The thing I loved the most about circus life was the feeling of anticipation and excitement when we arrived in towns. We’d set up camp on the outskirts before travelling into town to parade through the main street and in some cities thousands would turn up to watch us. The animals were the star attractions. As the elephants lumbered by with the glitter girls astride them you could see the sense of wonder in everyone’s eyes, even the adults. It made me feel that this Goblin-runt born blue was meant to be. In the circus I was a bringer of joy. I was no longer the travelling Goblin with her Devil dog or her Corporal Pig or her Monsta. I was travelling Goblin-clown-freak with a family of hundreds, humans and other animals.
I was with the clown troupe, Marv, Ali, Paul, and later on there was Horatiu who we picked up on our travels. I loved clowning and took it very seriously. We trained with the acrobats – learning the rules before breaking them; it took a lot of grace to look clumsy. I came out of it mostly unscathed, with lots of bruises and aching muscles, though Paul was laid up for a while with a sprained wrist.
We teamed up with Milly, the tiger trainer, devising an act where Ali’s Jack Russell, Rusty, was replaced with a tiger cub but he pretended not to notice. This was a real hit with the audience – they’d yell for him to watch out and he’d feign deafness, shrug and continue on with this tiger cub at his side. The tiger ‘mum’ would enter the ring and the audience went wild. Ali just looked confused for a moment, shrugged and continued walking round the ring. The tiger mum padded up behind Ali, took the tiger cub by the scruff of the neck and exited the ring – there was an audible sigh of relief from the audience every time. Ali turned round, saw his Jack Russell was gone and started searching, lifting up women’s skirts and looking under men’s hats. The audience, distracted, laughing at Ali, didn’t see the tiger mum at first – she’d re-entered the ring, carrying the Jack Russell in her mouth. There was a gradual ripple through the crowd, followed by yells. Ali turned, saw his dog and stomped his way back into the ring. Two pats on the head of the tiger – a collective gasp from the audience – and Ali had his dog back.
It was one of my favourite acts – the whole troupe had devised it and it was always a success – but I ended it. The trainers had trouble breeding tigers; it wasn’t successful whatever they tried, so they bought cubs from traders or zoos. I didn’t know much about zoos, but I didn’t like separating the cubs from their mums, and I felt uneasy about cubs from the wild. It took me a while to persuade mum and dad, but I got them to effectively kill our best act. The clown troupe never knew it was me; mum and dad took full responsibility. I felt pretty bad about it and did all I could do make it up to them; working harder, helping other acts, doing more than my share if we needed extra hands for the erection and dismantling of the tents. Mum and dad reassured me, telling me they understood – ‘We know how much you love animals, G’ – but I decided I wouldn’t rock the circus boat from then on. The clown troupe bitched and moaned about Mad and James’ decision, saying, ‘Sorry, G, but it’s just—’ and I’d nod and say, it’s fine. I get it.
‘We don’t need the cub anyway,’ I said. ‘We can stand on our own clown feet.’
And we could. The audience loved us and I loved being a performer. Sitting in front of that mirror each night, Goblin becoming clown. I wasn’t as skinny as I was during the war but no one could tell I was a woman as my body disappeared beneath my costume; layers of blue and white stripes with ruffles at my neck. I wore a pointed hat with blue pom poms down the front, and we all had our signature make-up; I whited out my face, my dark eyebrows and my big lips disappearing, giving me a strange otherworldly look. I then exaggerated my lips to the point of grotesqueness, smearing lipstick over my philtrum and chin, each side curling high up on my cheeks. My eyebrows were thick black triangles, high on my forehead, giving me a look of permanent surprise and I drew in vertical lines at each eye. The other clowns coloured their noses, but I left mine white – from a distance it looked like I didn’t have a nose at all.
Other than the tiger cub and occasionally Rusty, we didn’t perform with the animals, but I loved to be with them so when I had time I helped Colin and his workers muck them out, wash them, brush them, feed them, whatever needed done. The menagerie was one of my favourite things about the circus. I’d try to get my costume and make-up done in plenty time before the show so I could go out and watch all the people, seeing their reactions to the animals. I moved through the crowd, selling a few clown toys, watching the people mill around taking photos of the animals. I took a photo of a family with two of our elephants, the little kid not wanting to look at the camera, too busy staring up at Mitzi and her flapping ears. A click and a flash and I caught her sense of wonder.
The menagerie weren’t the only animals in the circus. Captain Flint and Groo came with us. Captain Flint would fly off when we pitched, disappearing for hours, returning with prey he’d eat on my bed. I’d come in from a performance to find a corpse, half-eaten. I remember when he brought a corpse and a diamond bracelet, almost as if it was an appeasement. We were pitched in York when he didn’t return one evening. I didn’t fret, sure he would make it back before we left. Four days passed and he didn’t return; I was anxious for him, but hoped he was enjoying his freedom and not injured or dead. I missed him and his gruesome meals.
Groo took a while to get used to circus life and mostly stayed in my caravan on my bed. Eventually she ventured out, exploring the new terrain in each town and city we stopped in. She would bring me mice and small birds until my caravan was a grisly menagerie of corpses. Groo would sniff out the other animals in the circus, fascinated by all the new smells. Trotting in front of the cages, she held her head high in a haughty display of her freedom in contrast to the mighty big cats behind bars. She made friends with one of the performing dogs, Ali’s Jack Russell, Rusty, and I’d find them curled up on my bed together, making huffy noises in their sleep. Groo groomed him and he enjoyed it. I tried not to think of Devil, I tried not to think of the past at all. Except for David; I used our travelling as an opportunity to look for him. We travelled for eight months of the year, all across the UK, everywhere we went I would put up posters of David, keeping an eye out for him in seaside towns. I’d also get tattoos in almost every town or city we stopped in. I asked the publicity troupe to scout out a tattoo artist for me and book me in before we arrived. I’d get waves, ships, pirate flags, mermaids and mermen, krakens, sailors, anchors, lizard people, Mary and Jesus. I had ‘LOVE’ tattooed across the fingers on my right hand and lines from Alice in Wonderland and The Time Machine across my back and my legs. Each year we’d return to the same towns and cities and I’d return to my favourite tattoo artists. They’d be waiting for me with a shot of whisky, vodka, gin or a pint of beer and it was like I’d never left. The last tattoo I got was a small lizard on my ring finger.
At the end of the tour the circus would return to London to do a few shows there, then we’d have a short break before coming back together and repairing and repainting our carriages and props, working on new acts, bringing in new performers. I’d return to letters, people telling me they’d seen David, but they were all from cranks, lonely people looking for someone to rescue them. I kept all the letters and some of them I replied to, keeping up a correspondence with an old woman who lived in a cottage near the coast with her two dogs. She had so many stories to tell and I’d get lost in them, pretending her past was mine.