Circus Shoes (3 page)

They were awakened by a man. He was leaning over them. He gave Peter a shake.

“If it’s all the same to you, young man.”

Peter started, sat up, stretched, and suddenly remembered where he was. He looked ashamed jumped to his feet.

“Oh, I say! I am sorry. You must think it very odd our being here.” He gave Santa a push with his “Get up, Santa.”

Santa opened her eyes. She smiled at the man. “Is this your step?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry we chose it, but we were waiting to go in there.” She nodded toward the pawnbroker’s.

The man looked sympathetic. “Mother short?”

Peter and Santa were surprised. Why should anybody who found you sitting on his doorstep care how tall her mother was? However, although he had only seen a photograph of his mother, Peter thought it polite to answer.

“Don’t think so. Do you, Santa?”

Santa mentally considered the photograph. Her mother in a wedding dress. She was certainly taller than the bridesmaids.

“No, not short. Tall, I should think.”

The man gave a quick laugh.

“Don’t you know what ‘short’ means?” He had opened the door and was in his passage. He spoke over his shoulder. “Being short means not ‘aving enough money
.
Wherever was you brought up that you ‘aven’t learnt that?”

Santa picked up her brief case.

“It’s funny we never did. For we’ve never had any money at all.”

Peter disliked this public discussion of their affairs. One of the things the duchess had said more often than any other, and therefore Aunt Rebecca had repeated more often than any other, was that ladies and gentlemen never mentioned money.

“Come on, Santa. We mustn’t take any more of the gentleman’s time.”

The man laughed.

“You are a caution.” He turned to Santa. “Aronson’s won’t open for a bit yet. If your brother can himself to drink out of a cup without a handle him in and you can ‘ave a cup-a-tea.”

They had a very nice meal with the man. He gave them not only tea but bread and butter. Only who have gotten up at half-past three and had but half a tomato know how good the bread and tasted and how the tea warmed their insides. Peter, who was hurt at the man’s thinking he minded the cup not having a handle, enjoyed every mouthful.

When they had finished, the man, who said name was Bill, leaned back in his chair. He gave a nod in the direction of Aronson’s.

“How much money do you want?”

“Well, that depends-“ Santa began.

Peter gave her a kick under the table.

“Perhaps you’d take a look at the things and what they are worth?” He took his watch from pocket and got up and fetched the bracelet from brief case. He put them in front of Bill.

Bill picked the things up and ran his eyes them. Then he nodded.

“Both gold. Good for a bit. Didn’t your mother what she wanted for them?”

Peter wallowed.

“They weren’t given to our mother. They were given to our aunt.”

“Well, didn’t auntie say?”

“No.” Peter hesitated. “You see, they’re for railway fares, and it depends what they cost.”

“Well, where to?”

“I don’t know.”

Bill leaned back in his chair.

“I’m not throwing insults, but it strikes me you two aren’t speaking the truth.”

Peter turned red.

“You’ve no right to say that.”

Santa was prepared to leave everything to Peter as long as he kept his temper, but if he was going to lose it he would be no good to anybody. She leaned across Bill.

“As a matter of fact, we are speaking the truth, but we’ve left an important bit out. Our aunt is dead.”

“Dead!” Bill looked at the bracelet and watch. “Then who owns these?”

Santa and Peter spoke in one breath. “We do.”

After that Bill had to hear everything. Peter unpacked Uncle Gus’s postcard. Between them they told him all about Mr. Stibbings, Mrs. Ford, Tranchot, Miss Fane, Saint Bernard’s Home for Boys and Saint Winifred’s Orphanage for Destitute Children. The telling took a long time but he once interrupted. At the end he said, “Where’s Cob’s Circus?”

Peter took a gulp of tea, for talking had made him thirsty.

“We don’t know. We’re going to find out.”

“Where?”

Peter pointed to the address on the postcard, was Birmingham.

“He was there at Christmas. I thought someone there would know.”

Bill shook his head.

“That’s no good. Can’t have you two wandering all over the country.” He felt in his pocket and out sixpence. “There’s a news agent down the street. Hop along, Peter, and ask for a circus paper. That’ll tell us what we want to know.”

While Peter was gone Santa and Bill cleared the table. Santa wanted to wash up, but Bill said it could wait. In about five minutes Peter was back; he had a newspaper under his arm.

“The man didn’t know if this was the one, but he said it was for circus people.” He laid the paper on the table was called
World’s Fair.

They pulled it to pieces and each searched a few pages. It did not seem at all easy to find what they wanted. The paper had photographs of circus acts, but it did not say where they were being done. Then suddenly Bill thumped the table.

