Opening the door a cacophony of noise assaulted his ears making them ring and just as he was recovering a spotty youth in an ill-fitted clown suit shoved a leaflet in his direction. Automatically he grabbed for it and scanned the details.
Bertram Mills International
The Best Circus in Town
ONE DAY ONLY
7.30pm – London Embankment
Come one – Come ALL
Okay, so now he knew where he was, but had no notion as to the timeframe. That though was not quite true he thought scanning the crowds that had congregated all along the route, there was a distinctly 1930’s feel to the clothing. Most of the well-to-do set wore dresses with mid-calf flared hemlines, under tailored art-deco coats and almost sensible shoes, while the gentlemen sported creased trousers with turned-up cuffs and long-line jackets. Along the gutter sat the scraps of society. Rag-a-muffins held together with dirt and by the look of them it was clear that this was an era where the poor held no sway in how the country was run.
The parade was headed by the man himself. Mills clearly demonstrated that he was a keen horseman, the white stallion he was astride constantly reared-up and pawed dramatically in mid-air as he cracked his whip to ensure he had the crowd’s full attention.
“Roll-up, roll-up, roll-up,” he bellowed. “Come-one, come all.”
Catching Thrumps eye, he doffed his hat and the horse dropped to a graceful bow in his direction.
“My dear old friend.” Mills said before continuing on.
Naturally the antics of the clowns enthralled all ages, as did the wonders of the acrobats, the trick-cyclists, the bearded lady, the snake charmer, the performing dogs, and a monkey to name just a very few, but it was the menagerie of wild animals that stirred the crowd the most. Camels and bears on chains, followed by wagons of lions and tigers, and even some sealions put in an appearance. This was a guiltless time before the ban of live animal performances, and even though Thrumps couldn’t help but feel a little rueful, he was enthralled.
There was always a dress rehearsal in the afternoon. The Mayor of each London borough selected children from the poorest of families to attend and not only were they treated to ring-side seats but they were also given food. Thousands were invited to the big top and the atmosphere was like no other performance. Once all the snags had been ironed out a few lucky ones were selected to ride the ponies. It must have been a dream come true for them and for once they wouldn’t go to bed hungry. This was all too familiar. A very long time ago he had been one of those children, maybe it was even this very day. He scanned the sea of youngsters but didn’t recognise anyone. Not that he had friends, even back then, but there were a few faces that would never be forgotten. He’d not been bullied, primarily because he had his uses, he was liked by the staff and so became their scapegoat.
He stood there lost in thoughts of his youth. As the parade had passed, the grubby-street urchin that he was then, would trail behind, desperately longing to be noticed, to be involved, to be plucked from the drudgery and cast headlong into the bright lights and excitement.
He smiled, maybe he had got his wish after all.
As the sounds of the street faded, Thrumps gazed at his invitation and wondered what all this had to do with him and The Emporium. The last time he’d been here when the circus had come to town a darkness had come with it. Then he had not been in a position to do anything about it.
Maybe this time it would be different.