FAMOUS COLUMBINE.

Waikato Times, Volume 114, Issue 19054, 19 September 1933, Page 3

FAMOUS COLUMBINE.

A ROMANTIC LIFE. ADORED BY DICKENS. Here, for the first time, Is told the life story of Louisa Woolford, the famous Columbine of Astley’s, who delighted our grandparents by her dancing at Christmas entertainments three-quarters of a century ago. “Now, sir, if you please, inquire for Miss Woolford, sir.’’ Those were magical words at Astley’s, the old 'circus, on the south side of Westminster Bridge, which Dickens used to visit. They were spoken by a stately ring-master whose splendid head of black hair was parted high on the forehead “to impart to the countenance an appearance of deep thought and poetic melancholy.” He was addressing the clown who had been, a moment before, pulling faces' at him behind his back. “Bon Gaultier.” Miss Woolford entered and was led forward by that ring-master “to the delight of every member of the audience, young and old”—we have Dickens’ word for it. While her fairy courser galloped round the ring, she stood on its back, perilously aslant, and danced before our grandparents’ adoring eyes. Among them was a poet as young as herself who tried to conceal his feelings to'wards her by giving his verse the comical twist that is characteristic of the Bon Gaultier Ballads: Like a beautiful Bacchante Here she soars, and there she kneels, W r hile amid her floating 'tresses Flash two whirling Catherine wheels; though he was as moved by this vision of radiant girlhood as the rest. They were eager to serve her as the clown who cried, “Now, Miss Woolford, what can I come for to go, for to fetch, for to bring, for to carry, for to do, for you, ra'am?" He was permitted to bring her two flags. That done he started shouting to the ring 7 master, “He, he, oil! I say, sir, Miss Woolford knows me: she smiled at me,” until cut short with the whip. Such tributes are paid to her In "The Old Curiosity Shop” and “Sketches by Boz” that I think her romantio life should be told. The facts have taken some time to collect. Some I have copied from old playbills and newspapers; some from gravestones; and others were sent to me by her nephew, Mr Tom Woolford, of Liverpool, after I had spoken of her in a wireless talk. Just over a hundred years ago a touring circus was installed for a season at the Theatre Royal, Bath. One of the performers was a horseman, named George Woolford, who obtained an engagement for his 12-year-old daughter. As “Miss Louise” she played Columbine in the pantomime winch brought the show to a ’closo. Two years later her “graceful riding on a single horse” was one of the attractions of Astley’s, the London circus Dickens knew. The next year she was promoted to play the heroine in the equestrian drama of “Timour the Tartar,” but she was too artless to be an actress. The Showman Falls In Love.

Ducrow, the greatest showman who ever lived, was then the manager of Astley’s. Her sweet simplicity all but abashed his perky, Cockney, street-arab soul. “I’ll take her in hand,” was what he said, but when he taught her to perform with him on the double tightrope high above the sawdust and tan, he saw in her an angel whose companionship would carry him past St. Peter through heaven’s gales. When she stood on horseback, with the lightness of a ballerina and the sureness of a ropedancer, the audience imagined her to be enchanted. Ducrow’s wife died. The funeral in Kensal Green Cemetery was held up because the chief mourner, noticing water at the bottom of the grave, used such foul language that the parson departed horror-stricken. Then Ducrow built the family vault which worthily commemorates his fame to this day. . Some months later he married lovely Louisa Woolford.

Tragedy. In a house next door to the circus they lived happily and brought up a daughter. Then a tragedy befell. During the fiercely realistic representation of The Wars of Cromwell in 1841, charred wads, blown from the guns, fell into the mezzanine below the stage and smouldered unseen among the sawdust. Late that night Louisa stirred in her sleep. Alarmed by the smell of smoke, she roused Due-row and gathered her baby to her, while he mustered all the household and marshalled them down the stairs. The door was locked. “We shall be burned to death,” whimpered an old servant. But Ducrow conducted them all upstairs again, past partitions blistering in the heat, to a door on the far side. Through the smoke and (lame that filled the courtyard they reached the street clad only In their night-clothes. The old servant, remembering her life’s savings and a pet canary, decided to go back lo recover them. Louisa tried -to restrain her, lull as she had her 'child to tend the servant had her own way. •

Meanwhile attempts were being made to release the horses. The task was made more difficult by their instinct to make for the arena instead or the street. Once outside the building they dashed frantically away in all directions, the -clatter of their hoofs sounding the first alarm to the whole neighbourhood. Despite heroic efforts, two horses, a performing donkey and a pony were left to perish. Then the box-office door was broken down by firemen. Just inside they found a blackened mass. It was the body of Louisa’s old servant. The horror oT that night left its mark on Ducrow. He struggled foe six months and amassed a sum of £17,000 lo ensure his family’s future. Then, in the January of 1812, lie died, and was escorted to his family vault by the most flamboyantly gorgeous circus parade London has ever seen. In the following June his son was born. The Soldier Son. Astlev’s was rebuilt and enthralled (lie public for half a eenlnry longer. Ycl the Columbine who had so exquisitely graced *il s ring lived lo sec fhe lime when il had been forgotten, gho became the wife of a countuy gentleman —John Hay of Wycombe. Her daughter, Louisa Ducrow, became [he lady of Surgeon-Major Henry Wilson, who served with disliiieiimi in the Indian Mutiny, Her son, Andrew Ducrow, held a commission in the 40th Regiment,

Louisa worshipped his boyish pride in .[he dignity of arms, and bravely hid her terrors when Andrew was ordered lo New Zealand for the Maori War in isc,:.! Ensign I furrow led Hie attack against Hie stockade at Rangiriri on November 2b, and was, ii not Hie first, certainly one of Hie first, to enter llie enemy’s entrenchments.” They brought him home, a pale shadow that failed almost as It is mother's lips touched his, and at Christmas time they buried him beside his father. Her Doscondants. John Hay, a devoted husband, died

in 1877 T. Louisa Woolford, with her daughter and grand-daughters, lived on. Perhaps as the world changed around her she remembered As!ley’s only as a remote and whimsical fantasy. Or perhaps that noisy, Mustering dream -became more real—so the visions of youth often appear in old age—than the peace of her house where the rose of the ring was now wliiln-haired and dressed in Mark skirt and shawl instead of gauze. She died at the age of 80, after straying .twenty-five days into a new century. The daughter she carried out from the fire at Astley’s died 10, 1316 .—“Everyman,"-