Well, more accurately, I was lumbered with changing the records during the show.
When people think of circus music, they generally think of the circus band, blaring away in support of the acts.
Unfortunately, the smaller shows couldn't afford a whole bunch of musicians, so they employed a Panatrope, a record player attached to a loudspeaker system. Back in the days of vinyl, this was state of the art, so stop laughing.
On this particular circus, I was idle for most of the show, so I was charged with making the right records were playing at the right time, something that had proved almost impossible when it was just a matter of whoever was free at the time dashing over to the Panatrope and throwing on a record as the act emerged fom the ring doors.
In particular, my father's act required four musical changes. He was the one who suggested I could be roped in to ``man the panatrope".
Before the show even started I was faced with the most incredible contraption imaginable. It seemed to have been made of spare parts held together with chewing gum. I had the records for the show neatly stacked in order to one side, but I was also charged with playing music before the show to keep the patrons entertained as they waited in their seats.
For this, the show's owner had provided one Top Ten hit, Sugar In the Morning by English singer Alma Cogan.
I probably did more damage to that poor woman's career than she ever knew. I played that record over and over again until the customers were begging me to take it off. But I figured it was their fault anyway, for filling the seats so slowly. It seemed to take forever before the show actually started and by then, everyone was ready to smash my one Top Ten record.
Things proceed fairly smoothly after that until halfway through the second half of the show. I put on the first record for my parents' act and there was a deafening silence. The Panatrope had decided to stop working.
I could hear my father starting to snort like an enraged bull. The audience giggled as his furious head appeared round the canvas screen of the ring doors. ``Where's the music?" he demanded.
I pointed to the Panatrope, and the record spinning under the needle with nothing coming out of the speakers.
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