While we sat having a cup of tea, I marvelled at the way Speedy would give me instructions. He never acted like a schoolteacher, issuing orders without giving you an explanation or any opportunity of working things out for yourself. Only when he saw I was putting myself at risk would he break in with an instruction.
‘You’d better not put your wrists in the straps that way or you’ll break your arm.’
I loved being taught by Speedy.
By the end of the week I knew every trick inside out. I had memorized each cue by heart, and Speedy had made me recite his own instructions back at him as I moved about the trapeze. I knew exactly what he and the girls would be doing at any given moment in the act and the importance of getting the timing right. If I was even a beat too slow, Bobby and Vicky might bang their heads or Speedy’s bike could come off the track. Everything had to run like clockwork, or one of the team would be put at risk.
Every evening that trial week, once Speedy had gone home and I had time to myself, I hadn’t been able to prevent myself thinking, I just want to live like this … Want to be here … Want to be in the act … Be on the bus.
And then always the reflection: But, hey, life hasn’t exactly shown me that you ever get what you wish for.
On the Friday, after we’d finished and I’d packed my bag to go home, Speedy asked me if I could come back the following day to meet Bobby.
‘We’ll be at the circus canteen at twelve if that suits?’
I told him that suited me just fine.
I didn’t know what to expect the next day. When I got to the circus building I found Speedy, Vicky, and a girl with blonde hair, who I guessed must be Bobby, sitting at a table. They were obviously in the midst of a serious discussion. When he saw me, Speedy stood up and pulled out a chair.
‘Sit yourself down, Judy.’
I perched on the chair and he went on without a pause. ‘We’d all like to welcome you to be the fourth member of our trapeze act.’
I nearly fell off my chair. Had I heard Speedy right? Was he really speaking to me?
It didn’t matter that I was at a loss for words. The others all spoke at once in a torrent of excited voices. ‘Welcome, Judy!’ … ‘Speedy’s told me so much about you!’ … ‘Well done!’
I couldn’t eat or drink anything that lunchtime. I think I was simply too full of happiness.
That night, and the whole of the following day, I was walking on air. Letting the truth sink in and savouring it.
I’m actually going to be one of the Australian Air Aces. Me! Judy!
On the Monday, I told my landlady I was leaving and gave in my notice at Woolworths. By noon, I was making my way back to Bellevue on the bus with my suitcase.
Early the next morning, we loaded up the tour bus with everything we needed for the show, winching the track and trapeze gear onto the roof. By nightfall we were set up on Firework Island, the construction all finished with its loop of motorcycle track and the big triangular chassis from which the trapeze artist (me) and the aerial performers (Vicky and Bobby) would be suspended.
A small ferry took the bus across to the island, which was surrounded by a moat of water. Firework Island was constructed in such a way that it was set deeper than the ground that surrounded it on the other side of the water. This meant that there was a sizeable bank of grass that encircled it, forming a decent-sized amphitheatre for spectators. I was thrilled to find that we were sharing the island with the zoo animals; and when Speedy parked the bus behind a bank of bushes near their cages I knew I wouldn’t feel lonely that night.
And I didn’t.
After Speedy, Vicky, and Bobby had left, I heated up some soup on the stove and sat eating it on the steps of the bus, looking out at the sky as darkness fell. I felt a kind of contentment I’d never known before. I’d been briefly happy at Wilkies, but the feeling had always been tainted by the fear that my dad might find me. Here, with Speedy and the others, I finally felt a quietness inside, like I’d come home at last.
I looked up at the stars and remembered how I used to think they were beckoning me to them. Their long-lost child. I felt a tiny pang of loss for a moment, knowing that those twinkling imaginary friends I’d clung to through my childhood didn’t feel real to me now. And then the feeling passed. I don’t need you any more!
I was so used to the huge, black tide of fear and misery engulfing me at the thought of being alone and unloved that I was almost surprised not to feel so much as a ripple disturb me now. Instead, here I was, purring sleepily like a well-fed cat. What is happening to me?
After washing up my soup bowl and undressing, I lay down on my bunk and pulled a sheet over me. The night was warm and the air smelled of hay and manure. I could hear the sound of yawns and grunts coming from the animal cages.
A family isn’t necessarily what you’re born with, I reflected as I drifted into sleep. You can find it for yourself. So long as you have somewhere safe and warm where you feel that you belong.
Acknowledgements
I would like to express my deep and sincere thanks to all who have made this book possible.
