I POSE AS A SHOWMAN
Practising conjuring--Why I rarely play cards--The great
Maskelyne and Cooke box trick--I make a trick box of my own--
The “Flying Lady” who flew--away--In partnership with Gypsy
Brown--My life with the show folk--I begin to make money--
The kings of the fair grounds--Caravan life and cookery--The
Romany people and their ways--Gypsy Brown cheats me--How the
“bluers” work--Fights in the Fair Ground--The etiquette of the
showmen--In a boxing booth--Taking on all comers--A rough
life--“Do a slang to get a pitch”--The tricks of the travelling
boxing-booth proprietors--A gypsy duel with cocoanut balls.
During the period when I was working for Jimmy Jennings at his
“covering the spot” stall I had lots of spare time on my hands, for of
course we only occupied our pitches for comparatively short intervals
of an evening, and then only on certain days of the week, Saturday
being always one.
This leisure I utilised mostly in practising conjuring tricks, and in
card manipulation. In the beginning I used to use old tram and omnibus
tickets for the latter purpose, and found them very useful, for being
much smaller than ordinary playing cards they were of course more
easily palmed or otherwise manipulated, while at the same time they
afforded excellent practice to a comparative tyro, as I then was.
I may mention that at that time I rarely handled the cards themselves,
and still more rarely played a card game. Nor do I now, at least not
for money; and the same rule holds good, I have observed, with most
professional conjurors and card-manipulators.
The reason of this self-denying ordinance is, of course, not very
far to seek. Take my own case for example! If I should play cards
for money, and win, although I have as much right to win as any
other player taking part in the game, there is always the risk that
the others--even one’s own friends--may think I have utilised my
professional skill in order to take an unfair advantage of them; in
other words that I have cheated them. While should I lose, people are
apt to say: “Well, Carlton is not so smart with the pasteboards as we
thought him to be, after all; the man’s a bit of a mug.” So that’s why
I very rarely play.
It was, too, during my term of “apprenticeship” with Jimmy, if I may
so term it, that I first became interested in the great Maskelyne and
Cooke box trick. These two gentlemen were showing, at the Egyptian
Hall, Piccadilly, a trick which consisted in a man being corded up in a
locked box, and from which he freed himself in a few seconds.
At each performance they offered £500 to anyone who could make a
similar box, and successfully duplicate the trick. Two young men,
clever mechanics they were, set to work, and eventually succeeded in
making a box and performing the trick. I, being at the time a lithe and
supple youth, was placed inside the box at the trial exhibition, and I
released myself and appeared outside in three seconds.
I should add that after I was placed in the box, it was locked, and
then enveloped completely in a canvas cover, which was sealed and
corded, as Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke had stipulated. Notwithstanding
this they declined to pay the promised £500, and the case came into
the Queen’s Bench, and was eventually carried through the Court of
Appeal right up to the House of Lords.
Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke lost, and the two young men who had
made the box got their £500, but of course I received none of the
money. Nevertheless, I have mentioned the incident because it was
indirectly the cause of my getting my first real boost up in my present
profession. But of this more anon.
Suffice it for the present to say that I had learnt all there was to
know about that particular box trick. And not only that. I had set to
work on my own initiative, without saying a word to anyone, and had
made a similar trick box of my own, and in regard to which, moreover,
being a youth of an experimental and inventive turn of mind, I had
introduced one or two notable improvements; or at least so I regarded
them, and so, as a matter of fact, they eventually turned out. The
reason for my mentioning this here will appear presently.
On arriving at Tonbridge Fair Ground I became acquainted with a big
gypsy named Brown, a typical Romany lad, or diddyki, as these people
call themselves in their own dialect. He had a booth in which he was
giving a show with a so-called “Flying Lady.” She had been working
at other fairs with him on the basis of half the takings, but at
Tonbridge, greatly to Brown’s disgust and disappointment, she failed to
put in an appearance. The flying lady had in fact flown--away.
In this dilemma Brown suggested that I should take her place for a
week, which I did, and this resulted eventually in my performing my
box trick at his booth. I had, I should state, rehearsed the trick
many times with a performer who called himself “Lieutenant Doctor Lynn,
Junior,” and who was a son of the one-time famous conjuror, Dr. Lynn.
