Trotman's Circus
One morning, towards the end of March, as the day girls were walking
home from school, they came across a bill-sticker pasting a flaming red
poster upon a hoarding. Naturally they stopped to look. The
advertisement was headed:
"Trotman's Circus & Menagerie", and set forth that on Monday next the
famous show would visit Durracombe for one day only, and would give two
performances, at 3 p.m. and 8 p.m., introducing the latest novelties and
sensational displays. Here was an excitement for the sleepy little town.
It was years since any travelling circus had come that way, and very few
of the children had seen elephants, performing sea-lions, trick-horses,
gymnasts, North American Indian riders, or any of the marvels set down
in the programme. Of course all the juvenile population was a-thrill at
the prospect. The day girls at The Moorings carried the news to the
boarders, and the arrival of the wonderful show at once became the most
important date in the school calendar. Trotman's Circus had rather a bad
reputation for missing its appointments, and, as it had once before
advertised its advent but had failed to turn up, people declared they
would not believe in it until they actually saw the procession marching
into the town.
"You'll take us if it really comes, won't you?" begged the boarders at
The Moorings.
Miss Pollard would not commit herself.
"I must hear something about it first," she said guardedly. "These
travelling shows aren't always very select."
"It's a wonderful programme," urged Iva, who had seen the posters.
"That doesn't guarantee it from being extremely vulgar," returned Miss
Pollard.
On Sunday afternoon, just as the scholars were pouring out of
Sunday-schools, there came the rumble of wheels along the road, and
presently down the High Street passed a remarkable procession of gilded
caravans, horses, and elephants. The men who led them, and the women who
peeped from the little curtained windows, were a tired-looking crew who
deserved a Sunday's rest; but directly they had crossed the bridge, and
arrived in the meadows at the opposite side of the river, they began to
work hard at erecting tents, stabling their horses, and setting their
temporary camp in order. Nearly all the children in Durracombe stood on
the bridge and watched them. It is not every day you can see elephants
or a camel or a troupe of tiny piebald ponies. To most of the small folk
it was the opportunity of their lives.
Mavis and Merle, from the vantage-ground of the terraced walk by the
river, had a splendid view of the settlement. They were almost too near,
indeed, for they were much disturbed during the night by weird noises,
the roaring of lions in cages and the trumpeting of elephants. They
dressed next morning, feeling as if they had slept in a jungle or in an
African forest. They found all the girls at school in a state of flaming
excitement. Miss Pollard had not yet decided whether the circus was a
sufficiently refined entertainment to justify her in taking her
boarders. She was old-fashioned in her notions, and very particular
about what was suitable and proper for children. She hesitated and
vacillated, and even wrote a note to the vicar to ask for his opinion,
and was more embarrassed still when she found he had gone out on his
motor-cycle, and might not be back until the evening. She and Miss Fanny
had discussed the matter threadbare in private, but could not make up
their minds in the least. Meantime a whole school full of fluttering
girls centred the circus as the one event of the term.
"Of course we're to have a half-holiday this afternoon," began Opal.
"There's no 'of course' about it," returned Miss Pollard, eyeing her
god-daughter gravely. She did not like Opal's tone, which was both
uncompromising and truculent.
"Oh, but we've simply _got_ to have a holiday! We can't miss this
circus. All of us day girls have been promised at home that we may go,
and we _shall_."
Miss Pollard was long-suffering where her pet pupil was concerned, but
it is possible for even a prime favourite to go too far.
"That's not the way to speak to me," she rebuked. "Your parents may make
any arrangements they wish for taking you to the evening performance,
but you will all attend school this afternoon. Do you thoroughly
understand me, girls? I give _no_ half-holiday, and I expect you all to
be present here as usual at 2.30. You may take that message home with
you."
Miss Pollard, very much on her dignity, glared first at Opal, and then
round the entire room. She did not intend to be dictated to or forced to
give her consent against her better judgment. She was Principal of The
Moorings, and as such meant to maintain discipline over her pupils.
Her announcement caused them all to look very sulky, and produced much
grousing during 'break', but nobody thought of disputing it. The day
girls consoled themselves by hopes of attending the evening performance.
