Circus Shoes

  Ranee took the carrots. She put them in her mouth. She crunched them up. But although she ate them and seemed to enjoy them, Peter got the impression that titbits were not what she was asking for. He forgot to be frightened. He put his hand on her trunk. He had often done it to elephants before. Sometimes one of them would hold him so he had to pull to get free. Ranee did that now. She put her trunk round his arm. After a moment he gave a little pull to get free. She held him tighter. He gave his arm a tug. Ranee not only gripped him more firmly but pulled him towards her.

  ‘Let go, Ranee.’

  Ranee had no intention of doing anything of the sort. She drew Peter forward. His feet touched the wooden platform on which the elephants stood. He was cold with fright. Any moment he expected to be picked up and thrown on the ground. He pulled. He struggled. But it’s not much use struggling with an elephant.

  ‘Let go, Ranee!’ he gasped. ‘Let go!’

  He looked up. He was staring into her eyes. Elephants’ eyes are not the sort most people admire. That small, pig-like shape is not handsome. Standing as close to them as Peter was he thought they looked awful. Then suddenly he saw something in them which surprised him. He had thought they looked fierce and cruel. Now, seeing them more closely, he saw they were miserable. He was so sorry for her he forgot the way she was treating him.

  ‘Poor Ranee,’ he said. ‘Poor old girl.’

  It looked as if a little sympathy was just what Ranee was wanting. As suddenly as she had gripped his arm, she let it go. Peter, instead of moving out of her range, stood where he was. He fondled her trunk. He looked round. What could she be miserable about? The stable was as usual. On the left the ponies munched their breakfast. On the right came pleased hoarse barks from the sealions’ wagon. Then suddenly he had an idea.

  Kundra and the keeper came back. They stood staring at Peter. Kundra came forward gently.

  ‘Don’t be frightened, Peter. Move slowly backwards away from Ranee. She’s in a bad mood this morning.’

  Peter stayed where he was. He went on fondling Ranee’s trunk.

  ‘I know, but I don’t believe she has a bad mood. I think she’s unhappy.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Kundra still talked in a quiet voice. ‘But do what I say. Come towards me slowly.’

  Peter still did not move. He looked round again at the sealions’ wagon. He was shy of saying what he thought because, of course, everybody in the circus knew about animals and he did not.

  ‘Could an elephant be fond of a dog?’

  Kundra and the keeper knew at once what he meant. They looked at the sea-lion wagon standing in the position where the poodles always played.

  ‘I wonder,’ said Kundra. ‘Something’s upset Mis.’

  The keeper nodded.

  ‘D’you remember that lion we had out with us? The Rajah of Bong? Remember that little fox-terrier he had along of him? Had to live in his cage?’

  ‘It can happen,’ Kundra agreed. ‘There’s been some funny friends. My father had one elephant which palled up with a pony.’

  ‘Shall I fetch Mr Moulin?’ the keeper suggested.

  ‘Yes.’ Kundra beckoned to Peter. ‘Come on, son. You may be right, but she’s bashed one of the men’s arms this morning and we don’t want to take you to hospital too.’

  Peter gave Ranee a final pat. He moved away from her. She made no effort to hold him. He had a feeling she had been listening to the conversation and was pleased with him.

  A smell of bacon blew in through the tent door. It woke Peter up to the time.

  ‘Do you know what the time is?’

  Kundra looked at his watch.

  ‘Ten minutes past eight.’

  ‘Goodness!’ Peter started to run. ‘I shall be late for breakfast.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to wait and see if you’re right about Mis?’

  ‘I can’t,’ Peter called over his shoulder. ‘I have to go to school.’

  Peter scuttled out of his jodhpurs and into his shorts. He raced across to the caravan. Gus and Santa were having breakfast.

  ‘What’s happened to you?’ said Gus. ‘Breakfast is eight when there’s school, and you know it.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Peter helped himself to bacon and eggs. ‘I was talking to the elephants.’

  Santa gave his back a shocked look. Peter was getting into very bad habits, she thought. He need not have told Gus he had been riding, but he could have said feeding the horses. He always gave Mustard carrots, so it would be true.

