Street Kid

by Westwater, Judy

  I knew what Carl was referring to, and I agreed with him – it was the nastiest job of all. Even nastier than having a llama spit in your eye. I’d seen Carl do it before and I didn’t envy him one bit.

  Before the horses came into the ring, he would have to stick his bare hand up their bottoms and scoop out the poo. Otherwise, he explained to me, ‘they make their messes all over the ring and it’s a bit of a disaster’.

  ‘What about the other animals?’ I asked him.

  ‘Well, my dad does the elephants,’ he said, with a grin. ‘And the llamas and camels get away without having it done. They just do little beads, so it’s not so bad.’

  I couldn’t help grimacing, thinking of what it must feel like to have your bare hand in all that smelly poo. Still, I supposed you got used to it.

  In a break before the next act, I thought about Carl and how friendly he’d been to me. I reckoned he probably didn’t have anyone his own age to hang out with. All the other circus kids were quite a bit younger than him and he didn’t have any brothers or sisters. He didn’t have a mum either – it was just him and his dad.

  When I’d asked him about school he’d told me that he was going to boarding school the following year.

  ‘All the circus kids go when they’re old enough,’ he said. ‘Then leave when they’re fifteen.’

  ‘Aren’t you scared of going?’ I asked him.

  ‘It’ll be okay, I expect,’ he said. ‘I’ll get to come back in the holidays and train with my dad.’

  I’d seen the younger kids sitting at a table in the field with a woman I’d guessed was their teacher. Mr Wilkie must have had to hire her so the little ones could keep up with their reading and sums.

  I reckon I could put up with school if it was like that, I thought. Sitting in the field in the sun in my shorts. A very different kettle of fish from snooty old Barnato Park.

  On another occasion I’d asked Carl what he did when the circus packed up for the winter.

  ‘We go to the farm, our winter quarters,’ he told me. ‘It’s only a few weeks before the tour starts again and there’s masses to do. They’ve got to invent all the new acts.’

  I hadn’t wondered before how the artists had time to come up with their acts. I’d simply imagined they had the odd new idea and tacked it on as they went.

  ‘I suppose the audience would get bored if they see the same act next year when they come to Wilkies,’ I said.

  ‘They sure would,’ agreed Carl. ‘And anyway, the artists really need a change by the end of the season. You should see them at the start of the new one; they get really nervous and make quite a lot of mistakes in the first few shows.’

  Mistakes, I realized, weren’t viewed here as something dreadful that had to be punished. This came as a revelation to me. Mistakes, in fact, were a necessary part of getting things right, Harry Carry had explained.

  ‘You just get back on the horse. And even if you do something wrong in front of the audience, you make them wait while you try it again. And again, if needs be. Otherwise, you’ll get spooked, and nerves can be ruinous for a circus performer.’

  The rest of the afternoon went by in a whirl. The last of the acts to come on were the trapeze artists. Five Italians – all one family – took it in turns to climb the rope ladder to a little platform forty feet above the ring. I noticed, before trying a stunt, that they each checked their own gear, and each other’s, very carefully.

  ‘You don’t want to find yourself spinning in the air by a wrist strap that’s not been properly checked,’ said Carl with a shudder.

  Before they took hold of the bar, I saw the performers rubbing some sort of powder on their hands and forearms.

  ‘It’s rosin, to stop the sweat making them slip,’ Carl explained. ‘And they have to wear bandages on their wrists to help the other person hang on as well.’

  I’d always imagined that trapeze artists grabbed each other by the hands, but when I watched them now I saw that they always went for each other’s wrists.

  The flying trapeze was a magical act to watch. As I sat there, entranced, I wondered how they’d ever got the timing right. Once one artist had left his swing to perform a triple somersault, how on earth did the other one work out exactly where he had to be to catch hold of the first one’s ankles? It simply boggled my mind. You’re falling through the air and you can’t even see the other person!

  ‘They do get it wrong loads of times in rehearsal,’ said Carl. ‘That’s how they get it right in the end.’