The less fortunate boarders said it was just like their luck. Everybody
was more or less in a bad temper, but resigned. Mavis and Merle, walking
back from Bridge House about 2.15, passed the corner of the Earnshaws'
garden, and saw Opal's face peeping over the paling.
"Hello! Going to school like two good little girls," she jeered.
"Why! Aren't you?"
"I! Rather not! I call it the limit! I say, will you give a message for
me to Miss Pollard?"
"What do you want us to say?"
"Tell her I've got a fearful headache, and I'm going to lie down."
"We'll do nothing of the sort," snapped Merle.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Mavis.
Opal only grinned.
"What nice good little girls," she repeated mockingly. "You'll give me
the trouble of sending a note, that's all."
"What does your mother say?"
"She's gone to Port Sennen to-day, so I can't ask her. Look here, people
are saying in the town that there's not going to be any evening
performance. Trotmans want to pack up the show and start early, so as to
travel at night. They've had a bother with the police about those vans
blocking the roads in daytime. They held up a whole row of motors in
Blagden, and no one could pass them for half an hour. Do you think I'm
going to miss that circus and toddle up to school to write exercises and
have a music lesson? Hardly! If you'll take my advice you'll scoot back
home and do the same. I shouldn't be surprised to find an epidemic of
headaches this afternoon."
"If I stopped away, at least I wouldn't tell fibs about it," said Merle.
Both the Ramsays agreed that it was very unsporting of Miss Pollard to
refuse the holiday, and decided to get up a sort of eleventh-hour
petition amongst the girls to ask her to grant it. They hurried on to
school, therefore, not without hopes, though a little trembling as to
how she would receive the appeal. They arrived at The Moorings to find
the hive in a delighted ferment. The Vicar, Mr. Carey, had returned home
to lunch, and had read Miss Pollard's note, and had sent a reply by his
daughters to the effect that in his opinion the circus was a most
harmless and innocent form of entertainment, and that it would be a pity
for the girls to miss it. He suggested, indeed, that the whole school
should visit the show _en bloc_. The Misses Pollard, being themselves
daughters of the late clergyman, set a high value on clerical sanction.
The Vicar's letter settled the matter.
"If Mr. Carey approves, it must be perfectly right," fluttered Miss
Fanny.
"I'm so glad to know what he thinks about it," agreed her sister.
The poor ladies were really anxious to give their boarders a treat, and
as the day girls were already assembled, and time was flying, they
decided to adopt the suggestion, and march the whole school in an
orderly crocodile to the tent. Just before they started, a small village
boy came running up the lane and delivered a note. Miss Pollard tore it
open hastily.
"Dear me! How unfortunate," she exclaimed. "Opal ill with a bad
headache. The child was perfectly all right this morning. Thank you,
there's no answer. Now, girls, take your partners and form into double
line. Quietly, quietly! Not so much talking! Iva and Nesta first.
Where's Mademoiselle? Has Mamie brought her scarf? Those tents are
sometimes very draughty. Betty, if you can't behave you'll be left
behind! Are you ready? Then quick march!"
It was very exciting indeed to file along the High Street and across
the bridge on to the meadow, and more thrillsome still to enter the big
circular tent with its green canvas roof flapping in the breeze. The
seats were only wooden planks covered with red baize, and swayed about
when people sat upon them, but Durracombe audiences were not accustomed
to luxuries, and the juvenile portion would have cheerfully sat anywhere
to watch the show. A caravan drawn up by the entrance acted as pay desk,
and a big, fat gipsy-looking woman took the money and said, 'Thank you
very much' to those who bought the more expensive tickets. The school
secured a block of reserved seats all to itself, and the girls settled
themselves with little ones in front, and big ones behind. In the middle
of the tent was a large circle strewn with sawdust, and the spectators
were ranged round this as in a Roman amphitheatre. Through the open door
opposite might be caught a glimpse of horses standing outside. A very
large part of the audience was composed of children. Most of them had
been waiting in a queue for a long while before entering, and they were
over-excited and tired. They were all impatience for the performance to
begin, and the hum of their little voices sounded like the buzzing of
bees. Through the gaps between the walls and the roof of the tent long
shafts of sunlight streamed like Jacob's ladders over the heads of the
children, and into the sawdust circle. One almost expected elves and
fairies to slide down them and perform on the magic ring. One tiny boy,
tired of waiting, strayed from his place, and stood a moment under one
of these shafts of light like a fair-haired cherub. The spectators
cheered him as if he were part of the programme.
