THE TRIP TO THE CIRCUS
To Daddy, I have dedicated this to you not only for being the inspiration behind this story, but to say sorry for the way that day panned out. I hope this book will show you that there is nothing to be scared of anymore and I hope you can forgive me. And to say thank you, for facing your worst nightmare that day, just to please your little girl. And thank you for not getting revenge, yet. Don’t worry Daddy; there are no clowns in here. All my love, the proudest little girl in the whole wide world.
Written by Ruby Dewhirst Inspired by Guilt
ONE United
When I was seven, my parents took my younger brother and I to Zippos circus- a travelling circus that had set up camp at our local park. What was once just a field where green grass grows and occasionally a child is seen playing football with their dad has become swarmed with families, eagerly making their way for a taste of the circus. As we walked hand in hand amongst the crowds towards the huge white and red tent’s doors, I remember the atmosphere, the noise, the heat, the smell, hitting me all at once. The back of my head touching my back as I try to make sense of the magnitude of what had appeared overnight. Bright colours all around me becoming a blur, the excitement is electric.
So many excited children dragging their parents by the hand, desperate to get inside this pavilion of laughter, and although I too am excited to go, I find myself subconsciously hiding behind my Dads leg.
We sat in our seats, ready, waiting. A few rows from the top, someone suffering from vertigo would struggle. The anticipation so strong it’s almost tangible, everyone knows the show is about to begin in a matter of seconds. The lights dimmed, the trumpets began. The buzz of voices circling the sandpit stage below us filling the arena grounds to a holt. The circus show has begun.
TWO The recruitment
I do not remember any of the show before it happened, nor do I remember what happened after. I think the guilt of what I had done erased the event from my mind. The clowns had done their act, spoken their script. Their bows taken and their applause received; we assume it’s the end of the show. Oh how wrong we were.
The small clowns huge booming voice began with a menacing tone. “Are there any little girls who want to volunteer their Daddy— My arm is in the air before the question has been spoken. to join the circus?”
It’s huge eyes lock onto mine like a predator ready for it’s prey. A huge grin to match those terrifying dark eyes, surrounded by a mask of paint grows across its face. Its arm raises slowly, its sleeve retreating slightly, revealing some unpainted flesh. A finger advances toward me, its victim has been chosen. And the bright circle of light blinding us appears, a light that makes my Daddy scared.
THREE Taken
Neither Daddy nor I can see or hear what’s going on, what’s happened. A shadow appears before us, protecting us from the garish light. Only we’re not protected, its come to take my Daddy away.
Its finger, pointing aggressively towards us starts curling upwards luring my Daddy away from me. Words are not exchanged, only demonstrations of what wants to be said. I guess Daddy doesn’t speak clown. Daddy points at his back in pain, he shakes his head. He’s saying no, he doesn’t want to go. The clown denies his ploy with a shake to its head and a menacing smile. Daddy leaves my side, he looks scared, and he appears to be in pain.
This is it; I’ve lost my Daddy to the circus.
FOUR Toy soldiers
Before I know it Daddy’s in the arena, the light beating down on his unprotected head. But he’s not alone. There are other Daddies. All the clowns are spread around the arena, circling the Daddies like a pack of lions. The Daddies stand in a line, about a metre apart awaiting their fate, their faces painted with nervous expressions.
The shock has affected my hearing, my ability to understand what is happening. The Daddies are skipping, jumping, running around the arena for an unknown reason. The crowd is going wild, screaming, cheering, waving and chanting. The Daddies are back in a line, facing us in fear. The clowns are poking, flicking and teasing them like wild animals in a zoo.
They’re hurting Daddy, it’s making Daddy sad. I begin to cry. I cry because Daddy looks sad, Daddy looks hurt. Because of me. I thought it would be fun, like at the pantomime when you volunteer to sing a song on stage and you get a goody bag for it. But this wasn’t fun, not at all. I just want my Daddy back.
I sought comfort in Mummy’s arms. My worries began to disappear.
FIVE Daddy, please forget
We don’t talk of that day in my house. And there have been trips to the circus since, except my Father’s absence has been accepted. Twelve years later and my father still hasn’t forgotten. Zippo the clown, a face that will forever torment my Father.
RD