  And indeed, moments later, one of the performers missed his timing and tumbled through the air into the net below. He looked really irritated as it meant he had to go through the palaver of climbing all the way up again.

  One of the family was a girl of about my age who walked across a tightrope in a tutu. I’d seen her practising her ballet positions with the ballet mistress earlier on and had watched her very carefully, knowing I’d want to try the same moves later that evening in my railway carriage.

  Now the girl was standing on one leg, wobbling slightly, twenty feet above the ring. I watched her with awe, and not a little envy.

  ‘She’s in a harness today, as it’s rehearsal,’ said Carl. ‘But in the show she has to do it without.’

  Her dad was walking below her, mirroring her steps, and at the ready in case she fell. ‘Is he allowed to follow her like that in the real thing?’ I asked Carl.

  ‘Yes. They always have to have someone there to catch them,’ he replied. ‘It’s a rule at Wilkies.’ Then he got up and tapped my arm. ‘Come on, lazy, we’d better go and feed the animals.’

  The rehearsal had awakened a whole new enthusiasm in me for the circus. From that day on, I spent every spare minute practising my backflips. Something I found particularly difficult was trying to come out of a crab into an elegant handstand, legs neatly together. However much I tried, I couldn’t quite manage it.

  One afternoon, a couple of days later, Dickie came up to me while I was trying to balance a broomstick handle on my chin. When I saw him, I let it drop.

  ‘You did well there,’ he said, smiling kindly. ‘You’ll be one of us yet.’

  I couldn’t help beaming. How was it that sometimes people at the circus said just the thing you’d been longing all your life to hear?

  ‘Would you like to help Pickie and me with our act? We’ve got to sort a few things out.’

  We found Pickie in the backstage area, and whilst Dickie was checking a few things with him, I walked over to the unicycle. I wanted to try and get on it but didn’t want to do so without permission.

  Pickie saw me looking at it. ‘Do you want to have a go?’ he said, with a twinkle. I replied that I did, very much.

  ‘Well, watch how I do it first,’ he said. ‘The trick is to pedal as soon as you’ve climbed on it or you’ll fall off. You’ve got to get momentum up right away.’

  Pickie sprang on to the unicycle and immediately started cycling. ‘Now, if you want to break, then you’ve got to backpedal. So you go forwards, back a bit, forwards, like this. That way it keeps stable.’

  He hopped off and gave the unicycle to Dickie to hold upright. ‘Here, I’ll need to lift you onto it,’ he said. ‘First you need to backpedal just a little, then give the biggest push you can to take you forward.’

  Soon I was making a wobbly sort of progress around the dusty ground outside the big top. I fell off once or twice but the two clowns made no fuss of me when I did. Falling off was a fact of life and a necessity if you’re going to learn, Dickie said. ‘You wouldn’t be a member of the circus if you didn’t have a few scabs and bruises,’ he chuckled. ‘Wear ‘em with pride.’

  After that, Dickie and Pickie both looked out for me and took a fatherly interest in my learning. They taught me how to tumble and do a headstand flip. I thought I’d learned some of the basic moves pretty well in the school gym, but the two clowns added a whole new dimension. Loads of new tricks.

  ‘The thing is, Judy,’ Dickie s
aid. ‘You’ve got to learn how to breathe and get your energy up. Like this.’ He showed me what to do, then I tried again. My flip immediately improved.

  ‘You’re a fast little learner,’ the clown said. ‘And I like the way you’re not one to give up easily. Come back when you’re older and you can be in my act.’

  When Dickie said that to me I felt my cup was full. He probably didn’t mean it, but it was still a lovely thing to say.

  The time came for our move to Zoo Lake. Everyone was up bright and early, ready for the journey. There was a noticeable buzz of excitement in the air. Even the horses, who would soon find themselves being bumped and rattled along the dusty roads, didn’t look unhappy about it.

  It was amazing how quickly everything was packed up and put away. It only took half a day. Each person in the circus had a job and Mr Wilkie employed about fifty hands to help. It must have looked like a huge colony of ants that day, with everyone about their business, seemingly without ever needing to be told what to do. And while costumes and props were swiftly stowed in the caravans before being put on the back of trucks, inside the big top us kids were all hard at work too.

