by E. L. Norry
I ran back and handed the bag to Polly.
“You was fast! Thank you. What else can you do, apart from climb like a cat?” Her eyes twinkled. “Can you sew?”
I shook my head.
“Well, then, I can’t think of much else that needs doing.” She placed a cup on the wagon step and glanced around with her hands on her hips. “The horses have been fed. We got a performance this afternoon, another this evening and then that’s it, we’ll be packing up, pulling down to move on.”
“Pulling what?”
“What do you think, silly! Pulling the tent down. You’ll be needed then, I’m sure. It’s all hands on deck. Hard work that is.”
Larkin caught up to me. He took my arm and dragged me across the field. “Look here,” he said, chewing a length of straw. “Don’t be so sore! You got to put more effort in, that’s all. You won’t be no expert right off.”
I shook him off, angrily. “I don’t care about being an ‘expert’! I didn’t want to come here in the first place.”
He frowned. “Well, that’s as maybe, but you’re here now. We don’t get much choice about what we want, right? As long as you’ve got food and a place to sleep, then I reckon you’re doing all right in this life. Trust me. I been worse places, seen worse things.”
“So have I,” I replied, thinking of the steel mills and their brutal heat, the smell and sharp particles of hot steel that George and I would sometimes get pierced with, and later try to pick out with a pin. Staying at work till eight at night and sometimes even ten, with only half an hour for breakfast and an hour for dinner. Sometimes we’d fall asleep at our work, stumbling when the metal flooring got hot and slippery.
“It’s no good grumbling, Ted. You might dream about being elsewhere, but sometimes you got to open your eyes and face what’s in front of you. If you don’t like what you see, only you can change that. I mean, maybe not where you are, but how you think about it. Your attitude.”
Larkin was speaking to me as if I was a halfwit. How dare he!
“I know that! I’m not stupid.”
“I never said you were, but I ain’t seen half a smile cross your face today, neither. My folks are dead. I lived on the streets. You don’t seem to know a good thing when it’s right in front of you! Circus life is a good life, especially in the spring and summertime. And on Sundays, Pablo sends us off to church. Insists on it.”
“Sermons aren’t fun.”
“No, dummy. We never actually go to church. We have a lark. You gotta make the best of whatever you’ve got, see? If you can’t do that, then you’re stupider than I thought it possible for any boy to be.”
“What do you know?” Before I’d even thought of the words, they hurtled out of my thoughtless mouth. “You’re just a common chimney sweep.”
Silence.
“That’s as maybe,” he said, quietly. “But at least I got manners, which is more ’n I can say for you. The circus is a place for the unusual and the heroic. You don’t seem to be either of them things,” Larkin sneered.
“Never said I was,” I said, sulkily.
“Stop getting … so worked up. Look. Everyone wants to be special. Everyone wants to be able to do something that other people can’t. But if you’re not special, then the next best thing is to be close to someone, or something, that is. We give the crowds who pay to see us time to be special. Don’t you want to be a part of something special?”
“I’m already a part of something – my family, thank you very much!”
He creased his brow. “I don’t see what you’re thanking me for…”
“I’m not!” This boy was as dense as he was flexible!
My blood was still bubbling, although it wasn’t quite as hot as before. Most of my fire had snuffed out. Larkin knew how life was around here and I didn’t. Besides, what choice did I have? None. I tried to quiet the scorching roar inside me and imagined Mother’s hand against my cheek, and heard her kind voice, patiently urging me to calm down.
I stared at the ground, biting my lip. Maybe I needed to be candid if I wanted Larkin as a friend. If I wanted any friends at all.
“And what if…” My voice was shrinking. “What if… I’m no good? At any of it? I don’t want to ride horses. I don’t even like them!”
“You don’t have to like them, but if you ain’t going to ride, if you ain’t even willing to try … then you’ll be stuck clearing out their muck. That’s the grimmest job there is. All you got to do with horses is show ’em who’s boss.”
“Says you.”
