Catching the light
 

I saw Joan Crawford last night.  She was the ringmaster at the circus. Yes, for real, not like in that film.

Me and Effie were walking down Mid Street when I saw the poster. Fluorescent, shining at us out of the grey of the Highland afternoon.  “Edwards’ Famous Circus: One Night Only.”  Eff stopped dead.  Like she’d seen a ghost. Well, you’re heard of Edwards’ Circus, haven’t you. Everyone has. But have you ever seen it? Thought not.  Now, Eff has of course, but me never. Anyway, we couldn’t pass up on the opportunity. Rushed back to the boarding house and dolled ourselves up good and proper. Well, to the extent you can when you’re on holiday, travelling light and the only charity shop in town is on its half-day. So, like I say, we treated it like a proper night out. Eff put on her red satin and I’d got my tartan trousers.  Seemed appropriate.  A sort of homage to Phyllis.

Off we set, all excited, like we were kids. Six thirty prompt, the poster said, and we were in our seats by six. The band was playing. Chap on a unicycle with a euphonium wrapped round him like it was a snake squeezing out his breath. Little fella playing a triangle. I know, sounds daft, but you could hear him loud and clear. And cornets and trombones and an accordion and you name it, it was there. Smell of animals too. Rank and hot. I know, I know…but that was no bottled smell.

Six thirty comes and the drum roll starts and the kids all start screaming and we’re sitting up straight in our seats, not wanting to miss a thing. I turn and I smile at Eff and she’s looking like she’s back in the fifties when Edwards’ visited her town and she got the day off school and the local paper  photographed her and her brother with Phyllis.

And on comes Joan Crawford. Sequinned from her neck to her ankles.  Even her top-hat had them on. The cheers! We couldn’t stop ourselves. On our feet with everyone else. And the tent was filled with a kind of dazzle.  Then on they came, one by one, two by two: the clowns, the jugglers, the highwire people. All lithe and spangled and sparkling.  Joan Crawford cracked her whip between the acts, so close sometimes I thought it would catch Effie’s hair, even though we were three rows back. And we all gawped and we gasped and the show spun us through the night.

No sign of Phyllis, mind. Silly me, how could there be. No animals either. I did know, like I said… But the mind plays tricks and that memory  was so powerful for Eff that I felt it was mine too. Phyllis and the dogs, from miniature to the height of half a horse. All in the caravan together. Keeping her warm at night and running round the ring in the day. Through the hoops of life.

When we came out into the starless night, the wind had got up and blew in our faces all the way across the sea-broomed common. Cup of tea then straight to bed. What I dreamt of I can’t tell you, but I know that Effie was off with the circus. Chasing Phyllis down the years. And when I woke I had that image of Joan Crawford imprinted on my retina.  It’s going to take some time. To come back to the here and now.  I’m sitting here, looking at where we threw down our clothes from last night and I can see a couple of sequins on the carpet, just catching the light. A little sparkle. I’m going to pick them up and give them to Eff.  For her box of treasures.
 


* Cath Barton lives in Abergavenny, Wales, where she writes, sings, gardens, walks and generally enjoys life. Catching the Light was first published at www.indood.com