Belgium, West Germany, Poland, 1966 – 1967
Despite the piss and shit, I enjoyed spending time with the animals. I hadn’t helped much with the camels before, so there were many times I ended up pushed, kicked and spat at before I got to know them. There were five of them, all named after Colin’s ex-girlfriends; Veronique, Julia, Mary, Betsy and Lou. Veronique was the most friendly, Julia had a habit of spitting at people. Mary, Betsy and Lou liked some attention but were mostly only interested in people for food. I loved the feel of them, the smell of them. I felt safe. When I returned to clowning and Freaks and Wonders I continued to visit the camels every evening when my work was done. I’d sit by candlelight and read them stories as they huffed and snored. One night I fell asleep with them, curled up next to Veronique and I got hell from Fish Boy who thought I was off sleeping with someone else. We’d been drifting apart for months and my absence from Freaks and Wonders made that drifting easier. The stupid argument over my night’s absence finished us, even though he believed me, even though I smelled of camel. I ended it and things were strained between us, but eventually we were back to meeting some evenings with Angelina and Matt when I wasn’t with the camels.
While I was mucking out the animals I’d take a break and watch Milly practice with the big cats. I was in awe of the care she took, the endless patience. She loved them, that was clear. During one of her training sessions one of them scratched her. I say scratched like it was a kitten, just a regular cat. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to do, but I stood to intervene. She held her hand up: stop. Three handlers stood round her, but didn’t approach. They waited as she spoke to the tiger in whispers, stroking its head. It had its paws around her, holding her close. It licked her face. She whispered and it set her loose, padding off to its chair.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Don’t come near me during practice,’ she said. ‘Especially suddenly. They might think you’re trying to attack me.’
‘But it hurt you.’
‘It was play. This is nothing. I know them well and I know how to control them. Introduce an outlier and there could have been trouble. If you watch, you don’t move. You don’t come near us. I don’t want to lose you or one of the cats.’
‘But if one them attacks you? Really attacks?’
‘Then it’s my fault and I pay the price, and you don’t move.’
‘I don’t do anything? Are you serious?’
‘What do you think the handlers are for? And this gun?’
‘You’d shoot the cats?’
‘It’s just blanks to scare them. It shouldn’t happen, though, not if I’m doing my job properly. They know me, respect me. We have our own language.’
‘What happens if they really do attack someone? What happens to the cat?’
‘They’re euthanized.’
‘What do you mean “euthanized”? There’s nothing wrong with them.’
‘Put down, however you want to say it. They’re a danger.’
‘They can’t be rehomed?’
‘It’s too risky.’
‘What about a zoo? Surely—’
‘Is living out their days bored in a cage really any better than death?’
‘They already live in a cage.’
‘They have me, the ring and the performance. They’d rot in a zoo. I love these cats, Goblin. I’d do anything for them. What do you want? What are you after?’
‘I’m just not sure we should have animals performing.’
Milly rolled her eyes and turned away.
‘Are you kidding me? Jesus.’
‘I just think—’
She turned back to me and said, ‘Look, Goblin, they’ve only known the circus – they’re happy here.’
‘How do you know they’re happy?’
‘Because when they’re not happy they don’t play ball. I’ve known some rotten trainers who’ve beaten their animals to get them to perform and it always ends badly. They won’t do a thing if they don’t want to and I know when not to push it, I know when they’re sick or when they need a break.’
‘I just feel they should have more.’
‘More what?’
‘I don’t know… Freedom… Maybe their enclosures could be bigger.’
‘It’s not practical, not if we’re to be able to travel the way we do.’
‘I know.’
‘Look, Goblin, the animals here are well cared for. You know that. I agree, though, that the travelling can put too much stress on some of them. I don’t think we should have elephants but there’s no way James and Mad are going to lose their star attractions. It’d sink the circus.’
‘Don’t you think an all-human circus would work?’
‘No way, Goblin. We take away the animals and we take away the audience. It’s as simple as that. And I love my job. You want me to lose my job?’
‘No, I just… It’s just a thought.’
‘The animals would be put down or trapped in some zoo. You wouldn’t be doing them any favours. They’re better here with us.’
‘Time,’ I said to mum. ‘More time, for the animals to get out of their cages when we travel. More workers to look after them.’
‘No,’ said mum. ‘We can’t afford to. Things are tight, Goblin. We’re competing with TV and cinema. We can’t afford more time or workers, we’re stretched as it is. The animals are happy, G. It’s in our interest that they’re happy. Don’t worry, they’re well looked after.’
Read all about it – life in the circus. TV and cinema were taking over, but the circus still intrigued people. There’s always an audience who want to know more about the circus life. They want to know what’s behind the fantasy. They want to know about the people who perform such feats, who travel with elephants and tigers, who descend upon towns in a flurry of glitter and music, trumpeting and roars.
I used my initial ‘G’, and ‘Bradfield’, my new surname after Mad and James adopted me, and I pitched to UK newspapers. I had several rejections before a tabloid accepted my pitch, but they wanted sensational stories and more focus on the freaks. I talked to my Freaks and Wonders friends over a drink and they said, ‘Sure, G. If it gets more people in, write whatever you want.’ We sat for hours, laughing as we made up sensational stories of infidelity and freak fetishists. In the cold light of day I had to hold back on the outlandish tales as I didn’t want to get in trouble in my first journalist job for making up articles. I based the columns on real life experiences and framed them with rumour and hearsay: ‘It’s been said that the Lizard King killed the mob who murdered his wife…’
I gave the money from the weekly column to mum and dad for the animals. We hired more workers to help with the animals and we hired a full-time vet. As we travelled, we had an extra few minutes to check on them, to let some of them out of their cages. The circus started to make more money too – there was an increase in audience numbers as we toured, with fans clamouring for autographs from the freaks whose stories I’d told: ‘Is it true that—?’ ‘Did you really—?’
I wrote my columns, I sold my photographs; life in the circus – read all about it.
When my column came to an end I was approached by a broadsheet; they wanted a more serious one-off piece, so I wrote about the animals.
When it was published it was seen as a betrayal. I used a pseudonym and changed all the names of my circus colleagues, but they still saw it as a personal attack. I’d proposed that circuses only use domesticated animals, such as horses and dogs, and I called for stronger regulation on the trade of ‘exotic’ animals. I also wrote with admiration of trainers like Milly, and how they loved the animals and treated them well. I thought it was even-handed. I thought I’d argued my point about animals in the circus without demonising anyone, but mum and dad stopped speaking to me. When I tried to speak to them they’d pretend I wasn’t there until mum turned to me and said, ‘No more articles.’