“Yep. Says me,” Larkin bragged, sticking his fingers in his pockets and grinning.
He appeared to be utterly happy with his life here. Nothing seemed to bother him for long.
There was no escaping that this was my new life, and, no matter how uncertain I was, or how I longed for the sweet comfort of home (even the hot sparks from the steel mill didn’t seem so terrible), this life did come with Larkin for company. Although he was no substitute for George, life would be even lonelier if I had no friends. He was correct – I had food to fill my stomach. And tonight, I’d make sure I was settled in the sleeping tent, snuggled up amongst the straw.
9.
I hadn’t even watched a performance yet. I’d kept myself busy all afternoon, helping prepare stew instead. I knew that all eyes would be on me once I entered that big tent. I knew I couldn’t avoid it forever. Pablo would expect me to be full of excitement and enthusiasm for the evening show, but the minute I heard the bell signalling the start of the performance, all I felt was terror.
I entered the tent nervously and could only watch for a few minutes before I ducked out, my heart thudding so loud I imagined everyone could hear it, even over all the noise.
After the pulldown afterwards, which I hadn’t realized would take so long – or that canvas could weigh so much – we travelled long hours along the uneven roads. Brown, Larkin, Polly and I travelled in one wagon, the Bellini brothers and Clara in the other, while Pablo went on ahead, riding Bessie, who pulled his living wagon. Other wagons, with the stronger horses pulling them, were in-between us. The horses were tired, all of us exhausted, dozing on the way.
Part of me longed to appreciate the hedgerows and scenery, but all I could think about was how quickly our presence had been cleared away – how only a flattened patch of ground had revealed that there had been any life at all!
Where were we going? I heard names of places I didn’t know. Where was Hebden Bridge? How long would this circus tour last, and how far would it take me from my home?
I spotted a sparrow and wished that Mother or George were with me, so I could share the experience. As the wagon wheels rattled, I wondered: when would I see them again? Had George gotten his medicine? Was I expected to become so accomplished that I’d be able to help by sending money home?
The roads were lumpy and bumpy. Several times the wagon wheels caught in ditches and we needed to put boards under the wheels and heave each other out. Thankfully, the wheels on Pablo’s living wagon were so high that they didn’t get stuck in the potholes or water-logged streets.
I might have grumbled some … I was tired.
“Stop complaining! You ought to try doing this in the rain!” Larkin jeered at one point, after I’d slipped over twice in the mud. He’d spent much of the ride cracking jokes at my expense, trying to impress Polly, so I’d stopped speaking to him, wondering about his value as a friend after all.
Instead, to keep myself awake, I asked Brown about the circus life, and how things worked.
Brown said, “Our troupe used to be much bigger. We had thirty horses with clowns, a ring master and a big band at one time. Mr Arnold put up wooden amphitheatres – those temporary buildings you asked about before – and we’d perform there during winter. When we rolled into Bolton, twenty years ago, Pablo rode through those streets – such horsemanship to control twelve horses! That stunt brought us considerable publicity. He works tirelessly. I reckon circus folk are the ha
rdest working but most cheerful people I’ve ever known. Yet, I can see, quite plain, that you’ve no interest in being here.”
I rushed to tell him he was mistaken, but he held up his hand. “No need to explain, lad. I’m surprised, but there you are. Circus life ain’t for everyone. But Pablo’s circus is still going. If you learn nothing else in your time spent with us – if you listen to nothing else – you listen to the fact that he is still going. What does that say about a person? That twenty-five years later, he’s still here, trying? The circus became his home, his family, and you never give up on what, or who, you love. And, even if he weren’t there for you before, you mark my words, my boy, he’ll certainly be there for you now. You’d do best to remember that.”
He fell into silence. As we passed quiet and empty streets, I thought of all the people inside their homes, sleeping soundly. And here we were bumping up and down on uneven roads with wagons filled to the brim. These sleeping folk had no idea that the circus was about to descend upon them in only a few hours.
I asked, “How do people know to come and see us?” Were we welcome? Did folk like having the circus around?