“Here it is! Listen. ‘Judging from the splendid attendance at Whitby these last three days and from what I hear of the advance bookings at Bridlington, I should not wonder if this proved a record opening month for Cob’s Circus’!” Bill looked at the top of the paper. “Published last Saturday.” He gave the paper a cheerful slap. “We, have it! Uncle Gus is at Bridlington.”

Bill went to Aronson’s to pawn the bracelet and the watch. Before he went to get the money he made Peter and Santa give him a promise.

“I’m taking a risk on you two. Maybe I ought to hand you to the police, but you do seem to have an uncle and I reckon this watch and the bracelet’s your own, so I’ll give you a chance. But you’ve got to do something for me. You won’t be in Bridlington till evening and maybe the circus is some way from the post office. But first thing tomorrow I’m expecting a telegram. It’ll cost you sixpence. If I don’t get telegram by eleven I’ll go to the police. Promise?”

Peter and Santa nodded.

“Promise.”

“Right.” Bill opened a drawer which was full of odds and ends and brought out a greasy card. It had his name and address on it and said he was a tailor. “Pack that in your case, Peter, beside Uncle Gus and remember, telegram first thing, or you’re for it.”

It seemed odd to become as fond of anybody in a short time as Santa had of Bill. He saw them onto bus for King’s Cross, and as the bus moved off she had a lump in her throat as if she were saying good-by an old friend.

The journey to Bridlington was long, but Peter nor Santa noticed much of it. They had one of the ham sandwiches and lemonade but most of the time they were asleep. Sometimes one of them opened eye and saw a station or a house whiz by, but almost at once they had shut down again.

It was Santa who noticed they had arrived. Somebody got out of the train and brushed her foot. She opened her eyes and saw it was dark outside. Then a station lamp she read: “BRID ...”so she opened her eyes wider and read “LINGTON.” She leaned across the seat and shook Peter.

“Wake up, Peter. We’re there.”

What with having slept and Bridlington being farther north than they were used to being, the station seemed very cold. They shivered and yawned and stumbled up the platform with legs still working badly from having been in a sitting position for so long. At the barrier Peter stopped. He felt in his pocket. Santa had one sickening moment when she thought he had lost the tickets, but it was all right, they had only been misplaced in his diary.

Outside the station they stood looking round.

“Where do we find out?” Santa asked.

Peter looked up the street.

“There’s a policeman, how about him?”

The policeman was a nice, good-tempered looking man. He smiled at Peter and Santa. “Well?”

Peter smiled back.

“Would you please tell us the way to the circus?”

“The circus!” The policeman laughed. “You’re to early, sonny. The circus won’t be here till tomorrow.”

The Build-Up

SANTA cried. She was dreadfully ashamed about afterward, but that was what she did. Not in front the policeman, but the moment her back was to him. Peter looked at her in surprise, because she not a person who cried much. He opened his mouth ask her what was the matter, but shut it again, deciding it would do no good. She was not crying quietly, but loud, hiccuping sobs which made people turn stare. He took her arm and hurried her up the and into a teashop, and sat her down at a table in a corner.

There was nice, cheerful waitress behind a counter full of chocolates. She came over at once. She looked sympathetically at Santa.

“Poor little thing. What is it?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

Santa put her head down on her arms and howled. The waitress stopped being a waitress and became very friendly.

“Aye, that’s a shocking noise and all. Is summat oop?”

She had a soft voice with a funny accent. Santa heard at even through the noise she was making. She choked back her sobs.

“That’s a good girl. That’s fine.” The waitress knelt down by her. “Dry tha’ tears and tell us what’s I matter.”

Santa sat up and found her handkerchief. She leaned against the waitress as if she had known her always. “ I’m so tired.”

“Is that all? Well, if it’s nowt worse nor that.”

“It is worse.” Santa scrubbed her eyes. “We’ve come all the way from London to see our uncle and he won’t be here till tomorrow.”

“What’s keeping the man?”

Peter looked in a worried way at Santa. She did looked tired. Her face, where it was not red from crying and black from the train, was greenish white.

“He’s with Cob’s Circus,” he explained.

“Cob’s Circus, is it?” The waitress gave Santa a friendly shake. “That’s funny like to cry at. Why, it’ll be here early in the morning, lovey.”

“Will it?” Santa blinked at her. “How do you know?”

The waitress got up.

“My brother has a milk round. He does t’ milk the circus. ‘You be here early,’ that’s what the man in the advance wagon said to him.”