The contingent from The Moorings were sitting close to the main
entrance, and as their united glances strayed round the tent they
presently began to nudge each other and focus their gaze in one
particular direction. Miss Pollard, aware of the undercurrent, looked
also. What she saw caused her to take out her lorgnettes and stare
amazedly through them to satisfy herself that failing eyesight had not
produced an illusion. On the other side of the tent, exactly opposite to
their party, sitting on a red-baize-covered reserved seat, was
Opal--Opal who was supposed to be lying on her bed prostrate with
headache, and whom she had pitied for missing the treat. Miss Fanny had
also just made the same discovery. The sisters glanced at one another,
and drew their own conclusions. If Opal had turned rather white at the
entrance of the school party, she had apparently recovered from the
shock, and was bluffing the matter out. She was sitting with some
friends, girls much older than herself, and was laughing and chatting as
if in thorough enjoyment.
And now at last, after much tiresome delay and waiting, the show began.
Through the far door was seen a vision of men in gay costumes, and the
strains of a band were heard.
"O-o-o-oh!" came from the children all round, as the procession streamed
into the tent. It was headed by the band, then followed piebald horses
with riders in gorgeous velvet costumes or spangled dresses; there were
Roman chariots, and a drove of tiny ponies, and an Eastern lady on a
camel, and several funny men who bounced about like india-rubber balls,
and three stately elephants, and some wild-looking Red Indians in
war-paint and feathers. These all paraded round the ring to allow the
audience to have a good view of them, then went off again, so that the
programme might proceed in its separate items.
It really was a capital show. There was no mistake about that. First
entered the gymnasts, wonderful people who jumped easily on to one
another's shoulders, and swung head downwards from trapezes, and made
themselves into a human pyramid, and performed other amazing and
marvellous feats. Then came the horses, which ambled round the circle in
pairs, with riders who stood astride two of them, one foot on each,
marvels of equilibrium, and ladies in gauzy dresses who jumped lightly
from horse to horse as if on wings. When these had cantered off the
scenes appeared "Queenie", a beautiful Arabian trick horse with her
playfellow "Pixie", a tiny piebald pony. The manager, a gorgeous
individual in evening dress, stood in the centre cracking a whip, while
Queenie and Pixie ran in contrary circles, reared, knelt, and lay down
to music, and finally did a dying scene together, with Pixie's head
resting sentimentally on Queenie's back.
"I want that 'ickle pony," called out a small voice from the audience,
at which remark even the manager smiled.
Then it was the turn of the clown, a funny man in baggy white pants and
a red patch on each of his cheeks. He kicked up six hats in succession,
and caught them all, one on the top of the other, on his head in a
pyramid, and had a comical fight with somebody who was dressed up as a
lion and tried to pounce upon him.
"Here we are again. No harm done this time," he kept saying, after
somersaults and jumps that made some of the audience tremble for his
safety.
Next a tight-rope was fixed, and two lady gymnasts in spangled garments
and holding parasols walked across it, and even danced upon it, shaking
bells on their ankles as they moved. The funny man pretended to be
envious and begged to be allowed to try; so he climbed up too and at
first made the tight-rope wobble in the most alarming fashion, but
finally performed a jig upon it, holding aloft a big black umbrella.
"No harm done this time," he proclaimed laughingly.
An Eastern lady, who arrived veiled on a camel, did a marvellous turn
with Queenie, the trick horse. Slow music was played, and when the lady
danced Queenie moved her fore-feet as if dancing also. Then the lady
skipped, and the horse also skipped over a rope held by the manager and
the clown, a performance which called forth cheer after cheer from the
spectators. When Queenie ran out of the ring two elephants took her
place. They saluted by trumpeting, a form of greeting which rather
scared most of the children, and even brought squeals from some of them.