  Never had Peter so hated going to school. To make it worse Fifi stayed away, at least when they went to fetch her she was not in the caravan. Nobody was there. Fritzi and Hans, who were with Peter and Santa, looked disgusted.

  ‘Such a fuss about that dog to make. Mine father say she not ill was,’ Fritzi muttered.

  ‘It was true,’ Hans agreed. ‘She was spoilt.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Santa argued. ‘You don’t faint just because you’re spoilt.’

  ‘But yes,’ Hans explained. ‘When there is temperament it might be.’

  Peter said nothing. He looked towards the stables. He wished he was there. He could not tell the others what he thought was wrong. Somehow, now that he was out of doors, doing a prosaic thing like walking to school, the idea seemed ridiculous. They would probably laugh.

  Fifi came to school late. Peter did not, of course, see her until they were going home.

  ‘Imagine,’ she called out, as Peter, Sasha, and Hans joined herself, Santa, Olga, and Fritzi. ‘Mis is well. It was an affair of the heart. She has such affection, that little one. And she had given it to Ranee. Nobody knew. Always they have been placed side by side. Now she is back by her friend and all is well.’

  ‘What, Ranee the elephant?’ asked Hans.

  ‘Yes,’ Fifi agreed, prancing up the road. ‘It was at breakfast. There comes a knock on our door. Maman hold her heart. She has a migraine since Mis is ill. She cannot bear any noise.’

  Olga turned a cartwheel.

  ‘Was it Ranee come to say she was missing Mis.’

  Sasha giggled. He did a flip-flap.

  ‘Did Ranee and Mis kiss each other?’

  ‘Imbecile!’ Fifi retorted. ‘No, it was the keeper. He come to say that Kundra and he have a thought.’

  Peter gasped.

  ‘He came to say what?’

  Fifi sighed at his stupidity.

  ‘He came to tell us of he idea that Ranee and Mis might be friends.’

  Peter could not believe it.

  ‘He said that he and Kundra had thought of it?’

  Fifi nodded.

  ‘But yes. Who else?’

  Directly they got to the ground Peter hurried to the stables. The sea-lions had been moved. The poodles were back in their old playground by the elephants. A lot of people who had paid to see the menagerie were passing through. It took a minute before Peter could get close to the poodles’ enclosure. When he got there he found Kundra talking to Lucille and Mr Moulin.

  ‘But it was wonderful,’ said Lucille. ‘How was it we did not think? You have a pretty great understanding of animals, monsieur.’

  Kundra smiled in a pleased way.

  ‘Oh, well, I’ve been in the business a long time. One senses things, you know.’ He stopped, catching Peter’s eye. He turned red.

  The Moulins, after saying a few more polite words, moved off to have their déjeuner. Kundra looked at Peter. He grinned.

  ‘I know, son. But it’s no good my saying you thought of it. It’s no good to you. You aren’t going to train elephants,’

  ‘What good is it to you?’

  ‘Mr Cob is thinking of renewing our contract for another three years.’

  ‘Oh!’ Peter stopped feeling angry. It was not fair of course, but at least Kundra was not pretending with him.

  Kundra felt in his pocket. He brought out a pound note. He handed it to Peter.

  ‘Spend that. You’ve done me a good turn.’

  Kundra went out of the stables
. Peter stared at the note. He did not really want it, though, of course, it was grand to have money to spend. But he hated having been given it in exchange for what was a sort of lie. He liked Kundra and wished he had not pretended. Then he looked at Mis and Ranee. Mis had her paws on the fence dividing the poodles from the elephants. Her tongue was hanging out. She looked her amusing gay self. Ranee had her head turned towards her. It was obvious the friends were having a good gossip.

  Peter put the note in his pocket. What did it matter who had thought that separating them might be the trouble? All that really mattered was that Mis and Ranee were their old selves again. He walked off whistling.

  14

  Making Plans

  Cob’s Circus was moving south. It was a slow sort of moving because often they went backwards. The last week in May they were at Lincoln and Leicester. Then they went a little north again and spent a week in Nottingham. From there they went to Stoke and Burton-on-Trent. Then north again to Chester and Crewe. Then in the last week in June they went over the border into Wales. The first stops there were Rhyl and Colwyn Bay.

