“FAY OF THE RING”

Manawatu Times, Volume 60, Issue 100, 1 May 1935, Page 9

“FAY OF THE RING”

Instalment 6.

with their shutters down, Madame ■Caterina enthroned as Britannia upon a high car bedecked with flags, a lion at her feet—a real lion for all the world to gaze on, tawny-maned and massive of paw but sleepy and good tempered as the British lion Is known to be. And then, to an accompaniment of cheers and bucolic laughter, came the bath-chair drawn by Albert, the Almost Human Pig. From this crazy carriage tumbled a stumpy, whitefaoed man in a frook-coat and Incredibly battered all-k hat, who, though be fell with a t”emendous somersault half-way across the ring, came up instantly on his feet, firmly grasping a venerable umbrella. The little man’s air of mi'ld surprise as he gazed round the ring was excruciatingly funny. 'lire audience shouted Its applause. Tumpc, the Funniest Clown on Earth, was In our midst. Turning another somersault which brought his head with a resounding thwack against the edge of the ring fence, he picked up a handful of sawdust, blew' it cut in a little cloud and squeaked; “Look what I’ve chipped eff me napperl” I laughed till the tears ran down my cheeks. It was not so much that I bad never seen a clown before. I had lived in a world where honest fun—laughter, holding both sides—was unknown. Slowly the splendid procession made Its circle and filed out again through the curtain, leaving Duke Marjoram and Tumpo in possession of the ring. The showman was speaking sternly. My eyes opened wider. There was going to be trouble. A heated dispute was in progress. Mr Marjoram was telling Tumpo- to get out of the ring and apologising to the audience for the clown’s outrageous conduct. He spoke In scandalised tones. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “Ladles anti jellyispoons,” mimicked Tumpo. “Hold your tongue, sir. Ladles and sentlemen, I must tender my sincere apologies for this unwarrantable interruption of a serious performance. I assure you, ladles and gentlemen. It has never happened before. Tumpo i Do you hear, sir? Get out of this ring at once!” Tumpo gazed at the ring-master with a look of placid unconcern. He stuck his umbrella into the ground. Incontinently it turned into a flowerpot. He took off his frock-coat, folded it with meticulous care, laid it down upon the sawdust and wiped bis hoots on it. He took off his waistcoat.

“Stop! Stop!” cried Mr Marjoram. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am distressed beyond all measure by this unseemly exhibition. What are you thinking of, Tumpo ? The idea of undressing in public." • Tumpo, with a serene and childlike smile, took off another waistcoat. And then another. Fourteen waistcoats he discarded in rapid succession, while the audience rocked with rapturous happiness. Then he proceeded to take off his collar. It seemed that he wore innumerable collars. As fast as he flung one away, another, to Tumpo’s Intense surprise, appeared magically in its place, so that for mi appreciable time he seemed to be standing under a whirling snowstorm of Gladstone collars. The reprehensible but glorious exhibition was. finally Interrupted by the arrival from behind of Albert, the Almost Human Pig, who, waddling across the ring, seized Tumpo by the seat of his capacious trousers and dragged .him out, vehemently protesting, while the band, con molto ; expressione, played “Let Me Like A Soldier Fall." I was in the seventh heaven. My small soul was transported. “There is a land of pure delight," my Aunt Hanna!) had often sung. Here veritably was a land of pure delight, where umbrellas turned Into plantpots, where clowns wore fourteen waistcoats, where pigs drew ponyoarriages and where Blanchette, the Talking Horse, careered proudly round the ring. Yes, here was the beautiful Blanchette. Jri her light harness, with its red plumes, Blanchette was like the flying horse of a fairy-tale. Round she went with mincing steps, neck arched and plumes nodding. Mr Marjoram stood in the centre of the ring flicking his whip-lash as lightly as though he were casting a fly“Ladies and Gentlemen, Blanchette will endeavour to entertain you by executing a few of the latest danoe Bteps.” The hand struck up “Y'ou should see me dance the polka,” and Blanohette, keeping time to the music, went, circling round in a series of Jerky side-steps which seemed to please the audience migliMly. Blanchette waltzed. Blanchette did a creditable imitation of the barn dance

“And now Blanchette will demonstrate that her claim to be called the Talking Horse is no vain boast. Unlike many of the ladles, she means what she says, and says exactly what she mean’s. Blanchette, my dear, do you like sugar?” Instantly Blanchette inclined her glossy neck in an emphatic affirmative.

“Oli, sn you're fond of sugar, are you? Will you wait for a lump until the conclusion of the performance?” Blanchette shook her head. “You’d rather have it now, would you, my dear?" Blanchette’s “Yes" was obvious to us all. It gave us infinite pleasure to see her receive her reward.

"Now listen to my questions, Blanchette, and answer very carefully. Have you ever met any of the ladies and gentlemen before?" Blanchette shook her head vigorously. She had not met any of the ladles and gentlemen before. There was to be no prejudice and no ception.”1 wonder if you’d be so kind as to tell us something we should all like to know. Now,, Blanchette,, we know you have, excellent taste. Just tell us who, in yOur opinion, is the prettiest lady 'among 'our distinguished patrons.” : Blanchette trotted gently .round the outer edge of. the ring and stopped dead, amid much laughter, in front of a plump, blushing country girl in the second row. "Thank you. Blanchette. 1 assure you, madam, the compliment is sincerely tendered. You may accept her word vilhouL the slightest hesitation.