Larkin tutted, loudly. “Everyone knows when we’re coming!”
I ignored him, and turned pointedly towards Brown, who said, “We used to have a manager and it was his job to arrive at each place a few days before us, to tell people we were coming.”
“Do they like having their town taken over?” I asked.
“Course they do!” Larkin answered. “A few days of colour, noise and excitement! Who wouldn’t like it? Round these parts, people might not be able to travel to see a bigger circus. I reckon for some folks it’s the highlight of their year!”
Being a manager sounded like a safe, non-dangerous job, maybe even something I could offer to help with. “What else does a manager do?”
“Hires the grounds. Puts announcements in the newspapers and finds acts. But now, well, I do most of that. We all help put up posters on walls and bridges – anywhere in town where people might see. We still have tent men though; they go on with the baggage-wagons to put the tent up. When we get there, we make up the ring, fix the hurdles and gates and make sure the horses are stabled, groomed and fed.”
Despite myself, my tummy started tingling. Getting the circus ready in a new place, with no riding needed, at least not yet, sounded exciting.
“What else?”
“You’ll see soon enough!” His eyes shone.
The wagons clattered into an open field. This field wasn’t as far from civilisation as the one we’d just left. Across the way was an orchard and huge oaks lined the edges.
“Let us unload then.” Pablo climbed down from Bessie. Today he wore a drab overcoat, with a broad collar and cuffs of lambskin. He snapped his cuffs. “We’ve till noon to get ready.” He nodded to Brown and the Bellini brothers. “Then we’ll stable the horses and make sure they’re fed and groomed.”
Fog settled thick atop the field. It was early and a little dusky. From across the field, I watched as a group of men put up the big tent. No wonder they stayed in a building during wintertime! This would be harsh in the cold and snow.
Larkin hopped off the wagon, helped Polly down and then said to me, “That’s the tent master.”
We watched him drive an iron spike, about eight inches long, into the hard ground. From the top of the spike flapped a band of string and round it the men traced a circle into the ground with sticks, perhaps thirty or forty feet in diameter. Then they unloaded poles and heavy rolls of canvas off the wagons and spread everything out on the ground. With four great masts, poles and ropes, the tent was heaved into place. The men worked as a team, their movements almost seamless. There was laughing and joking and singing too, to start with, but after a while, grunts and curses about chaffed hands and muddy boots echoed in the morning air, making me very glad that I hadn’t been asked to help.
Polly, Clara and the Bellini brothers rummaged in wagons and filled buckets with water. I followed them into the now-erected big tent.
Brown turned to me, smiling. “Now we help build the ring itself.”
Everyone threw buckets of water into the middle. Larkin grinned. “I enjoy this bit! Just copy what I do.”
We levelled the ground by stamping down as hard as we could. Now the earth was wet and mixed with sawdust, it all stuck together. I didn’t mind doing this and was glad to see that the circus wasn’t only performing terrifying stunts.
Pablo and Brown bolted together the sections of wood that formed the ring enclosure, marked it with ropes, acting like barriers, and then that was it – the big tent was up and ready!
Despite myself, pride fluttered in my chest and I couldn’t stop smiling.
“Good job!” Pablo bellowed. “Ted? Come! I wish to show you something.”
I followed him to where the stables had been made up. The horses were settled and Pablo was petting a dark brown horse.
“This is Napoleon. He’s one of our biggest, about seventeen hands. Larkin says you’ve not ridden yet? Here, feed him from your hand.”
There was no avoiding it now. I took the carrot Pablo offered me and laid it flat on my palm, praying Napoleon wouldn’t bite my hand. Hairy lips tickled my palm as he took it. I had my eyes half-squeezed shut.
“He’s looking upon you as a friend already. That’s how they learn to obey you.”
I watched, fascinated, as Pablo gave the horse little taps on one of his forelegs. Napoleon went down easily on one knee and then the other knee followed.