He it was who presented the trick for the two young men mentioned above
who successfully sued Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke. I was, therefore,
absolutely part perfect in the act, and with the improvements I had
made in my box I felt confident that I could hold my own with anybody
in the business.
[Illustration: CARLTON--ON]
At Faversham Fair Ground, to which we went from Tonbridge, I arranged
with Brown to share his booth, he paying the rent for the ground, or
the “tobee” as the fair folk call it, each to have half the takings.
I was also to help him by pattering outside the show, and performing
card tricks, in order to attract the people, and by interesting them
induce them to come inside: in showman’s parlance “doing a slang to get
a pitch.” This arrangement was certainly a by no means unfavourable one
for him, but he was not satisfied, as I shall have occasion to show
hereafter.
Prior to our opening at Faversham I had cut some paper letters, and
stuck them on a big, bright ultramarine blue banner, advertising my
show as follows:
CARLTON PHILPS
in a facsimile of the famous
Box Trick
that won £500 in the House of Lords.
This act went with a rush from first to last, and this was where I
began to make money. It was a novel experience to me, and need I say
it was as pleasant as it was novel. I was now able to send home a
substantial sum each week to my mother and sisters, put by a little
against a rainy day, and still have enough left over for my personal
needs, which, however, I may add, were at that time of quite modest
dimensions.
To go back a little, I should explain that the roundabout people are
the kings, so to speak, of the fair grounds; and it is these usually
who arrange for the pitches in advance, and pay the “dinari for the
tobee” (i.e. money for the ground) in a lump sum to whoever owns the
land, afterwards sub-letting it to the smaller showmen, the amount of
the rent paid by these latter varying with the size and position of
their individual pitches. The name of the roundabout firm who rented
the fair grounds at Tonbridge and Faversham was Messrs. Hastings and
Wayman, now well-known travelling showmen in Wales.
I got very friendly both with Mr. Hastings and Mr. Wayman. Though
wealthy men as show folk go, and very smart at a deal, they were poor
scholars, and I used to assist them in making up their accounts. I
also, at their request, acted as their advance agent in so far as I
used to go on ahead and arrange for the renting of the tobee.
In this way I got my first insight into the life of the road as led
by the Romany folk. It was, I have no hesitation in saying, the
happiest time of my life. When on the move I lived in one of their
waggons--caravans ordinary people call them, but to the gypsies they
are always waggons--and to travel slowly along through the beautiful
English country lanes behind the sleek, well-fed horses, was a
revelation in restfulness to a bred and born Cockney lad like myself.
We almost lived on the country. Our dogs brought us in rabbits and to
spare. Even pheasants for the pot were not lacking. For this I make
neither apology nor excuse. The true gypsy regards all fur and feather
that runs or flies as his by divine right, and the word “poaching” has
for him literally no significance whatever. When we pulled up at set
of sun by some wayside brook the odour of cooking was always quickly
wafted on the breeze--and such cooking!
It was on one of these journeys that I first tasted that famous Romany
dainty, a hedgehog rolled whole in clay, and baked in the hot ashes.
Believe me it is a dish fit for a king; tasty, succulent, juicy, and
possessing a delicious flavour--gamy but not too gamy--that is all
its own. We also used to cook birds, and even rump steaks, after the
same fashion, and very toothsome I found them. Of course care must be
taken to select the right kind of clay for an envelope, and it is also
advisable to pick out the worms from it before using it.
Heaven knows how long I might have continued leading this kind of life
had it not been for an untoward incident that happened later on, and to
which I shall refer presently. I might have even continued the vagrant
gypsy existence that fitted in so well with my tastes and inclinations,
and become in time almost one of themselves. As it was, after only a
comparatively short spell of it, I was becoming half a Romany, using
their dialect, and falling by degrees, and almost unconsciously, into
their ways of thought and methods of expression.
However, as I have already said, my career as an amateur gypsy was
destined to be cut short sooner than I had bargained for. I was, of
course, never really one of themselves. All the gypsy show folk are
related to one another more or less, either by marriage or descent, and
although they will show friendship to an outsider on occasion, they
never fully trust any such, or admit them to a real, close intimacy. My
trouble with them began, as so many other troubles begin, over money
matters.
