The murmurs from the passengers got louder and the children knelt on the seats. "There it is, there it is," said one youngster, pointing excitedly to the stalls, swings and merry-go-round.
"Think yerself lucky," said the father. "Us coming all this way, jest fer missing fair in Leeds."
"Wont there be so many people?" asked the child.
"Dont worry. Therr be plenty people. Plenty people wi plenty money te spend. Naow, yer got sixpence. Thats yer lot, and don go askin fer more."
Hesitantly Jon joined the queue to get off the bus, and even more slowly he followed the general stream of people all making their ways to the fair. I'm not usually like this. Not nervous before. But this is a big decision to take all by myself. Come on, Jon, pull your socks up. Go at Mr White as if you're confident. With this pep-talk to himself, Jon straightened his shoulders, and walked quickly, overtaking many of the other travellers. He soon came to the fair. He soon came to Whites Wonders.
"Hi, there," Jock called out. "Didnt expect to see you so soon. Cor, you look a sight. Look at your eyes."
"Hi, Jock. Glad to see you." Jon put his case on the grass.
"Whats that for? Coming to stay? Better ask Whitey before you get excited. Wait till he comes out. Doesnt like being disturbed."
Jocks gentle and cultured voice made Jon feel more re-assured. "Got the sack this morning, I did. Stew didnt like my face. He said customers would think I was a ruffian all bruised like this. Stew made me choose between waiting and boxing. On the spur of the moment I chose boxing. Upset Stew, I did. Dont know what I'll do if Whitey doesnt want me."
"Jump your fences when you come to them," Jock encouraged. "But I'm glad to see you. Bertie, Art and Jumbo, are all good blokes, but they're a bit thick. Slow to think, - except in the ring, but theyd do anything for a friend. Duncans O.K, but hes crude. Youre younger an me, but we could have fun, same like my own youngster. I'll teach you things, and you teach me. Never too old to learn. Look, doors opening. Good luck son."
Mr White loomed large through the opening in his caravan.. He was wiping his mouth. "My! Wotevers this? The bloody Flamer? Well, young un. Wot be ye wantin?"
"Mr White, sir, I thought you might... I mean, would you want . ."
"Come on, boy! Oill no be eatin yer."
Jon stumbled on with a rush. "Mr White, sir, do you think I could join Whites Wonders? Try my best, sir. Got the sack, sir, cos of my black eyes. Came on bus, sir. Will you be wanting me, sir?"
"Come arn in, me boy. No need te get in fash. Mrs White ll tell yer. Shes one who choses new boys."
Mrs White resplendent in a bright green satin blouse and long black skirt was scrubbing away at an already clean pan. "Why, its Inglis. Come back to us, ave you? Hoped you would. Is that what you want, to join our blackguardly gang? " She burst out laughing. "Dont look so worried, sonny, course you're welcome. Need some new blood. Need a good brain. Lovely boys, tothers are, but a bit dumb. You mind your Ps and Qs and work hard, and youll do fine. Sit down, there, my boy, and I'll explain."
Jon sat on the long cushioned bench that stretched the length of the caravan. Mrs White talked slowly. There were several important rules to be followed. Firstly, none of her booth boys must ever eat from any of the other stalls, punishment dismissal. Mrs White had to supervise all the diets of her boys and do all the cooking. Secondly, all booth boys must look clean and tidy, with washed socks, clean shirt and shorts, and clean shoes when in the ring. Also a clean towel must hang over the ropes. Thirdly all booth boys have to look after their own sleeping quarters, and care for the ponies. Fourthly all booth boys must help with erecting and dismantling the marquee. Fifthly, no booth boy must drink alcholol for six hours before a bout.
"Now come to me if you need anything. Dont look confused, sonny, its all easy. Another bit of advice, dont leave money in caravan. Give it to me and I'll look after it, and what you dont need I'll put into the Post Office savings." "I've got an account already," Jon inserted proudly.
