DOG AND PONY SHOW BUILD UP
This is adapted from my first circus article, published in the UK magazine The Countryman in 1967. It describes a typical "buildup" on a dog and pony show.
BUILD UP
When I wake, it is raining. The first two loads have gone; the two converted coaches drawing the big caravan and an open trailer. One of the buses carries the ponies and dogs, so the tober looks bare, with a few barren rings in the grass where the ponies were tethered.
The hedges have been stripped by the elephant. Only our little caravan and truck and the big Matador truck remain. Sandy, the driver, is having trouble with the Matador's engine, which finally kicks into life.
He pulls away, and we soon follow. At the next town our first task is to find a circus poster, to get the name of the tober. We ask a passer-by and he says he doesn't know. So we say, "well, where's the circus camped, then?" and suddenly he can tell us the number of potholes in the road leading to it.
When we pull in, the men have unloaded the elephant, and all the ponies are tethered around the bumpy field. We find a fairly level spot near where the ring doors will be. Then to unpack. We get everything off the caravan floor and back onto the shelves, and put the watercan, dustbin and props outside the door.
When all is in order again, we can have a cup of tea before wew start on the tent. It is very quiet now. The tentmen sprawl on the grass, the dogs run happily out into the sun, and we hear country sounds.
But I can see kids massing at the gate, and when they start to arrive, it won't be peaceful for long.
The tentment unload the rolls of canvas. These men are hard to come by, and we have only three: Sandy, the nice one with fair hair; Jeff, from Glasgow; and a new one, name unknown, who joined us last night. He is young, with sideburns and guitar, and does not know the other two yet.
If he did, he would be aware that he is carrying the full load of that cancas roll.
Bobby is staking out the grass, marching around with head down and hat rammed over his eyes. He considers himself the boss, but he is wrong; his wife runs this lot. She marchs out, followed by their son and daughter, Robin and Pamela. No excuse now for me to dally.
Latest Articles