Takes real magic to captivate kids

Press, 13 July 1985, Page 14

Takes real magic to captivate kids

Helen Brown

An Antarctic blast hit my face when I opened the door. A streetlight caught the jagged rain outside. A small figure stood in the dark on the doorstep. He seemed strangely unaware of the storm — as if it was something he had created and carried around with him all the time. His raincoat nearly touched the ground. He carried a suitcase so large he could have curled up inside it. There were two small wooden boxes in the other hand. An emerald green beret was pulled down to his eyebrows, giving him a bizarre appearance. But underneath, his eyes were serene and wise. “It’s the magician!” I called to the kids. Unimpressed, as nine-year-old boys have to be, they kept on playing pass-the-parcel. They hurled the newspaper bundle at each other, issuing taunts and accusations in piercing voices. I decided the magician was a terrible mistake. How could such world-wise dwarfs, drunk on television and movies, begin to appreciate something as simple as an old man doing tricks? I felt sorry for him as he prepared his show in the, kid’s bedroom. The little beggars would slay him. They rolled restlessly on the livingroom floor when he appeared wearing a false nose, glasses, fez, bow tie and sash. They hardly noticed him setting up two tables in front of the gas fire. I wanted to wring their necks. In the sad, grating voice of a circus clown, he introduced his first trick — a picture of two birds sitting on a wall. He covered them with a scarf.

“Have the dickey birds gone?” he peeked under the scarf. “Yes, they have.” The audience jeered. I began to fear for his safety. “And do you know why they’ve gone?” He lifted the scarf to reveal a cat where the birds had been. “You turned it round!” someone scoffed. “Oh, did I?” The magician turned the picture to show a wall free from cats or dickey birds. They had been fooled, but were too cool to show it. I led a round of dispirited applause. A boy tweaked a balloon with irritating regularity. Another lolled back in an armchair. Was it a matter of time before they had him chained in the bath with the water running? His hands were large and square, but every trick was performed without a fumble. He made ropes change their lengths in a plastic bag. Dirty scarves washed themselves clean in a cardboard box. Then there was a disappearing ping pong ball. “It’s in your mouth!” they yelled. “Ut ish NUF in m’ muff,” he replied. They jeered and demanded proof. I cringed for the man as he opened his mouth. Miraculously, it was empty. Carefully, modestly and with considerable expertise, he wove a spell across the room. When he announced the last trick, silence fell. “What could I make with

this sheet of white paper?” he said. “An origami frog,” our son said. “You know, the ones you blow up the bottom?” The magician looked genuinely horrified. “I’ve heard of little boys doing that!” he said. “How would you like it if I got a vacuum cleaner hose and ... ?” You mustn’t do that to frogs ... they’re only human.” The magician tore an exquisite bird shape from the paper. He then screwed it up and put it in a box. When he opened the box and pulled out a real live racing pigeon, the audience drew a single breath. They crowded around the bird and stroked its head. Wonderment glowed on their faces — till they checked themselves. “It’s cruel to keep it in a box.” “It’s only a dummy.” Later, I watched the little old man, magician no more, pack his tricks back in his case. “It’s better when you don’t get so many interruptions,” he said with resignation. Over a cup of tea and a chocolate crackle, he told me of the days he had performed in the town hall and on television. He’d been doing magic for 50 years. During the day, he’d worked as a plumber, but it was obvious where his heart belonged. Now, at 74, he did old people, sports clubs, kindergartens, and children’s parties. “There’s four magicians working in town,” he said. “Only two of them will do kids.” Not surprising. Our lot had been a pack of horrors. The magician pulled down his beret, gathered up his suitcase and boxes and headed for the door. “Say thank you,” I said to the kids, half-expecting them to scowl. Instead, they let out a roar of approval. The magician left the house with boyish bellows of gratitude echoing in his head. I hope that sound made it worth his while.