"Thats fine. An account at your age! Sensible lad. Oh, yes, and one last thing," Mrs White added. "Mind out for the girls. Girls get hung up on boxers, something to do with their bare chests and strong legs. Just you watch out. Bertie, Art and Jumbo arent much to look at, but you might just catch the young girls eyes, being fresh and unmarked. Now off you go, The Flamer of Whites Wonders. Youre to sleep above Art. Dump your things, change into something old, and then go and help with the work. We open in three hours time."
"Thank you, Mrs White, thank you." Jon scuttled away, found his bunk, dumped his luggage, changed and then went to greet his fellow booth boys.
"Hi, there, titch, glad te see yer back," Duncan greeted him warmly. Bertie, Art and Jumbo either nodded or grunted and carried on with their work, work which involved pulling on heavy ropes, or hammering huge iron stakes into the already hard ground.
"Come with me and well feed the ponies," said Jock seeing that Jon was wondering what he should do. "Thisll be your job to begin with. Thats Snowy," he pointed to a tall white gangling pony, "Thats Jet, black of course, and you've seen Marm, short for Marmalade, before, the Skewbald. A large feed at night, and a smaller one in the morning before we start moving, and when There's time they all need a good grooming. And dont forget their water. Must have plenty to drink, specially in the heat."
"What a good beginning," laughed Jon. "I'm always happy with animals." He set to, sorting out their food, and brushing and brushing. His thoughts were far away. The hot sun shone on his back. The Kings Arms seemed in another world in time, though in reality it was only a few hours.
A strange high pitched gong sounded, and it made Jon realise he was really hungry. "Come on," shouted Jock. "Grubs up. Have a wash and then follow me."
The whole eight members of Whites Wonders piled into the big caravan which acted as home, office and restaurant. Mrs White was at the head of the long narrow table, but before she sat down she put a plate in front of all the men piled with stew, dumplings and vegetables.
"Known for my cooking, I am. Now just you tuck in, sonny. Plenty more for ø-(: - seconds." Mrs White beamed at the way her food was disappearing. Jon had already eaten sufficient, but Art, Jumbo and Bertie slid their plates up for seconds. "Mind you stay nippy on your feet, you three. Two hours to go and then your work starts. Now whose for pudding?" While the three shovelled their food down their throats, Mrs White dished up a hot steamed pudding smothered in jam. Simple food but good and nourishing.
"Nothing more till breakfast," said Mrs White, "except cocoa and bread. And dont let me catch you eating other peoples food."
Supper over there was no hanging about. The benches were to be erected, and notices hung up, and the surrounds tidied of travelling materials. No one could have guessed that the whole set up was packed into caravans just a few hours earlier. It was a case of careful planning, attentive work from the booth boys, and a willingness to offer a hand to anything that needed doing.
At six oclock the fun started. Mr White, again resplendent in his Master of Ceremonies rigout, started to attract the attention of the passers by, Art and Jumbo were at the punch bags. Mrs White, feathers again attached to a bright green satin hat to match the blouse called to Jon.
"Givin you a break tonight, sonny. Let those eyes settle down. You elp me at door and keep crowd movin, get the seats away from the entrance filled in first." She sat at her table, counting money for the float. "Never run out of change, thats my motto. Customers like that."
The marquee started to fill up, and Jon happy in his role of usher flitted here and there. He could overhear comments of the customers. "Cor, look at redhead. Bit younger than others. Like to look at is chest. Bet hes airless." "Wonder what we could charge im for a romp." "Go arn, e probably knows nuffink. Slike es just outta cradle." Jon pretended not to hear but he said to himself, Forewarned is forarmed. I'll mark Mrs Whites words. Watch out for girls. Must keep an eye on Duncan, and see what he gets up to.
Bertie, Art and Jumbo all performed well in a lumbering heavy way. They won their bouts by sheer physical strength, their opponents tottering off with ears ringing with pain and faces bruised and damaged. The crowd were starting to murmur.
"Whats up with the crowd?" asked Jon as he turned to the waiting Jock.
