

  Paddy followed the other boys as they slipped under the ropes of the big top and wriggled under the canvas. They lay shoulder to shoulder beneath the bleachers. Peering out between the rows of seats, Paddy caught a glimpse of a man in a bright red coat and top hat. He whirled a huge stockwhip around his head and brought it down in the sawdust with a crack like a rifle going off. Paddy flinched, but a shiver of excitement ran down his spine.

  A tribe of small acrobats cartwheeled into the ring and then out again. A trumpet sounded and two white horses cantered into the big top with a dark-haired acrobat astride their backs. He balanced with a foot on each horse, a purple and white satin cape flowing out behind him. Paddy caught his breath. The bareback rider raised his arms above his head and then threw his cape into the audience. He leapt from one animal to the other, twisting his body in mid-air and then landing sure-footed on the galloping horses. An attendant on a high platform held out silver hoops and the audience gasped each time the acrobat dived through them with effortless grace. When he galloped from the ring, a storm of applause and stamping feet thundered through the tent.

  Suddenly, someone grabbed Paddy by the ankles and hauled him backwards. Beside him, Nugget cursed as he too was dragged under the bleachers. Outside the big top, Tiddler and Nugget wrenched themselves free from their captors and bolted across the river flat, disappearing into the darkness. Paddy stayed put. Three burly tent hands towered over him.

  ‘Sorry, sirs. I hadn't the money for a ticket,’ said Paddy, ‘but I'd sell the shirt off my back for the chance to see that bareback rider again.’

  One of the other men laughed. ‘Cor, he's earnest.’

  ‘I'll tell you what,’ said one of the tent hands, ‘if you're that keen on seeing the show, hang on to your shirt but come back tomorrow morning. You put in a few hours work around the place and the boss'll likely give you a ticket for tomorrow's matinee.’

  ‘I'll be here, sir. First thing.’

  That night, Paddy didn't go back to the Seamen's Home. He lay down beneath a tree, a stone's throw from the circus, and drew Dai's coat up over his head to keep the cold at bay. Despite the chill air, Paddy felt none of the bleak despair of the night before. The bright vision of the bareback rider rode through his dreams like a promise of things to come.

  14

  Daring Jack Ace

  Before dawn, Paddy was waiting outside the big top. The first person to appear from the circus wagons was a small, golden-skinned, black-haired man with dark, almond-shaped eyes. He unrolled a rug on the damp grass and started stretching in the morning sunlight, then began to twist his body into amazing shapes. His limbs seemed to be made of licorice. Paddy's joints ached just watching. Suddenly the contortionist looked out from under a knot of limbs and grinned at Paddy.

  ‘You can make like this? You come to circus for job?’ he asked.

  ‘Last night, a gentleman said I might be able to see the show if I worked today,’ said Paddy.

  ‘You, boy, you here work for Mr Sears' Circus then? We need boy. You hard-working boy?’

  ‘Very hard-working,’ said Paddy, nodding seriously.

  The contortionist untangled his limbs and laughed. ‘Mr Sears make very good deal. He smart. You be smart too. You tell him you want job, not only ticket. We need boy to help with horses, help with work. Too much work this damn circus.’ He rolled up his rug and tucked it under his arm. ‘You look like smart boy,’ he said, tapping his forehead. ‘You no let Harry Sears make you work for nothing.’

  Harry Sears, the ringmaster, had a chest as big as a barrel of Guinness and long powerful arms. Even without his costume, he radiated authority. All morning, Paddy worked hard, following
the ringmaster's directions. He raked the sawdust in the ring, fed and watered the horses, shovelled manure and emptied the slop buckets into the river. Even after Mr Sears told him he'd earned himself a ticket, he kept on working until the matinee began.

  From the first blast of the horns, Paddy sat on the edge of the bleachers, every muscle in his body taut with excitement. Harry Sears' sons tumbled in the ring, diving over and over each other until Paddy wasn't sure where one boy began and the other ended. The exotic contortionist, Coo-Chee, twisted his body into such complicated shapes that he seemed more serpent than man. A sword-swallower pushed a long shining blade down his throat and Paddy pressed his fist against his chest, as if he could feel the blade against his own ribs. Each act presented itself as a small miracle but the most miraculous of all was the flying bareback rider, Jack Ace. He cantered into the ring on his team of white horses, risking his life each time he leapt fearlessly from one horse to the other. At the height of his performance, he reached up, took hold of a bar in the rigging and swung high into the roof of the big top. Paddy watched the white-clad figure flying above the audience and held his breath. In a single, swift movement, the man performed a somersault in the air and then landed gracefully on the back of one of the white horses. The audience cheered and Paddy cheered louder than any single one of them.

