London Labour and the London Poor, Vol. 3

by Henry Mayhew

CIRCUS CLOWN AT FAIR.

“After juggling and globes, we always did ‘a laughable sketch entitled Billy Button’s ride to Brentford,’ and I used to be Jeremiah Stitchem, a servant of Billy Button’s, that comes for a ‘sitiation.’ It opens this way. Jeremiah makes applications for this situation. He asks, ‘What can you do?’ ‘Everythink and nothink.’ ‘Can you clean plates?’ ‘I can break ’em.’ ‘Can you run errands?’ ‘All ways.’ He is engaged at 4s. a-week and his board; and then comes some comic business about a letter coming by post. Billy tells him to bring him a light to read this letter, and he sets fire to it. This letter is from Brentford, saying that his sister’s ill and that he’s wanted directly. He goes to a livery stable and asks for a lady’s pony, at the same time saying he wants it quiet. The man says he’s got three: one that is blind, and threw the last gentleman that rode it into a ditch, and Billy won’t have that. The other is lame of one leg, and he don’t like that, for he wants a lady’s pony that is very quiet. Then this stable-keeper recommends this pony, saying it’s very quiet, but it’s a kicker. Then first he gets up the wrong way, and the head comes round to the tail of the horse; Jerry then tells him he’s wrong, and then offers to give him a ‘bung up,’ and chucks him right over the pony’s back on to the ground on the other side. He then gets on properly, ready for starting, and tells Jerry he may expect him home in a day or two. He tries to start the pony, but it won’t go. Jerry takes a needle and pretends to stick it into the pony’s flank, which causes it to kick and rear until he throws Billy Button off; and then the pony chases Jerry round the stage with his mouth open to bite him. Then there’s a regular confusion, and that winds it up.

“If that pony catched you he’d give it you, too. He caught hold of me one night by my trousers, and nearly shook my life out of me. It hurt me, but everybody roared and thought it all right. After that I hit upon a dodge. I used to have a roll of calico tacked on to my back, and the pony would catch hold of it and pull out about four yards of what looked like a shirt. Those ponies are very playful, and may be taught anything.

“The stage-clown’s dress is what we term full dresses, with a wig and a tail, but the circus clown’s is merely the top-knot, and the ring dress, as if they are spangled they are always on the twist, something in the style of the serpent. They don’t do the red half-moon on the cheek, like stage clowns, but they have just a dab, running up to the cheek-bone. A stage-clown’s dress costs from 5l. to 10l.; but a circus clown can make a suit complete, with pumps and all, for from 30s. to 35s. There’s such a thing as fourteen or fifteen yards of canvas in a stage-clown’s full dress; and that’s without exaggerating.

“Veal’s was the best circus I was at; there they had six prads (horses) and two ponies, and the performers were the best then of the day; for they had Monsieur Ludowic, a Frenchman, and the best bare-back juggler about. Mr. Moffat’s troupe, and Mr. Emery’s, was there also. Mr. Douglas was clown along with me, and little Ned and Sam was the tumblers. We had a large tent and regular circus, and could accommodate 1500 or 1600 people. I had 35s. a-week all the time I was there, (near 2½ years), and it wasn’t much, considering the work, for I had to produce all the pantomimes and act as ballet-master as well.

“It is, and it ain’t, difficult to ride round a circus standing up. I’ve known one man, who had never rode before in all his life, and yet went on one night, when they were short of hands, and done the Olympians to the best of his abilities, without falling off, though he felt very nervous. For these scenes they go slowly. You have to keep your eye fixed on the horse’s head. I’ve been in a circus so long, and yet I can’t ride. Even following the horse round the ring makes me feel so giddy at times, that I have had to catch hold of the tent-pole in the middle just to steady myself.