“I can’t think why it isn’t here now.” Peter puzzled. “We spent threepence on a paper
World’s Fair,
and it said that Cob’s Circus was Whitby last week and was coming here this week,

The waitress nodded.

“Aye, that’s reet. Whitby Thursday, Friday, Saturday of last week. Then it moved over to Thirsk. Now tonight they’ll move from Thirsk here. They’re doing three days in each town, you see, lovey.” Peter did not see, but he tried to look

The waitress did not seem to care if they understood or not. She rested her hands on the table.

“I expect food’s what you need. Got any money?

“Oh, yes.” Peter could not help sounding proud. “Nearly ten shillings.”

The waitress shook her head at Santa.

“Lot of crying for nothing you’ve been doing. Got enough to fix up beds and all. Come on oop to mother. She’ll see you reet.”

It was a lovely morning. Very few people were about in the streets because it was early, but those who were sounded gay. A newsboy whistled, a policeman hummed, a milkman rattling by with a cart-load of milk sang at the top of his voice, two women cleaning doorsteps told each other funny stories and roared with laughter. The animals, too, showed it was a good morning. A black cat danced across the street, the milkman’s horse whinnied to the one belonging to the butcher, and a very old fox-terrier which had crept about all winter scampered up the road, suddenly feeling young again.

Peter and Santa did not need a good morning to make them happy. They had slept well, eaten an enormous breakfast, and had almost got to their uncle. It was Santa who saw how near to Uncle Gus they were. She stood still and pointed at a signboard. “Look!”

There was a large poster which said: “THE CIRCUS IS COMING,” and across that was another one which said: “FOLLOW THE GREEN STARS FOR COB’s CIRCUS.”

“Green stars!” said Santa. “Where?”

They had not far to look. At intervals all up the street green stars painted on a white background had been hung from the lamp-posts. It was ridiculously easy to find the way, and made the walk into a game. Both of them tried to be the first to spot the stars. The stars did not go straight on but turned corners. Because they were looking at the stars and not at where were going the sea came to them as a surprise. They had turned a corner and there it was.

The first time you see the sea must be exciting anybody. When you have become as old as eleven and twelve and a half before it happens, it is so startling it is as if somebody had knocked all the breath out of you.

“I never knew it would look like that,” Peter said at last.

Santa was so impressed her voice was a whisper. “Fancy there being so much water anywhere.”

They went on, but more slowly. They kept stop ping to stare at the waves. The stars led them right along the front, up a hill, then suddenly the stars came to an end.

In front of them was a large stretch of rough grass. The only things on it were two caravans and two immense masts stuck into the ground.

Santa nudged Peter.

“Do you think that’s it?” She nodded at the caravans.

Peter shook his head.

“A circus has lions and things.”

At that moment the door of one of the caravans opened. A man came out. He looked round and saw the children.

“Hallo.”

“Hallo, sir,” Peter said politely. “Can you tell me if you are Cob’s Circus?” he man laughed.

“Not all of it. I’m with the advance.”

“Oh.” Santa looked pleased at having struck something she knew. “It was you who told the milkman to come early.”

“That’s right. The men’ll want their breakfast.”

“What men?”

The man took her by the shoulders and spun her around.

“See those?”

Santa looked at the two great masts.

“Yes.”

“Those are the king-poles. The first thing to come off the train will be the big top. That’s the circus tent, and with it will come the men to put it up.”

“And they want breakfast?”

The man laughed again.

“I should say so. I don’t suppose they got off the ground at Thirsk till well after midnight. Then they have to get to the station. They’ll be unloading now. Not much of a night. Wouldn’t you want your fast?”

Santa was just going to answer that she certainly would, when they heard a rumble behind them. A large wagon was coming toward them. It was painted white and green. When it turned they saw “COB’S CIRCUS” painted in great letters across its side.

“Here they come,” said the man. “You may watch the build-up, but don’t get in the way.” He went back into his caravan and shut the door.

From that moment it was as if magic were possible. It seemed to the children a whole town grew under their eyes. The wagon was followed by a stream of lorries, all painted green and white, all mysteriously knowing exactly where they ought to go. Sitting on the lorries where men who, the moment they arrived tumbled off like leaves blowing from a tree. In what seemed only a few minutes a great mess-tent was put up beside the wagon which had just arrived. All the men helped to put up the tent. Then out of the lorry they pulled trestle-tables and benches which they erected inside the tent. While they worked a glorious smell of frying bacon came from the wagon.

Even though Peter and Santa had eaten enormous breakfasts, they could not help wishing the bacon was for them.