  Peter and Santa got so used to their wandering life that they hardly knew in which town they were. They liked the week stands best. It was fun moving on to a new town with the caravan trailing behind the car, but once a week was enough. There was something extra nice about the Sundays at Blackpool, Sheffield, and Nottingham. The build-up finished, a kind of settled feeling came over everybody. It was done for the week. Tenting made you feel a week was an enormous time to spend in any place.

  When they got to Wales a new feeling came over the circus. It was lovely weather. They were going to do the seaside towns. This would be tenting at its nicest, with bathing parties and long afternoons lying in the sun.

  Gus was a surprising man. Neither Peter nor Santa felt they were making any headway as to his needing them. He was exactly as he was the first time they met him. Practical, taking them as a matter of course, but showing not a sign as to whether he liked having them or not. He got on a shade better with Peter, but then Peter argued less. What with school and his riding lessons and the way he was getting to know the grooms and tent-men, he had less time. Besides, though he had no idea of it, he had changed. He never now thought anything not good enough for him. To everybody in the circus he was just ‘Gus’s nephew’. Feeling just Gus’s nephew was as catching as Aunt Rebecca’s idea that they were too grand to know anybody. Of course being just Gus’s nephew was rather humbling. All the other children had a future in the circus world. They might not be anybody yet, but they would be. But Peter and Santa did not really belong. What they liked best was when people treated them as if they did. There was no sign from Gus what he meant to do with them later on, so it was comforting when other people behaved as if they would be with him always. The first really hopeful sign that he was fond of them came when they crossed the Welsh border. That was why he was so surprising, you never knew what he was thinking. It was on the Sunday at Rhyl. They were eating their stew.

  ‘Time you kids had a summer rig-out,’ said Gus, ‘and bathing things.’

  Santa helped herself to some butter.

  ‘I’ve got two more cotton frocks like this, and Peter’s got a grey flannel suit. You don’t do much about it being summer in London, except not wearing a coat.’

  Gus ate a moment in silence. Then he looked up.

  ‘The other kids wear a practice dress playing around here. Might as well have one of them too.’

  ‘Might I?’ Santa beamed at him. ‘I borrow one of Fritzi’s sometimes. It’s green. What I would like is a blue one.’

  Peter felt Santa was accepting everything too easily.

  ‘Well, but if Gus is going to buy us bathing things, he won’t want to get you one of those as well.’

  ‘Cabbages and cheese!’ said Gus. ‘Why not? I’m coming to you in a minute, Peter. No need to be jealous if I buy Santa a few things.’

  Santa put her hand on Gus’s.

  ‘My dear Gus, Peter and I are never jealous of each other. He just meant I mustn’t let you spend too much money.’

  ‘If I couldn’t afford it I wouldn’t have offered, would I?’ Gus grumbled.

  After that small disagreement they had a cheerful lunch. It seemed as though Gus had been thinking about clothes most seriously. He liked Santa’s cotton frocks for school, although by Aunt Rebecca’s standards they were on the short side. But he did not like to see her in socks and shoes. The other girls had bare legs and sandals and he thought she should too. Then he thought the blue one-piece play-suit a good idea for wearing about the ground.

  ‘You kids are always standing on your heads,’ he said. ‘May as well look neat to do it.’

  He had strong views, too, on bathing dresses. He had, it seemed, had a talk about them with Mrs Moulin.

  ‘You may as well get good stuff for bathing in and make it last. Lucille Moulin tells me the cheap bathing things stretch. She says she’ll take you both out shopping and get something made of decent wool and a couple of those bath wraps so you don’t mess up all the towels. And something strong in the way of a bathing-cap for you, Santa. Your hair’s neat now you plait it. Don’t want it full of sea-water.’

  Santa stared at him.

  ‘I never knew you knew I had plaited it, Gus. You never said anything about it.’

  ‘Why should I? If I don’t say nothing it don’t mean I haven’t seen nothing. My old dad, your grandfather, used to say: “Seeing’s better than speaking.”’

  ‘Not always it isn’t,’ Peter objected. ‘If you saw somebody being burnt in a fire it’s no good just seeing, you’d have to speak too or they wouldn’t be saved.’