“Once in this position, the horse will submit to being gently rolled over on to his side, as though in a trance. Let each act be gentle, and he will be content. They have good memories do horses, and they’re clever too. You’re not dealing with dumb animals here, m’boy. One of Astley’s horses used to make tea!”
“Make tea?” I laughed. “Whatever do you mean?”
“He could lift a kettle off a fire! Now, are you ready to ride?”
“Oh no, not yet.” I shook my head. “I hurt my back yesterday, trying to tumble.” I tried to sound enthusiastic. “Maybe tomorrow?”
Pablo searched my face keenly. I don’t think he believed me because his own face lost its smile and his eyes dulled. “Let us sit you on one anyway. See how it feels. Come on, son. Often the idea of a thing is worse than the thing itself.”
Pablo led Napoleon out into the ring. I followed slowly behind, dragging my feet as much as I could. How could I avoid this now? I couldn’t. I gulped and clenched my hands into fists at my side.
This was it. I was going to have to climb on a horse and face my worst fear.
10.
“Brown says you’ve been all over. Have you been on a ship?” I asked, hoping talk might prove a distraction. “America, perhaps?”
“Oh no, Ted. A man of my … colour, over there, would never become as successful as I’ve become here. They’ve only just stopped using us as slaves. And now … well, now I’m too old to think of travelling so far.”
“What do you mean?”
“Slavery might well be illegal in Britain, with the abolition act, but America has a different attitude. They aren’t quite there yet, it seems to me.” He nodded slowly, his expression serious and a little sad. “One person should never own another.”
“But, isn’t that just the same as an apprenticeship?” I asked, interested, but mainly trying to keep Pablo talking, hoping he’d forget about getting me up on Napoleon.
“Not the same at all! Apprenticeships teach new skills and provide a future, sometimes for those who might not have one otherwise. Slavery? That’s quite different. Who decides that one man is better than another? No, it is not correct. Enough with your chatter – let’s get you on this horse!”
Napoleon stood still as Pablo dragged over a mounting block and set it next to him. “Now we have some space so that he doesn’t feel cramped, you see.”
I wished the tent would collapse, trapping us all under it. Anything, an
ything not to have to climb up on this horse. My breathing was fast and I started to feel dizzy.
“This block will help. I’ll hold him. Make sure he’s paying you attention and not trying to walk off. Always mount from the horse’s left-hand side.”
I climbed up the mounting block, my palms sweaty and thudding heartbeat loud. Pablo’s instructions sounded as if they came from very far away.
“Put the reins over his head so they’ll be in the correct position when you mount. Left foot in the stirrup, shift your weight over and swing your other leg over the top of the horse. Go on, boy, on you get!”
I did a little jump and tried to throw my leg over.
“No!” Pablo yelled. “Don’t grab on to the back of the saddle or else it’ll slip!”
Finally, I hauled my leg over. I felt so high off the ground – too high. Napoleon started swaying his head, and my stomach churned. “You’re on. Good. Now, before you sit down, put both feet in the stirrups.” Pablo made adjustments to them, so they’d fit.
Were Napoleon’s ears pinned back? How could I tell from this position? Why had Pablo put me on such a big horse?
“Have you those reins tightly?”
I could barely sit astride this animal, let alone ride it! Did Pablo expect me to eventually be able to stand up and balance? I suddenly felt faint; my hands slackened on the reins. Napoleon twitched and as I leaned away from his head, my foot came out of the stirrup and I wobbled.
“How do I get down?” I asked quietly, trembling, my eyes filling with tears.
“Take both feet out of the stirrups and then swing off. If you keep your foot in the stirrup and the horse spooks, then you might get dragged.”
Pablo held Napoleon firm while I climbed off, shaking from head to toe.
His tone was light, but he must have been frustrated and disappointed with me. “Not riding today then. P’raps tomorrow.” Pablo patted the horse’s neck firmly. He stroked his moustache, gazing upwards. “Yes. You’ll be ready to ride then. We’ll begin with trotting and cantering. Now, fetch Larkin, and you help the ladies with whatever they need.”