  We’d been given the job of dismantling the ring. Our first task was to fold up the large piece of matting that covered it. I’d always thought the floor of the ring was covered in sawdust, but now I realized this wasn’t the case after all. After the mat was put away we had to stack up the big blocks that formed the ring itself. They had to be in the right order. Like a giant puzzle of tessellated shapes, we knew that if we stacked them wrong we’d find it much slower work when we got to Zoo Lake and had to build the ring again. It was the same with the seats, which we had to pile up in the right number sequence, ready for the hands to carry to the truck.

  When we’d finished, the big top was ready to be pulled down. The canvas was suspended by guy ropes from two pillars, and once they were untied everyone waited for a single command to let go of their rope. Then the canvas came down in a rapid whoosh to lie flat while the hands folded it. It only took them minutes and was wonderful to watch.

  By early afternoon we were on our way, and as I sat on a box in my little train compartment I was brimful with excitement. I longed to go and stand on the steps at the back of the train and watch the scenery roll away from me like a big, colourful ribbon; but I stayed put, happy enough to be safely stowed away, like one of the props.

  I just wished we could keep going and leave the city altogether. Only then would I feel safe.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After the big top was put up and all the animals fed and exercised, everyone was exhausted so I didn’t get a chance to explore Zoo Lake the first day. When I did, I saw that it was a beautiful spot. A favourite place for picnickers, on any weekend in the summer it would be packed with families swimming or sailing. There was a shady barbecue area under the trees and after lunch, in the heat of the day, people enjoyed walking in the woods around the lake. The place was teeming with birdlife and it made me laugh to see the gangly-legged secretary birds looking like fussy old spinsters with the quills on their heads sticking out at odd angles.

  As I walked around the lake with Carl, taking in the sheer beauty of the place, I couldn’t help myself wondering if I’d be safe here. Every time the thought surfaced it felt like a cloud had suddenly moved across the sun, and I shivered. At one point I looked down at the little hairs on my arm and saw they were standing up.

  Carl noticed my shiver.

  ‘Hey, what’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘You can’t be cold, surely.’

  ‘I’m just wondering if I’ll be safe here,’ I said. ‘This is where half the girls from my school live. I just wish we’d gone to Durban or somewhere.’

  I was sorry to have spoiled our walk, but I didn’t want to stay by the lake any longer. ‘Come on,’ I said to Carl. ‘Let’s get back to the circus.’

  At first I was careful not to be seen before the show if I saw families milling about the circus ground; but as the week went by and I got used to my new surroundings, I started to relax. The feeling that there was something horrible lurking just out of sight, ready to pounce if I made a wrong move, started to recede and I just got on with the life of the circus as before. If only I had trusted my instincts and remained on my guard! I should have heeded that snake in the pit of my stomach, which always writhed uneasily when something bad was going to happen. But I didn’t.

  A couple of weeks went by and I grew happier and healthier with every day that passed. By now, my hair was a tangled bush and the sun had tanned my skin a dark brown. All the circus artists knew me by now, and my confidence was growing in leaps and bounds. It was as if I was a sapling stretching out to the sunshine for the first time.

  To my delight, earlier that week I’d been asked by Billy Dash if I could help mind the chimps before the show. I’d leapt at the chance, and Carl said he’d help too. Billy took us to his caravan and opened the door. The chimps were all sitting there, as if they were waiting for us. We dressed them in their little skirts and shorts, and when they put their long wiry arms around my neck it felt so good. I’d never been hugged like that before.

  The chimps were never still. If I was trying to dress one of them, she would be pulling my hair while one of the boys stuck his finger in my ear. They were always so playful and loved being out in the ring in the limelight. As soon as the music struck up for their act, they’d know it was their turn to perform and would start squealing and chattering madly. Then, when it was over, they’d clap along with the audience, curling up their top lip as if they were laughing with them. This made the children clap even harder.