My show, as I have said, was unusually successful, and for some time
it had been borne in upon me that I was not getting my fair share of
the takings. I mentioned my suspicions--they were in fact much more
than mere suspicions--to Mr. Wayman, and he was very much upset and
annoyed about it. At the same time he warned me that it would be as
well to avoid if possible having any open quarrel with Brown, who had
the reputation of being a violent man, and who would be certain, if
trouble arose between us, to have all the other gypsies on his side
irrespective of the rights or wrongs of the matter in dispute.
This of course was all very well in its way, and I quite recognised how
excellent was his advice, and how kind and well-meaning was the man
himself in giving it. But then, on the other hand, I did not see why I
should go on being cheated, nor did I intend to, if I could help it. So
one day between the shows I quietly slipped off up to London, without
saying a word to anybody, and bought an automatic pocket register; one
of those tiny affairs, not much bigger than a watch, which you can hold
behind you, or keep hidden in your pocket if need be, and tick off with
one hand the number of people passing in or out of the building.
That night when we came to settle up, I found, as I had surmised, that
Brown was cheating me. His count of the number of patrons visiting my
show was somewhere about fifty below that registered by my machine; and
which, by the way, he did not know I possessed. Nor did I enlighten him
even now on this latter point, merely remarking that I thought he must
be mistaken as to the number, for I had kept count, and I made it fifty
more than he did, which, at a penny each for admission, and reckoning
half the takings as mine, made my share 2s. 1d. more than he was going
to pay me.
“Oh, that can’t be,” objected Brown. “I’m sure my figure is the correct
one. Perhaps you counted the ‘bluers.’”
In order that the reader may be able to appreciate the full
significance of this remark, and also understand how little Brown
thought, or affected to think, of my intelligence, I ought here to
explain the meaning of the word “bluer”; a term perfectly familiar to
all the great host of peripatetic showmen, roundabout proprietors,
owners of cocoanut shies, and the like, but unknown probably to the
generality of people outside these professions.
Literally, then, to “blue,” in the Romany dialect, means to push or
shove, and a bluer, therefore, means a pushful, forceful individual,
one who shoves and elbows his way to the front.
Bluers work on fair grounds in gangs of from four to six or eight.
They hang about the outskirts of the crowd that gathers round the show
where, we will say, the fat lady is on exhibition, or the tattooed man;
and at the proper moment, that is to say when the showman has finished
his harangue and is inviting all and sundry to “walk up--walk up--walk
up,” the bluers start to elbow their way to the front from the rear,
pay their pennies with assumed eagerness, and enter the show. The
crowd, once the lead is set, follows like a flock of sheep, and the
trick is done.
Afterwards the bluers spread themselves amongst the crowd outside again
and discuss, of course in highly eulogistic terms, the wonders of the
particular show they have just visited, before proceeding to another
part of the fair ground, there to repeat their performance for the
benefit of some other showman. Or they will give a lead at the cocoanut
shies, where, being excellent throwers owing to long practice at the
game, they invariably down the nuts, thereby encouraging others to try
and do likewise.
Bluers are paid a shilling a day by each of the showmen having stands
at a fair, and manage to make a very decent living, following the shows
round from place to place all over the country, and from year’s end to
year’s end.
Of course each bluer is furnished beforehand with a sufficient stock of
pennies each day to pay for admission for himself to the various shows;
and, equally of course, these pennies have to be deducted from the
gross total of the takings at the close of the day, and allowed for.
The reader will be able to understand now, therefore, how exceedingly
nettled and angry I was when Brown accused me of counting in the
bluers; because it was obvious that I knew by sight every one of these
men, and that I was not going to count them in as ordinary members of
the paying public, unless indeed I was trying to cheat him, a course
which, needless to say, I neither intended nor desired.
All this I explained to him, but he still persisted in saying that I
was mistaken in my count; so, bearing in mind the advice given me by
my friend Mr. Wayman, I decided to let the matter drop just then,
hoping that he would take the hint, and treat me fairly for the future.
Instead, however, matters kept going from bad to worse. Every night he
docked me in sums running in the aggregate into quite a lot of money,
and I felt very sore about it. Besides, it was very unpleasant in other
ways, for the matter was a continual bone of contention between us,
leading to constant bickerings and quarrels.