Special thanks to my dear friend Shaun McKenna, for his unfailing support and steadfast encouragement.
My deep gratitude to John Peel for his absolute faith in my story, and also to Annette Wells and all the research team at BBC Radio 4’s Home Truths.
A huge thank you to everyone at HarperElement for all their enthusiasm and hard work: Belinda Budge, Carole Tonkinson, Liz Dawson and Sarah Squire. A special hug for Susanna Abbott, my editorial director, for her sensitivity, warm friendship and invaluable advice.
For their caring support, many thanks to fellow inmates at St Josephs Marie Fielding and Tony Toole.
Big hugs to ace photographer Peter Weaver, my special brother-in-law, for his artistic eye, care and support.
My grateful thanks to Virgin Atlantic Airways for their fantastic help and support throughout the years, and to all the co-ordinators in the Sponsorship and Charity Department for their kindness and understanding.
And finally, my sincere thanks and great appreciation goes to Wanda Carter, a very special friend. Her infectious enthusiasm, faith and dedicated belief in Street Kid from the beginning led the way and ‘twas her guiding hand in mine that made it all possible. Thank you.
About the Author
In 1991, thirty years after Judy had been living on the streets of South Africa, Judy’s husband died, leaving her a small legacy. A few days later Judy saw a television programme about the troubled lives of children in the townships of South Africa. It was as if a switch had flicked in her.
Within weeks she was on her way to South Africa, having galvanized her family and local community into action to help make the project a reality. Her first trip to South Africa lasted six weeks and within that short space of time she set up community projects to help local street children in the violent townships of Soweto, Alexandra and Sebokeng. The Pegasus Children’s Trust was born.
Over the next four years Judy divided her time between fundraising in Great Britain and consolidating her work in South Africa. She also helped set up another centre in a squatter camp outside Cape Town called Khayelitsha. These centres didn’t just seek to meet the children’s basic food, shelter and clothing needs. With the help of educators that she hired and trained locally, she used drama therapy to help the children come to terms with their often traumatic experiences and to find greater self-worth and purpose. She also organized classes to help them learn to read and write, and encouraged them to develop local craft skills and take part in community fund-raising projects.
The projects thrived and were so successful that Judy went to Mexico to work on similar projects in the slums of Mexico City, Puebla and Oaxaca. Then in 2003 Judy returned to South Africa, this time to Hillbrow where she herself had lived on the streets as a child.
As Judy found with all the other centres she had set up, the problems the children were dealing with were far more complex than
the troubles she had experienced: they weren’t just sleeping rough, vulnerable to abuse or in danger of starvation; gang fighting, drugs, pimps, AIDS and the sheer number of street children made their situation much more dangerous.
Today Judy still works tirelessly to keep her centres flourishing. When she is not in South Africa helping her co-workers she is fundraising in Great Britain. For more information about Judy, Pegasus Children’s Trust and her work in South Africa visit www.streetkid.co.uk.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
I used to wake up icy and wet. I still remember the terrible cold. We’d cuddle together in one bed as soon as it got dark, as there was no light or heat in the house, and I suppose I must have wet myself most nights. I have another memory too, of being alone in the dark, standing halfway down the stairs. I think I must have been looking for somebody but there was nowhere to go in the dark and you couldn’t ask for anything because there was nobody there. It was pitch black at the bottom of the stairs so I didn’t dare go any further but I couldn’t see anything at the top either. I was stuck there, in the freezing, scary darkness and there was nowhere to go and I knew that it was no use crying because no-one would come. I suppose in the end I must have fallen asleep on the step but I don’t remember.
I can see Speedy beneath me, roaring along the track. We’re all spinning round, lit up brightly against the night sky, and the sheer force of the wind almost knocks the breath from my body. I have six seconds to move into position and let go. I don’t look down but I know the ground’s far, far beneath me.
One, two, three, four, five, six.
My hands leave the trapeze and I’m flying. With nothing but my ankles to prevent me from falling. But I’m not going to fall because I’m an eagle. And I can hear, through the wind and the noise of the engine, the roaring of ten thousand spectators.
Pegasus Children’s Trust
For information on Pegasus Children’s Trust and how you can help please visit www.streetkid.co.uk or write to:
Pegasus Children’s Trust
PO Box 5711
118A Bruce Gardens
Inverness
IV1 9AN
Scotland
Email: [email protected]
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© Judy Westwater and Wanda Carter
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EPub Edition © NOVEMBER 2010 ISBN: 978-0-007-27999-9
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