  They say that you don’t always appreciate what you’ve got until it’s gone; but, in my case, I savoured every waking moment at Wilkies. Everything I’d done – everything I’d had done to me before – lay like a dark shadow in my past and the bright, shiny here-and-now was like a gift I unwrapped every single day.

  One Saturday afternoon, I was on my way to see the horses when I stopped dead in my tracks. A few family groups were idling around the tents and caravans before the show and I sensed, a moment before I saw anything, that someone was watching me. I was right. A girl was standing stock still, staring in my direction. And I recognized her instantly.

  Yvonne Fleming was typical of the sort of girl at Barnato Park school I detested. And here she was now, looking missish in her flouncy skirt, gazing right at me. I knew it couldn’t be much worse. Yvonne was a teacher’s pet who followed Miss Poole around like a yapping little Pekinese, and she always loved to tell tales. I knew what she’d be spreading around the school first thing on Monday.

  Yvonne pulled at her mother’s arm to get her attention; she turned and bent her head to listen to what her daughter was saying. Then they both looked at me. It’s started, I thought and the snake writhed its warning inside me.

  I walked quickly away to the animal tent and pressed my burning cheek to Lady’s neck while she reached round to nuzzle my hand. My heart was beating uncomfortably fast and I felt very sick. Breathe, I told myself. It’ll probably be okay. He may not get to hear anything. And he might not bother to come even if he does.

  On the Wednesday of the following week, I was in the animal tent grooming the horses when I saw a tall, familiar figure striding towards me. I felt as if the devil himself was coming for me, and it was as though all the blood had drained from my face and body in a second, leaving my legs feeling like pieces of foam rubber. I couldn’t have run if I’d tried.

  Behind my dad, Mr Wilkie was hurrying to keep up and I could tell, even from a distance, that he was feeling very uncomfortable, moving rather stiffly, his face redder than usual. Dad must have given him an earful about harbouring an under-age runaway who should have been in school.

  I barely flinched when my dad lunged for me, grabbing my arm viciously with one hand while clouting me across the ear with the other fist. Although there was a deafening, throbbing surge of pain, for a brief moment I felt emotionless, shock
ed into an icy nothingness – almost as if it was happening to someone else. Here we go again.

  Mr Wilkie ran forward, in an attempt to stop my dad hurting me.

  ‘Please, don’t do this. Please … stop!’

  My father ignored him and grabbed me by the collar. ‘You’re coming with me. Now.’

  He dragged me out of the tent and I stumbled to keep up with him. I glanced quickly behind me. Mr Wilkie was still standing in the same place with a stricken face.

  ‘Where are your things?’ my father asked me. I led him to the train to retrieve my case.

  It was only then, as we were leaving the circus ground, that waves of fear and grief hit me – not so much the fear of what was going to happen to me when I got home so much as the heart-stabbing wrench of leaving what, in a short six weeks, had become so very precious to me. And, as with others who’d passed through my life and become dear to me – Miss Williams, Edna, and Gyp – I wasn’t given the chance to say goodbye to Carl and the others. And that hurt too.

  Dad dragged me by the arm through Braamfontein and down Kotze Street, which ran through Hillbrow, cursing and spitting all the way. He was so angry that I wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke puffing from his nose.

  ‘The trouble you’ve got me into,’ he ranted. ‘I had to sell my suit to pay the fine.’

  It hadn’t occurred to me that truancy officers might come round to check on me, or that my father would be hauled up in front of the school board. Oh God, I thought. If the authorities have been poking into his business, I’m really going to get it now. He’ll kill me.

  For a half hour, my dad ranted on at me as he strode and I stumbled through the streets of Johannesburg. I felt like I was being hammered, inch by inch, into the ground, like one of the tent pegs at the circus. Maybe soon I’ll disappear altogether.

  When we got back to our room at the Allendene, Freda was sitting on the bed, looking strained and red-eyed. My dad had obviously been on at her before he’d left, angry that she hadn’t been around to report my running away. The board must have given him a real grilling.