And I wanted no quarrels just then, either with Brown, or with any of
the other gypsies. I had had quite enough to go on with already, if
the truth must be told. Indeed, before I had been following the fairs
a week I had fought no fewer than five pitched battles with the show
folk, and their hangers-on the bluers, and others. This, however,
was in a sense partly my own fault, and it was also partly due to my
ignorance of the unwritten law that govern the working of the fair
grounds.
For example, it is the custom for everybody to help in the setting up
and taking down of the various shows, roundabouts, cocoanut shies,
and so on. The bluers, too, gave a hand in this work without extra
remuneration, except that when a fair is finished they are given a
lift on the waggons as far as the next town to which the shows are
going. Now I, being ignorant of this custom, used to go off on my own
somewhere as soon as I had finished putting up or taking down Brown’s
booth, thereby, of course, giving offence. The others thought I was
trying to shirk my obligations to them, whereas nothing was further
from my thoughts. I simply did not know.
However, I had been used to taking my own part. Trust a Cockney lad for
that! So I was usually able to give a pretty good account of myself.
Besides, I got plenty of practice in the fair grounds. When business
was slack at our show, I used to go over to a boxing booth in another
part of the ground that was kept by one Alf Ball, an ex-champion
pugilist, and he put me up to many a pretty wrinkle.
In return I used to help him get an audience by “doing a slang” for
him, and would also, on occasion, put on the gloves outside his booth.
This meant taking on all comers, and I fought many a hard bout on his
account, for being tall and thin, in fact a typical light-weight,
people used to pick on me. “I’ll have ’em (the gloves) on wi’ yon long
fellow,” a burly rustic would say, and smile confidently to himself in
anticipation of an easy victory.
As a matter of fact, however, I always won, although not exactly on
my merits. What happened usually was this. Alf would keep a watchful
eye on our performance, and if my opponent turned out to be a bit of
a bruiser, and “out for a scrap” as we used to say, then the rounds,
instead of lasting the regulation three minutes, would be cut down to
one minute, or even less. On the other hand, if I was getting the best
of a round, then it would be made to last out to perhaps as long as
five minutes, or until the chap was finally knocked out.
There were other “tricks of the trade” too, all designed to make sure
that the booth’s champion won. For instance, all the boxing-gloves
looked alike; but that was all. My pair, weighing perhaps fourteen
ounces, were of solid leather. The pair lent to my opponent for the
bout were padded with horsehair, and as soft as a couple of sofa
cushions. With these “dud” gloves he could make little impression on
me, while if I got one home with mine it was all over with the other
fellow. “By gum, but that thin consumptive-looking chap _can_ punch,”
my discomfited opponent would remark, as he quitted the ring, a sadder
and sorer man than when he entered it.
I may add, however, that the gypsies, when fighting between themselves,
seldom “fight fair,” as the term is understood amongst boxers. They
“go for” one another with sticks, feet, hands, stones, anything. One
favourite way of settling their differences is by what may be called a
duel with cocoanut balls.
Everybody nearly is familiar, of course, with these round, hard wooden
balls, and the gypsy keepers of the cocoanut shies are naturally adepts
at throwing them. When two of them fall out, and agree to fight after
this fashion, two heaps of six or eight balls are placed about twenty
yards apart. The “duellists” then stand back to back midway between the
two heaps, and at the word “go” from their seconds each makes a quick
dash for the heap facing him, gathers up the balls, and then, turning
about, he races towards his opponent, throwing one or more balls as he
advances.
They do not, however, as a rule advance directly towards one another,
but zigzag and circle about, wary as two panthers, and every now and
again one or the other of them will let fly a ball with unerring aim,
which the other has to dodge, or run the risk of being put out of
action, for a blow from one of these missiles, when thrown by a gypsy,
is extremely apt to be a knock-out one.
I once indeed saw a man’s arm broken in one such encounter, and another
gypsy had his skull fractured. The interest of the spectators of these
curious duels increases as ball after ball is disposed of, and reaches
fever-heat when each combatant has thrown all his balls but one,
without any decisive result being attained; for obviously the holder of
the last ball, if he is not disabled, has his opponent practically at
his mercy. The other can only run, circle, and dodge, in order to try
and evade for as long as possible the blow he knows must come sooner or
later.