Meanwhile more wagons and lorries were arriving every minute. The lorries bundled across the grass dropping men off them all the way, but seeming to know where they wanted to be and why. The wagons were attached to caterpillar tractors which maneuvered them that enormous speed and with great accuracy to exactly where they were to stand.

By now the sun was high. The sea below was getting more and more blue. There had been a little moist hanging about the grass and hedges, but it was fading away. An air of bustle and gaiety was everywhere.

There was a tap of water outside the mess-tent. A man came out with a cake of soap and a towel to have a wash. He grinned at Peter and Santa.

“Come to see the build-up?”

They agreed. Then Peter asked, “Could you tell us if Mr. Possit is here yet?”

The man soaped behind his ears.

“Gus!” He looked round the ground. “No. None of the artistes are here yet. Be along soon now.” He put his head under the tap, washed off the soap, and walked off drying himself.

Peter frowned after him.

“I think it’s a bit impertinent of a man like that call our uncle ‘Gus.’”

Santa picked a buttercup.

“I wonder why he called him an artist. Artists paint.”

“Whatever he does,” Peter argued, “he shouldn’t call him Gus. It’s a familiarity.”

Santa held the buttercup under his chin to see whether he liked butter. It was hard on so spring-like a day, with the smell of the sea in your nose, to remember dull things that a duchess had said. But a sentence floated back to her.

“‘Only those who permit familiarities them.’” She glanced up, then gripped Peter’s “Look, aren’t they pretty?”

A string of caravans had arrived. One by one climbed the hill and turned onto the ground. Each caravan was painted green sprinkled with white. Each was towed by a car. Each car seemed bursting with people-men, women, and children. As they rived they called cheerful “good mornings” to each other and the tent-men.

Like everything else in Cob’s Circus they knew just where they had to go. Each car backed its caravan into its proper place, then, first disgorging its passengers, moved off behind to park. In a steady stream caravans kept on arriving. Side by side they were all in place they looked like a fairy-tale street.

A great deal of noise and laughing came from the caravan dwellers. Very few of them seemed to speak good English. Some of them talked to each other in German. The great topic was by which route they had come, and how those that had got there first managed it.

The moment the caravan street was built, kettles were produced and somebody ran for water.

“I wish our uncle would come,” said Santa. “All this making breakfast is getting me hungry again.”

Peter nodded at the caravans.

“Perhaps he’s in one of those.”

“Goodness!” Santa’s face lit at the thought. “I wish he was. Perhaps we’d live in it, too. Wouldn’t it be lovely? Do go and ask if he’s here.”

But Peter hung back. Asking a passing man was one thing. But going up to those chattering groups, half whom did not speak proper English, was quite another. He had an awful feeling they might not understand what he said, and perhaps they would when his back was turned.

“Let’s wait a minute. Just look what they’re over there.”

An extraordinary change was coming scene. What had looked like a scattered town suddenly a focal point.

Round the masts a lorry had deposited bundles of canvas. The children had watched the men them down, but at the time it had meant nothing them; there was so much to wonder at they had time to puzzle over details. But now they saw what the canvas was for. The men had finished and like ants they were swarming over the

The bundles were unpacked, and proved to be parts an enormous ten t. All the parts were laced with rope. Peter and Santa gasped.

“My word, it’ll be as large as Covent Garden market when it’s up,” said Peter. “Look at it all.”

Santa stared up at the top of the masts.

“Do you think it’s going to go up there?”

Peter nodded.

“Yes. I think those are the things that hold it up.”

He broke off, hearing laughter.

A boy and a girl were standing by them. There was something unusual about them. The boy was about eight and the girl ten. But they had older faces than their bodies. Both had large brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a mass of curly hair. They were wearing heavy coats of a rather queer cut, and gumboots. They spoke English, but, by putting emphasis on peculiar vowels and syllables, it sounded wrong.

“Haven’t you ever seen the big top go up before?” the boy asked Santa.

“No. As a matter of fact we’ve never seen a circus.”

The boy and girl stared at Peter and Santa as if they had just said they came from Mars.

“Never seen a circus?” As the girl spoke she bent slowly backward until her hands touched the ground and she stood in a hoop. She went on talking in that position.

“No.” Santa looked at her anxiously. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Hurt!” The girl straightened herself. “ ‘Course not. It’s only a back-bend. My name’s Olga. What’s yours?”

“Santa.”

The boy turned a cartwheel.

“That’s like mine. It’s Sasha. What’s his?”

Peter did not like being talked about as if he was a statue or something.

“Peter.”

Sasha did not seem to realize Peter had spoken, because he answered Santa. “We’ve a brother as big he is. His name is Alexsis. He’s going into the act winter.”