“I wasn’t the regular principal clown at Veal’s—only on occasions; I was the speaking clown and jester. I used to do such things as those:—For instance, there is a act—which is rode—called ‘The Shipwrecked Sailors,’ where he rides round the ring, introducing the shipwreck hornpipe, and doing a pantomime of giving a imitation of the sinking of the ship, and his swimming and returning safe on shore. Between the parts I used to say to the ring-master, ‘Are you aware, sir, that I’ve been to sea?’ He’d say, ‘No, sir.’ Then we’d go on: ‘Yes, sir; I once took a voyage to the Ickney Nockney Islands, off Bulbusen, just by the Thames Tunnel, in the mud.’ ‘Indeed, sir!’ ‘Yes, sir; and I’ve seen some wonderful sights, sir, in my time.’ ‘Indeed, sir!’ ‘Yes, sir: on this occasion it come so cold, that as the captain was on the quarter-deck, as he gave the word of command to the men, the words dropped out of his mouth lumps of ice on the deck. The ship would have been lost, had I not had the presence of mind to pick the words up, put them into a fryingpan, and warm them over the galley-fire: and as they thawed, so I gave the word of command to the men.’ ‘Dear me, sir! that was a wonderful sight!’ ‘It was indeed, sir!’ ‘I don’t believe a word of it.’ ‘Ah, sir, if you’d have been there, you’d have seen it yourself.’ ‘I don’t believe a word of it, Mr. Merryman.’ ‘Oh! come, sir, you must believe some.’ ‘Well, I believe a part it.’ ‘Then I believe the other part, sir, and so that makes the lot.’ ‘That’s right, sir.’ ‘Well, sir, I went for another voyage; and going through the Needles our vessel sprung a leak; not an onion, a leak; and she got a hole in her side.’ ‘She, sir?’ ‘Yes, sir, the ship; so the pumps was put to work; but as fast as they pumped the water out it came in at the hole, and the ship was sinking, when the captain came on deck and asked if there was any man courageous enough to stop the hole. Of course, sir, I was there.’ ‘But you’re not courageous.’ ‘Ain’t I, sir? try me.’ ‘Now,’ says he, ‘if there’s any man will stop this hole, to him will I give the hand of my daughter and 150l.’ So away I went down in the hold, and there was more than about 15 foot of water, and I pops my head in the hole until they got the vessel ashore. So you see, sir, I had the hand of his daughter and the 150l. ‘That was a good job for you, Mr. Merryman.’ ‘No, sir; it was a bad job.’ ‘How was that, sir?’ ‘Because when I was married I found that she was a cream of tartar.’ ‘Then, sir, you had the money; that was a good job for you.’ ‘No, sir; that was a bad job, sir.’ ‘How so?’ ‘I bought some sheep and oxen, and they died of the rot.’ ‘Ah! that was a bad job, Mr. Merryman.’ ‘No, sir; it was a good job; for shoes were very dear, and I sold the hides for more than I gave for the cattle.’ ‘Well, that was a good job.’ ‘No, sir, that was a bad job: for I built houses with the money and they got burned down.’ ‘Indeed, sir! that was a very bad job for you.’ ‘Oh no, sir; it was a very good job, because my wife got burnt in them, and, you see, I got rid of a tormenting wife.’

“There’s another famous gag ring-jesters always do, and I was very successful with it. After the act of horsemanship is over, when the ring-master is about leaving the ring, I say, ‘Allow me to go first, sir;’ and he replies, ‘No, sir, I never follow a fool.’ Then we go on:—‘I always do,’ meaning him. ‘What did you say, sir?’ ‘That’s quite true, sir.’ ‘I say, sir, did ever you see my sweetheart?’ ‘No, sir.’ ‘There she is, sir; that nice young girl sitting there.’ ‘I don’t see her.’—‘Yes, there, sir, a-winking at me now. Ah! you little ducksey, ducksey, ducksey!’ ‘I don’t see her, sir.’ Then I gets him to the middle of the ring, and whilst he is pretending to stare in the direction I pointed to, I bolt off, saying, ‘I never follows a fool.’

“At fairs we do pretty well, and a circus always pays better than an acting-booth. We are always on salaries, and never go upon shares. The actors often say we look down upon them, and think them beneath our notice; and I dare say it’s true, to a great extent. I’ve heard our chaps cry out, ‘Won’t you be glad when herrings are cheap?’ or, ‘How were you off for bits of candle and lumps of coke last night at sharing?’ Then, no doubt, we live better at circuses, for we do our steaks and onions, and all that sort of thing; and, perhaps, that makes us cheeky.