‘Well, we fixed our fakements up in the “ruins,” and when the evenings began to get dark we had candles. A lot of us used to be there—Frank Berrington, and Costello, and Jemmy Lee, and Joe Welsh, and Bill George, and ever so many more. There used to be all kinds of gymnastic exercises going on there; and there my partner and I went, night after night, until we could do a tidy slang on the trapeze, the rings, or the bar. Then we went to Roberts; he used to live in Compton Street then, and he and Maynard, in York Road, Lambeth, were agents for all the circuses and music-halls in the three kingdoms, and often had commissions from foreign establishments to engage artistes for them. They get engagements for you, and you pay them a commission of fifteen per cent. on the salary they get for you; so it is their interest to get you as good a screw as they can, and it is your interest to keep the commission paid regularly, because if you don’t, you will have to look out for yourselves when you want another engagement. If you don’t act honourable, and you try to get another engagement without the intervention of an agent, the circus or music-hall proprietor or manager says, “I engage my people through Roberts,” or Maynard, as the case may be; and there you are—flummoxed!
‘Well, we went to Roberts, and had to wait our turn, while he did business with other fellows who were before us. We looked at the framed collections of photographs of gymnasts, acrobats, clowns, riders, jugglers, singers, and dancers which hung against the wall, and then we looked about us. There was Hassan, the Arab, a wiry-looking tawny man, black bearded and moustached, and wearing a scarlet fez, a blue zouave jacket, and baggy crimson breeches; and old Zamezou, with a broad-brimmed felt hat overshadowing his face, and his portly figure enveloped in the folds of a large blue cloak; and George Christoff, the rope-dancer, buttoned up in his over-coat, and looking rather blue, as if he had just stepped up from the chilly fog in the street; and Luke Berrington, looking quite the swell, as he always does; and one or two more that I didn’t know, or can’t remember. One by one, they dropped out, and others came in, till at last our turn came.
‘“Well,” says Roberts, who is a nice sort of fellow—a smart dark-complexioned man, with gold rings in his ears, “I want a couple of good gymnasts for Springthorp’s, at Hull; but, you see, I don’t know you: where have you been?”
‘That was a floorer; but, before my partner could answer, a young fellow who had just come in, and who had seen us practising at the “ruins,” and knew what we could do, says, “I know them; they have just come from the Cirque Imperiale.”
‘“Oh!” says Roberts, “if you have been at the Cirque Imperiale, you will do for Springthorp’s. The engagement will be for six nights, commencing on Saturday next; and you will have five pounds.”
‘That was gorgeous, we thought. There was I, getting, as an apprentice, a pound a week, with three-and-thirty shillings, or six-and-thirty at the most, in perspective; and my partner, out of collar for months, and receiving the munificent salary of twelve bob a week when in: and we had jumped into fifty shillings a week each, for a nightly performance of ten minutes or a quarter of an hour! It is no wonder that we fell to work, building castles in the air, as soon as we got into the street. We should go to the Cirque Imperiale some day, though we had not been there yet, and then to Madrid or St Petersburg, and come back to England, and be engaged for the Alhambra at fifty pounds a week. From the lofty height to which we had soared before we reached the Haymarket we were brought to the ground by considerations of finance. We were both at low-water mark, and the denarlies had to be found for our tights and trunks, and our expenses down to Hull. We got over that little difficulty, however, and started for Hull with hearts as light as our purses.
‘Do you know Springthorp’s? You were never in Hull, perhaps; but, if you should ever happen to be there, and should lose yourself, as you are very likely to do, in the neighbourhood of the docks, and should wander into the dullest part of the town, towards Sculcoates, you will come upon a dreary-looking building, which was once a chapel, and afterwards a wax-work exhibition. That is Springthorp’s; and there, in the dreariest, dingiest hall that was ever mocked with the name of a place of amusement, we gave our first performance. The Vokes family were performing there at the same time, and very agreeable people we found them. The six nights came to an end too soon,—before we had got used to seeing our name in the bills, in the largest type and the reddest ink. Then we came back to London, and presented ourselves again before our agent. We had given entire satisfaction at Springthorp’s, he told us; but he couldn’t offer us another engagement just then. He should put our name on his list, and, if anything should turn up, he would let us know.
‘The first offer came from a music-hall at Plymouth, but the screw was too low for the distance, unless we had had other engagements in the western towns to follow, and we didn’t take it. The next chance was at the Hippodrome, in Paris, and we should have gone there, but another brace of gymnasts, whose terms were lower than ours, cut us out of it. As if to confirm the vulgar superstition about times, the third time was lucky. Newsome wanted a couple of good gymnasts for his circus, and offered the same terms we had had at Springthorp’s, and for twelve nights. The distance was a drawback, for the circus was then at Greenock; but we both desired a circus engagement, and hoped that Newsome might be disposed to engage us to travel with him. So we accepted the offer, and, reaching Edinburgh by steamer to Granton, went on by rail to Greenock.
‘We had never seen any other circus than Hengler’s, except Astley’s, and, as we did not expect to see a theatre, we expected to find a tent. To our surprise, we found a large wooden building, well and substantially built, though without any pretensions to elegance or beauty of architecture; and we were still more surprised when we went into the ring to fix up our trapeze. The boxes and balcony were as prettily painted and gilded as in any theatre, and the ring-fence was covered with red cloth, and a handsome chandelier hung from a canopy such as Charman had at the Amphi. in Holborn.
‘“This is better than Hengler’s by a lump,” says my partner, as we looked about us. “Why, it must look like Astley’s, when the chandelier and those gas jets all round the balcony are lighted.”