"Like a bit o change," muttered Jock. "Boss has told Duncan and me to back pedal and let the next ones win. Snot easy sometimes. Specially if they can't box. If friends are in the crowd its best to let them win. Not so much goes into the cap afterwards, but Whitey makes up the difference. Watch me when I'm on. I'll walk into a punch and get my nose bleeding. Then I'll wipe the blood all round my face. The crowd goes mad at blood. I'm after Duncan. When hes finished he goes straight off with a filly, likely as not, all hot and sweaty. Me, I like a shower and a tidy up first fore drinking."
"Filly?" said Jon. "Thought our three ponies were all male."
"Get along with you," chuckled Jock. "Filly is young girl. MY! Youre green. Never mind, lad, rather that way than tother."
Jon watched carefully during the last two bouts. Duncan and Jock were craftsman at their profession. Arms flurried, feet back pedalled, and several times they allowed themselves to be floored. When Duncan was on, three girls were standing up, shouting and waving. Bloody and apparently bowed he left the ring, gave himself a rub down, then went straight off with the three girls. Jock gave an immaculate performance of falsity, his opponent being a spotty youth who gave no credit to the older man, and went strutting about the ring when he was announced the winner. The crowds applause was muted, for it was apparent that the youth had won with dubious scoring. The youth and his friends were triumphant, doubtless they would bring more people to try their luck with the apparently easy opponent.
That first evening, Jon climbed up to his bunk, tossed a fleeting thought to Stew and the Orphanages, and then tried to settle to sleep. He had not prepared himself for the roaring and whistling and rumbling that came from below him. Poor old Art had a damaged nose that blocked his breathing when he lay flat, and the snores were tremendous. Will I ever get used to this thought Jon. Perhaps I'm not tired enough to go to sleep. Hope I dont get like him. Maybe thats why hes with the booth, no one could sleep with him in his other life. Mustnt upset him just yet. Jon tossed and turned till the birds early morning call announced that dawn was not far away.
There were two more days at Bramhope, happy, hot and busy days. Plenty to do, plenty to eat, and the people were warm and open. By midday with the sun shining Jon began to feel terribly terribly sleepy. Must watch myself tonight. can't feel tired in the ring. Gotta put on a good show.
After another plentiful meal, Jon joined with the booth boys in the ceremony of dressing for the ring. Everything had to be perfect, no mud, no marks on the shirts, pulled up white socks and clean plimsolls. As Jon was the first on the list he did not have to perform with the punch bags. He was still a little stiff, but the swelling in his eyes had disappeared.
"ose for the Flamer?" Mr White boomed, as Jon jiggled up and down, flexing his muscles. "New to Whites Wonders. But e can't alf punch. Anyone sucker nuff to take on the Flamer. Unbeaten e is. Cum arn, cum arn."
Jon felt embarrassed at the splurge about himself. No one seemed eager to step out from the crowd, until a group of youngsters started to giggle. "You go, Rupert, you go. Well shout for you. Take him down a peg. Looks cocky to me. Go on, Rupert. Stand you a beer if you win. You've done it before. Hes only a little bigger than you."
Jon heard all these mutterings as he looked towards a group of well turned out youngsters. They didnt look like usual fair goers, rather like college students having a night out. When Rupert finally acquiessed, Jon was surprised to see how small he was.
"Beer watch im," muttered Mr White. "e may win on points. Looks pretty nippy. Box this one straight. If e wins, e wins. Give crowd run for therr money."
"Yes, sir. Not used to smaller men. Do my best, sir."
For the first three of the rounds, Rupert ducked, weaved, danced and back pedalled. His thin wiry arms kept finding their mark on Jons body like mosquitos darting at their prey. Jon, though light on his feet, seemed elephantine compared with his opponent. Ruperts friends were in a frenzy as a victory on points seemed more and more imminent.
"Get in close," muttered Jock, who was at the ready with water and sponge between rounds. "Crowd him into corners. Take his initiative away."