  At the end of the show, Paddy went in search of Harry Sears. He found him sitting at the back of the big top drinking out of a tin mug.

  ‘Mr Sears, I hear you've been looking for someone to sign on as a hand. I'd like the job, please, sir.’

  ‘How old are you boy?

  ‘I'm nearly fifteen,’ said Paddy, adding a few months to his age.

  ‘You're a big fella for fifteen.’

  Paddy tried not to smile too broadly.

  ‘Too big to train up for the circus. And too small for the sort of work a general hand has to do.’ Harry emptied his mug and stood up.

  ‘I'm fit for anything. I worked on a clipper doing plenty of hard work,’ said Paddy urgently, following Harry. ‘I used to help my ma on the farm back in Ireland. I'm not shy of work, sir.’

  ‘You're keen enough, that's for sure. You know we're a travelling concern. We're taking to the road tomorrow, heading north to Sydney. Your old man give you permission to sign on?’

  ‘I'm an orphan, sir, so I'm not needing anyone's permission,’ said Paddy.

  ‘All right then. You be here before dawn tomorrow to help load up and I'll take you on as a general hand. Two shillings a week and your fare.’

  Paddy grinned. He walked away whistling. He slept under a bridge that night but as soon as the dawn rays crept over the city, he was back at the circus site, where the men were already at work loading up. There were eight wagons of gear and fourteen men and boys including Paddy, plus Ma Sears, her sister and a confusing array of small children.

  They took the road north out of Melbourne towards Warburton, past blossoming orchards. Paddy took a deep breath of the sweet, crisp air. He was glad to turn his back on the sea and see the horizon broken by forest and farmland. Beyond the orchards, flat golden fields folded out on either side of the road. Everything in Australia seemed to sit at strange angles to the world - the wild and the tame, the ordinary and the extraordinary. One day he was shipwrecked on a white beach, the next he was lost on the streets of a city and now he was travelling an endless open road.

  They stopped in the late afternoon, at the edge of a village called Box Hill. There were no box trees and no hill that Paddy could make out, only a small dusty township. The men set to work raising the big top in an open field on the edge of town. Everyone helped unload the wagons, the smallest children staggering under the weight of ropes and canvas.

  Harry Sears came over and thrust a big bass drum at Paddy. ‘Here you are, time to drum up a crowd for this evening's show.’

  ‘But I've never played a drum before,’ said Paddy, holding the instrument at arm's length, as if it might explode.

  ‘Ain't nothing to it, boy. Go and see Ma Sears and get her to give you an outfit, then strap this thing on and whack the billyo out of it. Everyone has to play in the band. It's the only way we're going to bring Box Hill to the show.’

  Half an hour later, Paddy was marching through the village, banging on the drum with half a dozen of the other men squawking on battered brass trumpets, trombones and euphoniums. It didn't sound much like music, but the noise drew people out of their homes and into the street to watch. Paddy spun the padded drumsticks around and did a little dance step as he followed the other players. A small girl standing by her front gate waved at him and Paddy took off his hat and tossed it in the air, catching it on his head as he walked past. Paddy felt a satisfying glow at the sound of the girl's laughter.

  That night, around sixty locals paid a shilling each to watch the show. After the crowds had left, the whole troupe gathered around a bonfire set well away from the flammable canvas. Ma Sears stirred a pot of mutton stew on the fire and ladled the dark meat onto tin plates.

  ‘You were right flashy in the parade today,' said Ma Sears, as she dished up a plate for Paddy. ‘You got a bit of showman's style, you have.’

  She waved her ladle at Jack Ace. ‘Here, Jack, you oughta teach that Paddy a few tricks and get him in the ring.’

  Paddy was excited by the idea. ‘That would be grand.’

  Jack didn't answer. He was sitting off to one side of the fire on a fallen log, taking swigs from a small silver flask. Paddy sat down next to him to eat his dinner.

  ‘You reckon you'd like to be an acrobat?’ asked Jack Ace.

  ‘I want to be a bareback rider, like you,' said Paddy, his eyes bright.

