FAY OF THE RING

Waikato Times, Volume 113, Issue 18944, 15 May 1933, Page 4

FAY OF THE RING

By A. A. THOMSON.

(Author of The Lilao Maid,"‘‘Dorinda, Darling!” Eto., Etc*., Eto.)

(An Enthralling Story of Clrous Life.)

BYNOPSIS. Ben Laylock ran as though Satan himself were at his heels. He must get away from the cruel face of Mr Chegger, who had, come that morning to take -Ben away to the Orphan Home. And then something swung out snakily towards him and coiled itseir round his body. He was lifted high into the air, to the accompaniment of a voice saying: "'Daisy, Daisy, is this the way to treat a member of the public? Put the young gentleman down at once,” When Ben dared, to open his eyes, the first thing ho saw was the imposing flg*ure of Duke Marjoram, resplendent In a gorgeous ensemble that completely took the small boy’s breath away. Duke was the owner or Marjoram’s Unparalleled Travelling Circus, with its many marvellous attractions. The second thing Ben saw was an angel. He knew it was an angel, because she had an angel’s face, and a glowing halo or red-gold hair, and was dressed wholly in white. “What’s your name?” enquired the angel. “Mine’s Felicity Adelaide Marjoram. You can call me Fay ir you like.” CHAPTER IV. Marjoram's Unparalleled. Creaking, swaying and jolting, we travelled along the flat, winding Essex roads towards the market town that lay about half a dozen miles from the village where I was horn. It Is one of those rare places in England that are almost as sleepy to-day as they were in those early ’nineties, when I was ten years old. Change comes to such little towns even more slowly than the rate at which we travelled in those days, which was a steady four miles an hour. Four miles an hour was Daisy’s speed, and Marjoram’s Unparalleled took its marching pace from her. At the gateway of a green meadow on the outskirts of the town the long column jolted to a halt, and Madame Caterina bustled me out of the oaravan. . ‘‘Now, boysie, out ye go, and see ye don’t get in the elephant’s way this time.” Standing, bewildered, on the grassy roadside edge, I watched the long train of vans and waggons go creaking in through the gateway. The noonday sun shone down clearly from a sky of flawless blue, and the ground in the entrance was firm and hard. There was that day no floundering in a sea of trampled mud. Many a time since I have seen the trembling horses slip and slither, while the waggon wheels sank axle-deep in churned-up slime, but to-day all passed through dry-shod. _ The column made a wide cirole in the centre of the field, and then, like a swarm of bees, the tent-men went buzzing to their work. The tentmaster, a short man In a sleeved waistcoat. with a brown, tanned face dried up like leather, gave them their orders. All was scurry and bustle, yet every man knew his post and ran straight to it, Great lengths of canvas roofing were stretched out on the ground in their correct position and laced together with ropes. Little groups of men dashed forward with the two great king-poles, like storming parties carrying battering-rams at a mediaeval seigc. These, secured in sockets, were slowly raised till they stood upright, like the masts of a sailing-ship. Clump, clump, clump! came the sound of the mattocks, hammering in the great pegs that were to support the main guy-ropes. No one took the slightest notice of me. Every man was too busy at his allotted task. I had not yet become a unit of that bustling army. On his great black horse Duke Marjoram rode hither and thither, just as Wellington might have ridden at the breach of Badajoz. No military leader of old ever commanded an army in the field with greater distinction. There was an air of romantic splendour about Duke Marjoram’s every act and gesture. At last Sullivan, the tent-master, ran over to him. Everything was ready, but Duke Marjoram must give the final word. With a wave of his arm he signalled to the gang of tentmen, straining and sweating on the pulley-ropes. “Heave her, hoys!’ ' Like the city of Thebes, rising to the tuneful lilt of Orpheus’s lute, the great canvas Big Top came up slowly and jerkily into a horizontal position. At first it rose flat as a piece of theatre scenery, then, as the tent-men dashed round, dragging at the smaller ropes and pulling out the quarter poles into position, that giant double mushroom began to assume a solid shape. There was still much to be done. The sections of wooden . seating which formed the “gallery" had to bo fitted, piece by piece, round the extreme outside of the ring. The canvas walling had to be run round the sides to make the tent complete. But it was the raising of the Big Top which captured my Imagination. That exhibition of everyday, workmanlike efficiency was to me a piece of glowing magic—t|ie : Big Top an Aladdin’s palace, enchanted and faujlike, conjured up against that placid English landscape, by a wave of Duke Marjoram’s hand! Too soon pass the days when all the world Is a land of undimmsd romance, when caravan windows are “Magic casements opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in fairy lands forlorn.” But when a boy sees those fairylands for the first time, to be young is "very heaven.” Two hours passed as if they had been minutes. That open .meadow had now become a magic city. There were canvas stables for the horses. Even Daisy had a tent —a ramshackle canvas erection very little bigger than herself. 1 could see her trunk nuzzling out through a rent in the canvas in a manner which still brought my heart to my mouth. The rows of caravans formed a curved irregular street like a terrace in fairyland. Open-mouthed, I wandered round, drinking in fresh I brills at every step. By the' time l had come round again to the fronl of the big tent they were fixing together the scclions of the grand entrance hoard, a painted scene of dazzling magnificence. On t hut. superb canvas fairylike maidens, light as thistledown, pirouetted on the backs of galloping horses, intrepid gentlemen with cavalry moustaches thrust their heads nonchanlly into !ho mouths of Bengal tigers, spangled clowns turned impossible somersaults, and elephants in silk hats look afternoon lea. I learned later that this vast canvas had been executed by a London artist, who was incapable of painting a .single hair of a lion’s mane unless he were roaring drunk, and charged as his fee a fiat rate of one shilling per square yard, l have since looked on many works of art In" many artists, hut I lake leave lo douhl wheUicr alt of them were hitrinsiMJty’