"Try to, O.K, try to," puffed Jon. "But hes so darn nippy."
For the last three rounds, Jon seemed to swell in stature. He stood his ground, advanced when possible, and parried. Ruperts supporters quietened, but the rest of the spectators took up the cat calling and whistling. "Come on, Flamer. You can do it. Put yer 'eart in to it." Jon was encouraged by their backing, puffed away, the soreness of his ribs worsening as each round progressed. The bell at the end of the sixth round was none too soon. Rupert seemed scarcely out of breath, though one eye was badly bruised and closing.
Standing in the centre of the ring Mr White held both contestents hands. "Result of contestant is...... he paused, and a great wail went up. "The result is each contestant as won three rounds,..." again a pause filled with catcalls and boos, "but the winner is Rupert Bagnall from Leeds University on points." Mr White held up Ruperts arm. His group of friends shouted and jumped around, two of them climbing the ropes into the ring.
"Thank you, sir," Rupert turned to Mr White. "Good lad you've got there. I'm having instruction so shouldve beaten him more easily. Gave me a few shocks."
"Flamers alright," grunted Mr White, "cum agin at Guiseley when I've talked to im. Maybe ell win."
Jon was rubbing himself down, waiting for a convenient moment to talk to Mr White. "Sorry sir, did my best. Too quick on his feet for me. Fights like a lightweight."
"Yer did jest fine. Orf yer go and ave a good time."
Rupert broke away from his admiring friends. He turned to Jon and said, "You finished now?" Jon nodded. "Come and have a beer with us. Got to be back by midnight, but its early yet."
"That O.K?" Jon turned to Mr White. "Bagnell here has asked me to join them."
"course its alri. Bu we star movin at 5 oclock. Got to look slippy. Orf yer go and enjoy yersel." Mr White then turned to the crowd and announced the start of the next bout.
Rupert, three boys and three girls were all in their early twenties and had come in a gang to get away from their studies in Leeds. Cheerful, corny youngsters they were, trying to outdo each other with tales of bravado and foolishness. There was only one amongst the group who appeared a little solemn.
"Come on, drink up," chided Rupert. "Youre going too slow."
Jon felt a bit foolish and shy. He had not been to an informal party like this before and he felt inferior. The others were confident, spoke about things he didnt understand. They were also a little older and used to mixed company.
"Sorry, Bagnell. Not sure of myself yet." Jon thought it best to be honest. "Only just started boxing with the booth. Dont know if drink will affect me tomorrow. Got a long day. Moving off to Guiseley at dawn. Hard work it is getting all that stuff on to caravans."
"Cor, you undo that lot and get it all to Guiseley and rig it up in one day?" asked one of the boys.
"What happens if one of you're hurt? How do you have time to rest?" The question was from Miranda, the quieter girl. Jon looked at her closely for the first time. Straight brown hair cut in a bob, large solemn eyes, a mouth which went up one side when she spoke, and an average sort of body, there was nothing to make her outstanding or sexually attractive like Elspeth and many other of his erstwhile customers. Immediately Jon was drawn to her sincerity and concern, and her apparent detachment from the rest of the party.
"Dont know yet," Jon looked directly at Miranda and she returned his gaze equally directly. "Havent been on the move yet. I'm to look after the ponies and see they're alright."
"Have you always been boxing?" Miranda asked her forehead puckering. The two of them had moved away from the beer drinking party. "Seems such a hard life. Isnt there anything else you could do that would stop you getting so hurt."
Slightly bewildered by this concern Jon replied. "Its better than waiting at table. I've been a waiter, xept for a few months when I was dogs body in a firm. Left school at fourteen. Not trained for anything."
"Didnt your parents make you study? You seem so bright." Miranda was innocent in her questioning. Her face was so appealing in its seriousness, so vulnerable.
"Nope. Got no father, and me Mam put me in Orphanage long time ago." Miranda drew her breath in quickly.
"Oh, I'm so sorry."
