***chapter 21***
***Slugger's Story (continued)***
By the time Slugger and his mother were welcomed into the strange community, Eddie and Barbara had long since retired to pull strings from behind scenes and appointed the flamboyant Maximus D'Arcy ringmaster.
"We ARE the circus. I AM the circus," Maximus D'Arcy (aka Eric Waters) classically trained actor, fired from a west end show under a cloud of scandal about his sexuality, was fond of quoting, shaking his long, blond curls, wiping crocodile tears from his pale blue eyes after some real or perceived slight, and flicking back his purple satin cloak in theatrical gesture. If he had a new lover to say it to, so much the better.
Things happened in Eddie Shaw's Travelling Fair. Things like Max walking hand in hand with another man. Even little Slugger knew that if the old horseshoe lay on the top step of D'Arcy's pink-painted caravan it meant that he was "entertaining" and NOT to be disturbed although, in childish innocence, he imagined entertaining meant he must be showing off his juggling or showmanship skills. Which, we shall never know, perhaps Max did.
"We ARE the circus!" became familiar words as mother and son settled into their new lifestyle, Alice being hired as a dancer, but, like all the show folk, helping out with everything else, from selling tickets to grooming the horses to acting as magician's assistant. It was a rallying cry, a cure-all, an explanation, a consolation. It was said if the box office takings were down or if the box office takings were up, if the evening meal was late, if somebody sneezed, if somebody laughed, if torrential rain was gushing down and strong winds threatening to uproot the big top.
The Joneses loved being part of the the insanity. As the very youngest, Slugger (whatever his real name was soon lost in the mists of time: he was Slugger to one and all, even his own mother) grew used to being cooed over by Freda (Fat Lady with Moustache) or watching the Kowalskis, gifted acrobats, dance on high wire, or to being carried on the strongman's shoulders when Samson wasn't practising fire-eating or pulling heavy weights with his teeth.
His schooling was erratic and he gained only a smattering of formal education. He was ostracised by the other children, who picked fights and called him "one of the dirty gypos", but Slugger was fiercely proud of his background. He thought of the travelling fair as his home and the travelling folk as his kith and kin and would have defended his friends to the hilt. Moreover, he had discovered a taste and a talent for boxing and he thoroughly enjoyed taking assailants, often two, three, even four at a time, by surprise with nifty footwork and prowess with his fists.
In an ideal world, the educational establishments he attended would have seized the chance to bask in the reflected glory of Master Jones's athletic skills and he would have been feted and begged to demonstrate the Queensberry rules or at least been snapped up by their football or cricket team. But this is not an ideal world, prejudice is rife, and instead Slugger spent more time defending himself than being educated.
He was barely fourteen when Alice, her lungs never very strong after the early years of dire poverty, caught pneumonia and passed away. The Shaws paid for a grand funeral. An ornate gravestone and the statue of an angel marked her last resting place, under the yew tree, sheltered from the north wind and ravages of time. Slugger had always had a natural affinity with the horses that pulled the caravans though, sadly, they were far fewer now than they had once been as increasing fortunes purchased motorized caravans and replaced horse power. Afterwards, wishing to be alone in his grief, he rode his favourite horse, Dandy far, far into the night.
By the silent light of the moon, through a mist of tears, he watched the blue smoke of their breath rise and fade on the icy air and tiny flakes of snow fall into the blanket of white. All that he had was gone...