worth a shilling a square yard. No picture has ever given one the thrill of that tremendous daub. I still think that that anonymous whisky-sodden shilling-a-yard painter must have been a very great man. Felicity 'Adelaide came upon me as I stood gaping unshamedly before this colossal masterpiece. “Aunt Kitiry says you’re to oome to dinner,” she informed me, “or you won’t be in time for the morning show."

“But It must be afternoon now,” I ventured.

"Pooh, silly I” Felioity Adelaide's tone was exceedingly scornful. “Morning show means afternoon. Didn't you know that?” Abashed, at my appalling Jgnoranoe which nothing, it seemed, could hide, I hung my head and allowed myself to toe led the caravan where Madame Caterina" proceeded to stuff me with boiled eggs and thick slabs of- bread and butter.

I remember parts of that morning show as clearly as I remember anything in my life. I know now, of course, how poor and -small and -tawdry a -show the Marjoram’s -of' that day must have been. The gigantio modern circus such as Sarra-sani’s or Ranci’s, with its -three rings, its glittering blaze of floodlights and its couple of hundred motor lorries, has banished -the old-fashioned family-owned show Into the limbo of half-remembered dreams or even into complete -oblivion. The -circus of to-day is a bustling cosmopolitan city, peopled toy ai’-tists from the four corners of the earth:. Japanese jugglers, Arab tumblers, French clowns, Italian acrobats, Mexican rcughriders, “-strong -men" from Germany. The thing Is vast, guttering and, like -so much In 'the modern world, mechanically perfect. Yet, to me at -least, It has no glamour. Onoe you are -of the -circus, you are. .

of the circus. It Is in your blood. Even when you are “resting," you will never be able to resist the temptation -of taking a busman’s holiday and seeing. . . another • circus. I have seen them all —Barnum and Bailey’s, Sarrasani’s, Forepaugh’-s, Sanger’s, Wirth’s, and Del Mauro’s—and yet I can truthfully say that not -one of them ever seemed touched with the -sheer enchantment that lay, like a spell, upon -that old tent so many-years ago.

Against' the background -of memory certain -scenes outline them-selves with startling vividness. I see -myself, a timid and insignificant little urchin, stealing in at the artists’ entrance -to the -big tent, no one toeing sufficiently interested in my existence to bar my -progress, -Lifting the heavy canvas flap, I saw -the big sawdust-strewn ring, with -one segment -of the ringfence open just in front of me. Beyond it was a misty haze that consisted of rows and irows -of faces. The audience was already in its place. For an instant I thought that all those -eyes were fixed Intently on me. '“What are you -doing -there, boy?" they seemed to -say. I started guiltily. Just beside me was the high band-carriage, now tenanted by Marjoram’s Military Musicians In their intensely warlike ainiforms -of scarlet and gold. With a mighty crash the band burst into its -opening -overture. Trombones blared and the big drum rolled like ■thunder. I glanced hurriedly -over my shoulder, seeking a way of escape, but two attendants were holding back the big canvas flap and in the aperture was -outlined the great bulk -of the ■elephant Daisy caparisoned in green and gold. Blindly I darted off at a -tangent -and stumbled breathlessly -past the end -of the rows of seats. Up the steep -steps of the wooden gallery I climbed and sat down in a vacant place. I was still unnoticed. Children of -my own age were on either side of me, tout they hacl no- eyes for me, with Daisy in -the offing. , (To be continued.)