"Whats there to be sorry about? Its a fact. I'm not educated, but I've seen life from below. Wouldnt fit into your world, I xpect." Jon started to feel aggressive.
Miranda put her hand on Jons bare arm. He felt a strange tingle of excitement which took his anger away. "Take care of yourself," Miranda urged. "Id hate to know anything had happened to you."
"Dont expect you'd ever even know. Youll go back to your books, and I'll go on the ø-(: - boxing rounds. Why should you want to bother anyway?" Jon wished he could control the bitterness in his tongue.
"Why should I bother?" Miranda continued. "Why, because I like the differences in you, I like the way you deal with what you've got. Dont be short with me, Flamer. Incidently whats your real name?"
"Jon Inglis. And sorry I was peppery. Youre one of the few people who have spoken kindly to me for a long time, and it makes me suspicious. Nasty nature I'm getting."
Together they looked for the rest of the party. The group, oblivious to Jon and Mirandas togetherness, were laughing heartily shooting yellow ducks.
"Lets walk," suggested Miranda. "They dont mind me. We usually go our own ways, and weve all got keys to Hall."
They walked slowly up and down the verge behind the rows of marquees, bodies close but without holding hands.
Jon talked about himself, about the hardships of the Orphanage, and about his work at the Hotel. He explained tentatively of his wish to put words down on paper. "And dont make fun of me for saying that." Then he paused. "Gosh," he laughed. "You do manage to make me talk! Usually no one is interested."
Miranda was silent. Then gently she took his hand and they walked on slowly. "Whats up?" Jon asked. "Why so quiet?"
"Youre so real. Honest. Were all competing against each other, best marks, funniest jokes, who can drink the most, and even some talk about their time with the opposite sex as if it were some form of kudos to have the most scalps. I try to be like them, but its no good." She looked forlorn.
"Glad it isnt," grinned Jon, "or we wouldnt be walking and talking together. Look, I mustnt be too late, but do you think I could..."
Gently, and without any embarrassment, Miranda took Jons face in her hands and kissed him on the lips.
"There, thats a keepsake for you," she said.
Surprised that it was all she asked for Jon said urgently, "Miranda, do you think, ... . what about ....Oh, dear. I dont want to be imprudent. . But is there any chance of you - getting to Guiseley for the next three nights. It isnt far? We've only just got to know each other. And Id like to know more of you."
"Dont promise. I've a lecture till five most days, but I'll see. Now what about you giving me a kiss!!" Miranda said laughingly. "Just a kiss, nothing more."
"Nothing more," Jon repeated. "Thats a change. My, you're special." He faced her and brushed the hair from her face. "Youre beautiful too." Slowly he leaned across and kissed her gently, forehead first then on the lips. The moon peeped out behind the clouds to give them her blessing. The world melted in his heart.
"No more," she whispered. "Dont spoil it." With that she turned and left. Jon looked after her until her form was swallowed up in the shadows. Slowly he walked the last few yards to the caravan.
What! No real snogging. No sex? But that kiss was worth a million of what I had before. Sucks to old Elspeth rushing me into something. Come to Guiseley, Miranda, come to Guiseley.
Physically exhausted, emotionally tired and happy Jon fell into a deep sleep, Arts snoring unnoticed. When he heard the knock on the door which was to become so familiar he felt he had only just begun the night. He tumbled from his bunk and put his head out of the door.
"Goodness," he exclaimed to anyone awake enough to hear. "Its still dark. Spose its the right time. Birds just waking up."
"Shurrup, will yer," groaned Art. "Get yer clothes on and get orf for breakfast. More room fer me."
"No ard feelins, laddie," Jumbo said. "All be peppery in mornin."
Jon donned his working clothes as quickly as he could, and added a sweater as the chill air was creeping through the open door. He walked across to the Whites caravan, swishing his feet through the dew, smelling the new wetness with pleasure. The Whites door was open, and Duncan and Jock already seated at the long table, white enamel mugs steaming with hot tea in their hands.