The elephants with their slow heavy gait were favourites, however, and
quite captured the house when one of them acted nurse to a rag baby,
placed it inside a cradle, and rocked it gently to sleep.
The Red Indians, with their wild, spirited horses, performed most
daring feats, careered round the ring clinging to the tails of their
steeds, jumped from one horse to another when in full gallop, and had a
most exciting battle in which a little girl was bound to a stake by one
party and rescued by another. Then one of the elephants came in again,
and played skittles with the clown, who kept calling out "Cheat fair,
old girl," though he always let her win in the end, and rewarded her by
drinks from a bottle which he produced out of his big hat. The funny man
was indeed the very heart and soul of the circus and worked hard to keep
the audience amused. When the elephant had finished her tricks he
brought in a pair of seals who flapped into the ring on their fins,
roaring and snorting as they came. Their feats were, if anything, even
more clever than those of the elephants: they balanced cups on their
noses, played football with the clown, and flapped their fins or roared
in answer to his questions. They played a game of hide-and-seek, and
finally posed on either side of their human friend apparently whispering
into his ear.
A Roman chariot race followed, as a variety, and afterwards some trick
riding by ladies accompanied by a jazz band to which the elephant played
the drum. It was all clever and amusing, yet everybody smiled when the
funny man, after a short interval for rest, made his reappearance in the
circle. He seemed indefatigable, and his limbs might have been made of
india-rubber by the way he jumped and bounced and pranced about. This
time he was to give a performance on the trapeze, and he ran up the
ladder as easily as a monkey, cracking out many jokes. He swung on the
trapeze, and turned somersaults, and hung by his heels and did other
hair-raising experiments, always ending with his usual "no harm done
this time".
Then he commenced to swing himself backwards and forwards for an
enormous leap on to another trapeze. He accomplished it safely, and
turned to make the bound back again. But either the rope was faulty, or
for once his nerve deserted him, or he miscalculated his distance, for,
instead of landing lightly upon the pole, he missed it, and fell down,
down on to the edge of the net, and off again on to the ground below.
For an instant the audience thought it was part of the performance, and
that he would bounce up with one of his merry jokes. But this time there
was harm done. Instead of springing to his feet he lay limp and quiet
among the sawdust in the ring. There was a buzz of horror from the
spectators as two of the gymnasts ran in with a stretcher and hastily
removed him. Many could not bear to look at any more and left the tent,
though the manager made a short speech and begged people to remain for
the rest of the programme, bringing on the ponies, and causing them to
run and jump round the circle.
Miss Pollard and her girls felt they had seen enough, and withdrew
quietly, very much upset at the horrible accident. Mavis and Merle,
running home with the news, found Dr. Tremayne just starting for the
cottage hospital, whither the unfortunate clown had been carried from
the circus. Jessop was helping to hunt out splints, bandages, &c., and
hastily packing them into the car.
"Here's a pretty business," said Uncle David. "I hear the poor chap's
badly hurt. I've an urgent call to Bragdon--man in an epileptic fit--but
he'll have to wait till I've attended to this case first. It's a mercy I
hadn't started. Jessop, where's the chloroform bottle? Put it here in my
bag, please! If I want anything else I'll send someone over with a
message. You know where the other splints are? Good! Telephone to Mrs.
Goodwin that I can't possibly see her till to-morrow, but she must go on
taking the medicine, and if Johnson's boy comes with a message, keep him
till I get back."
And Dr. Tremayne, having collected all the various things he considered
he was likely to need, jumped into his car, and departed to the cottage
hospital on his errand of help, a very real angel of mercy though clad
in twentieth-century garments.
"Will the poor fellow die?" the girls asked with awestruck faces.
Jessop shook her head enigmatically.
"It depends how much damage is done. You never can tell in a case like
this till the Doctor has seen him. You may be sure your uncle will do
the best that human skill can."
"That goes without saying," said Mavis as she and Merle went gravely
upstairs to wash their hands for tea.