  ‘That’s seeing and speaking. You see, my old dad, your grandfather, was a gardener. He’d just go round his plants looking. He never needed to say much. He could see if his plants wasn’t doing well.’

  Peter got up and helped himself to more stew.

  ‘That’s like Ben and the horses. He can see in a minute if anything’s wrong with any of them.’

  Gus passed his plate.

  ‘Fill mine up while you’re there.’ He looked at Peter as he took his refilled plate. ‘You’ll want some more grey shorts and some of these short-sleeved shirts Hans wears. When we’re in Tenby next week you can slip along after school and buy them.’

  Peter said: ‘Thank you.’ Inside he felt that swollen feeling you get when people are extra kind. It was so nice of Gus to say he could go alone. He was quite capable of buying those sort of things by himself, but he was not sure if Gus knew it.

  After lunch Peter and Santa washed up outside. Gus went to sleep. Santa stood with her hands in the basin looking at Peter. It was an inquiring face she made. Peter made a Fifi shrug in answer. Santa went on, as if they had spoken:

  ‘He must like us a little.’

  ‘They’re only summer things,’ Peter pointed out. ‘It doesn’t say what he’s doing with us after tenting.’

  Santa washed a plate and handed it to him.

  ‘I believe he’s beginning to like us.’

  Peter dried the plate.

  ‘He might be,’ he agreed. ‘At least he notices what we wear. I never knew he did that.’

  Santa leant over the basin.

  ‘He’s got a birthday in August. It’s when we’re at Torquay. On the Wednesday.’

  ‘It’s all one-week stands then. We shan’t have to move.’

  ‘No.’ Santa passed over another plate. ‘I thought perhaps we could do something. We’ve a little money left, haven’t we?’

  ‘No. Gus took it. It’s to help get our things out of pawn when we go back to London.’

  ‘Oh!’ Santa washed the third plate gloomily. ‘You can’t do much without money.’

  ‘I’ve got a pound.’

  ‘A pound!’ Santa nearly dropped the plate she was passing to him. ‘How ever did you get that?’

  Peter fixed her with his eyes.

  ‘Will you swear to keep a secret??
??

  Santa took her hand from the basin. She held up her first finger. ‘See this wet.’ She dried it on her frock. ‘See this dry.’ She drew it across her throat. ‘Cut my throat if I lie.’

  Peter was satisfied. Nobody would tell a secret after a vow like that. And as a matter of fact he trusted Santa anyway. He told her about Mis and Ranee. Santa was furious.

  ‘How dreadfully mean of Kundra. And I always thought he was nice.’

  Peter dried a knife.

  ‘I didn’t mind. With a pound we could get Gus a lovely birthday present.’

  ‘But don’t you want it?’

  Peter put the knife down and took up another.

  ‘I was going to get some jodhpurs, but it doesn’t matter because Alexsis goes on lending me his. I don’t think he wants them really. They are too small for him and too big for Sasha.’

  Santa swished the soap-flakes into a better foam.

  ‘I think we’d better ask all the others what’s the best thing to do for a birthday. Perhaps we could give Gus a party.’

  ‘Not if people don’t usually have parties for their birthdays in a circus,’ Peter objected. ‘We’ve been living with Gus nearly three months and never had a birthday party yet.’

  ‘Children do.’ Santa plunged the teapot into the water. ‘Hans and Fritzi had one just before we came.’

  ‘I don’t believe grown-ups do,’ said Peter, ‘but we’ll ask.’

  But what with school, and all the other things there were to do, the days slipped by. It was not until they got to Carmarthen that they caught all the children doing nothing, and had a chance to hold a meeting about birthdays.

  It was a wet Saturday. They were playing in the big top. Peter beckoned mysteriously. Hans and Fritzi came at once. Fifi grumbled a little because she had on a new frock and thought it a pity to sit in a corner where no one could see it. Olga and Sasha had to be fetched. Sasha only came because he could walk on his hands to the seats where they were sitting.

  ‘What is it, Peter?’ said Fifi. ‘Why should we sit here?’

  Peter looked at Santa. She made a face at him to say he should do the telling. He explained about Gus’s birthday and said he had got a pound. He did not make any suggestion how it should be spent because he wanted to know what they thought would be suitable.