"Hi, there," laughed Duncan. "as young toffs let you alone? Saw you, I did. Walking, so solemn you were. Oi got me ands up a skirt. Not into tha, are yer?"
"Leave off," admonished Jock. "Too early in the morning for gibes. WHere's Art and Jumbo? Always last they are. But they eat so fast its no real bother."
"Teas up, sonny," said Mrs White. "Porridge comin. Salt or sugar?"
"Best take sugar," said Jock. "Gotta busy day ahead. Eat on the road we do, if were lucky. Push as much down your throat while you've got the chance!"
Again Jon followed Jocks advice, finished the porridge and put away four slabs of bread and dripping, lavishly sprinkled with salt. With the morning air seeping through the door and the light changing every moment, Jon felt thrills of excitement creep through his body, and his spine tingled.
"Can yer arness orses, laddie?" asked Mr White who looked crumpled and unimportant without his regalia, his face heavy with stubble.
"Think so, sir. I'll try."
Then Jock turned to Jon. "Best get ready for road. You know, get your crap done and all that. Difficult once we get started. Peeing is alright. All the caravans are chock full of stuff so There's no room in the middle for walking to shithouse. When you've done horses, come to me and I'll tell you what next. Old Whitey gets a bit confused."
As happy as he had ever been Jon set about making friends with the horses, and getting them sorted out. Their saddlery was in immaculate order, everything hung tidily on hooks beneath the horses names. The animals looked cold and dejected, the summer nights air had been sharp. Soon the feeble sun peeped over the trees, so slowly the animals brightened and seemed eager to get on their way. Safely in their traces, munching in their nosebags, Jon left his charges and sought for Jock.
"First help Duncan with the benches. Theyve got to be stacked just right or they Won't fit. Art, Jumbo, and Bertie always do the big marquee. Theyve the strength for that, and it all goes on to the trailer. Then you go round picking up everything, and I mean everything. If Madam W. finds a scrap of paper left lying about you're for it. Probably no seconds for a week. Well be on the road by eight oclock. Just you see. O.K, son?" Jocks instructions were easy to follow, and the first mornings routine went without a hitch. Soon the three caravans and one trailer were heading along the country lanes to Guiseley, the booth boys taking it in turns to hold the reins. Mr and Mrs White rode in their own caravan, there was just enough room left for the two of them, but when the hills became steep, even Mr White strode along the roadside. For four hours they walked at a steady pace, the horses clip clopping along side. Then came the first hill, and Jock produced some large wooden chocks.
"Here you are, Jon. You stick this behind the back wheel if you see horse has to stop. Watch carefully. Caravan mustnt roll backwards. Hard work it is. We each look after a back wheel."
"Never knew this," Jon said. "Quite an art getting us all moving. Here goes." As the hill got steeper, so the stops got more frequent, even to the point that they all had a push at the caravans one at a time when the gradient was more than the horses could manage, the other vans held safely by the chocks.
By two oclock they were all sweating, and the horses puffing.
"Teas brewed," called Mrs White and magically she produced a large jug of sweet hot tea, a long loaf of bread and some cheese cut in chunks.
"Let the horses cool off a bit, then give them each a drink," Jock advised.
It was seventh heaven to Jon to sit on the bank drinking tea and eating as much bread and cheese as he wanted. He smelt the crushed clover and dandelions, and watched a small red butterfly as it hesitantly fluttered here and there with no pattern to its journey. The larks called from on high, and a ladybird bit his ankle. Everything was as he liked it, and his thoughts were warm with the memories of Miranda. Bert and Art smelt of sweat, but that seemed to add a realness to his surroundings. Food, company, and a roof and work. Jon felt rich indeed. He fell into a daydream, and the sweetness of Miranda swept over him.
"Come on, Jon. What about that drink for them horses? You were miles away. Dreaming of a girl, eh?" Jock chided him gently.
Quickly Jon pulled himself together, tended to the horses, and put himself in the right frame of mind for the rest of the journey. The thought that Miranda might be able to come to Guiseley made him anxious to get going.