(By A. A. THOMSON)

Blanchette would acorn to utter a falsehood. She will always give you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And now, my dear, do you think you could find the handsomest gentleman?" Obediently, Blanchette set off onoe more, halting this time before a big red-faced, good-natured-looking yokel.

"Tell me, Blanohette, am I right in supposing that this gentleman has something on his mind?" "Yes,” nodded Blanchette. “I wonder” —very archly—“lf the gentleman is in love?" A prompt affirmative from Blanchette, scarlet blushes from her victim and delighted applause from the victim's friends.

“Is he very much in love. “Yes." (A quick succession of nods).

“Do you think he will overcome his shyness In time?" Blanchette nodded coyly. "He will. I take it, be eventually married to the object of his affections and live happily ever after?” Blanchette was convinced that he would.

"Now I want you to whisper to me in confidence, Blanchette, If you think there Is any likelihood of this gentleman becoming the father of a large and bouncing family?” Unhesitatingly Blanchette raised her fore-leg and began solemnly to tap her hoof on the low wooden edge of the ring fence. One . . . two . . . three . . . four. . . .

“Slop! Stop!” cried Mr Marjoram in a shocked voice, while peals of meroiless laughter covered the prospective bridegroom with confusion. Blanohette went on counting with oomplete equanimity. Nine. Ton. Eleven. Twelve "Blanchette 1 You must not . . . .

Another roar from the auditorium heralded the return of Tumpo, who, . oroßslng the ring in a series of handsprings, and now comq solemnly to rest on the other side of the Talking Horse.

But whether we travelled between green Southern hedgerows or the low grey stone walls of the North, our highway—our native element, almost —was always the road, opening out, mile after mile, in rain or sunshine, as the line of caravans went swaying and creaking along. We must have spent at least half of our lives upon the high road, and of all the smells that I recall, not excepting sawdust, naphtha flares, and even Madame Caterina’s well-loved onion soup, there lingers in my memory the scent of meadow-sweet that floated up from roadside ditches as we jolted by. Of my human preceptors, Duke Marjoram stands easily first. To the hero-worshipping eyes of a child, he was a Titan, a demi-god. He had the dignity of a Roman Emperor, the grave courtesy of an eighteenth-cen-tury nobleman. Men and elephants obeyed his lightest word. His "Goodmorning young Ben," was spoken like a royal ■procalmation. It is Impossible to convey in mere words the force, the majesty, the splendour of his oratory. He could invest the bare statement that two and two, dash his buttons, made four, with an air of philosophical profundity and sparkling wit. When he rode in our procession behind the band-carriage—with Marjoram’s Military Musicians playing “Tarara-Boom-de-Ay”—he was like a Caesar re-entering Home in triumph. When my friend, Wat Wandle, the J-llgh-Wire Wonder, of whom I shall tell you later, read to me out of his paper-backed Shakespeare a passage whloh began: What a wonderful piece of work is man 1 How nobie in reason! How definite in faculties! In form and movement, how express and admirable! In action, how like an angel I In apprehension, how like a god! The beauty of the word! The paragon of animals I —l listened entranced. Even then words to me were magical things, and 1 drank them in greedily. But. there was only one man to whom such phrases could apply. I knew that these words could refer only to Duke Marjoram.

1 learnt, much, too, from Madame Caterina Marnt, (nee Kitty Mahoney) who. while she may or may not have been the Strongest Woman in Europe, was assuredly the kindest. She had the largest heart any woman ever had. it was only professionally that she hung posed aloft in Daisy’s trunk, or rode in Britannia’s car with Bruce, the British lion, at her feet. Her Amazonian accomplishments gave her little veal pleasure. She was a born home-lover, the most domesticated creature that ever breathed. Her caravan was as spotless and shining as a model housewife’s parlour. Her win-dow-curtains were as white as snow. She preferred cooking and sewing to (say) holding a baby elephant in the air for thirty seconds. It was she who mended the gaping rents in my jacket caused by my headlong flight through the bramble hedge from Mr Chegger. Even when she could find no mending to do, she would spend her time in making mats for her caravan floor. 'l’hcsc were constructed of hundreds of tiny squares and diamonds cut from the discarded tunics of our bandsmen, and the labour involved in piecing them together on sacking was enormous.

It was her delight to mother me as she mothered the motherless Felicity Adelaide and, in a lesser degree, every member in Marjoram’s Unparalleled, from Bill Sprinks, the. Russian (an •orphan) Giant, down to the smallest of Graff’s performing canaries. To Caterina every living creature within her ken was a potential orphan, in need of maternal care and onionsoup. From her I 'learnt a religion which seemed (and seems) more credible and more kindly than my Aunt Hannah’s grimmer creed. Aunt Hannah, who taught me. to read the Bible and to owe no man anything, would have called Catering's faith Popery, but I leaned upon it, as I might have leaned my head against' Caterina’s ample bosom. Its theology was obscure but comfortable. There was something richly ■ human about it.. Even Madame Caterina’s "Quid Divil,” by comparison with the sinister figure of Aunt Hannah’s Satan, seemed a jolly good-humoured sort of Quid Divjl who would carry little hoys off only for the fun of tho thing. He was too good-natured ever to do them any real harm. If Madame Caterina could have married a good man and darned socks, as she darned mine,