  Jack Ace laughed and offered Paddy a swig from his whiskey flask but Paddy shook his head. The smell of it made him think of the wreck of the Lapwing, the drowned sailors, the dark and miserable past. Paddy couldn't bear to dwell on it, not even for a moment.

  ‘First,’ he said, ‘I want to learn to do that trick where you do a handstand on the horse's back.’

  ‘So you're good with the horses, then?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Paddy.

  Jack laughed. ‘There's no maybes. You can't be afraid of hurting yourself. You can't be afraid of dying neither. You have to have guts to do what I do.’

  ‘I'm not afraid.’

  ‘All right then, I dare you to come along to a training session. I'll go easy on you, you being a beginner like. But if you're gonna stick at it, remember, you gotta be willing to take the dare. Every time.’

  The next morning, as soon as he'd finished his chores, Paddy joined the Sears children for their training session in the big top. Jack was dressed in a close-fitting cotton singlet and leggings and his shoulder muscles gleamed with sweat as he worked through a series of chin-ups at a makeshift bar.

  The smaller children had their own mats that they rolled out and practised tumbling on. Paddy was impressed by their daring and agility, but Jack Ace was hard to please. He prodded them roughly with his riding crop, and pulled them to their feet and shook them whenever they made the smallest mistake.

  ‘Hopeless, the lot of you, look at those limbs sticking out. Elbows in!’

  When he came to Paddy, he threw a mat towards him.

  ‘Here, let's see you do a forward roll.’

  Obediently, Paddy tucked his elbows in close to his body, kept his head down and rolled. Jack Ace watched, frowning.

  ‘Not bad,’ he said, reluctantly. ‘For a first-timer. Now show me a handstand.’

  Paddy flung himself at the mat but when his legs were in the air they just kept going and he landed hard on his back. Jack Ace caught his feet the next time he tried.

  ‘Your arms are too wide. Keep your hands under your shoulders. And drop into it. Don't throw yourself at the ground,’ he instructed.

  Paddy tried again, and this time it worked perfectly. He kept himself upright until his head started to pound with blood, then slowly lowered his feet to the ground and
stood up, grinning.

  ‘You're not bad,’ said Jack. ‘Your back's a bit long, but you're not bad at all.’

  Without warning, Jack spun around and lashed out at one of the smaller boys, knocking him to the ground. ‘Here, I didn't say you could stop working. All right, you lot. Get over here,’ he said, shouting at the tribe of small children who were scrambling over the bleachers.

  ‘Time for my box of tricks,’ he said, winking at Paddy. He set a jagged tin in the sawdust and then forced the smallest boy to do a handstand over the tin. Jack kept hold of the boy's ankles for a minute, keeping him clear of the sharp edges but as his grip loosened the boy began to whimper. ‘You hold that for a count of ten,’ said Jack, his voice hard.

  Coo-Chee shook his head, rolled up his mat and walked out of the tent.

  Within a second of Jack letting go, the boy fell onto the jagged tin and yelped in pain. Paddy helped him to his feet and wiped away the trickle of blood from the small boy's forehead but the cut was deep and the wound kept bleeding.

  Jack grunted. ‘Take him to Ma Sears. She'll clean him up,’ he said dismissively.

  Paddy stared at the man, suddenly revolted. ‘What?’ said Jack. ‘Listen, boy, you have to have guts to be an acrobat. You have to take the dare, every time, risk your life. If you can't be daring, you'll be nothing.’

  Paddy led the snivelling boy out of the big top and down to the creek where Ma Sears was drawing water.

  ‘How was your first go?' asked Ma Sears, not looking up from her work.

  ‘Bobby, he …’ Paddy trailed off, not knowing how to explain what he had witnessed. Ma turned and took in everything instantly.

  ‘You playing silly buggers again, Bobby?’ she said.

  ‘He wasn't doing anything,’ said Paddy but Ma Sears held up her hand to silence him.

  ‘Listen, Paddy. Jack's a hard man when it comes to the ring, but he gets results.’ She picked up Bobby and thrust a pair of kerosene tins at Paddy. ‘Here, bring us some fresh water and I'll get this one cleaned up.’

  All morning Paddy went back and forth between the creek and the kitchen tent, filling the tins and brooding on the training session. Maybe Bobby did act up a lot. Ma Sears didn't seemed worried by it. Who was Paddy to judge? How was he to know if Jack was cruel or fair?