At the beginning

They were certainly an odd-looking couple. The old man wore a long,
black coat that reached to the ground and stirred up a great cloud of
dust in his wake. On his head sat an extremely battered stovepipe hat.
He was bent double by the weight of the pack he was carrying so that
his gaze was fixed on the ground before him and his eyes scurried here
and there as if searching for any precious objects dropped by passing
travellers. He took tiny, scampering steps that made it look as if he
was always trying to catch up with his missus who strode confidently
ahead, slashing at the nettles in the hedgerow with her stick. Every so
often, however, she glanced back over her shoulder in a peculiar way as
if expecting to see someone following them down the road. They didn't
seem to notice the spiky rain that had been falling all day although
they must have been soaked to the skin by now
Esther Orton, watching them from the shelter of the porch, was
fascinated. They seemed to her to have stepped straight from the pages
of a storybook. Who were they? Where had they come from? What was in
that great big pack he carried? Where were they going? This final
question was answered immediately as the odd-looking couple came to the
crossroads, hesitated for a moment and then took the road into town.
Esther thought of all the chores she still had to do but the temptation
was too great. Pulling her shawl over her head, she began to follow
them.

&;#353;

In the market place the couple stopped and looked around. The rain had
almost stopped now and the sun was beginning to break through but not
many people had yet ventured out; besides, most folks were at work or
busy with their housekeeping. The man rummaged in his coat pocket and
pulled out a wad of papers. From another pocket he took a little hammer
and a handful of tacks. It seemed to Esther that the coat had more
pockets than was right and proper.
Tottering over to the Corn Market he peered up at the board where all
sorts of notices were posted -announcements of sales of stock and
public meetings, rewards for wanted criminals. He carefully peeled off
one of the papers and tacked it to the board and then, as if the effort
of reaching up to the notice board had exhausted him, he turned and
rested his pack against the wall. Esther, waiting in the shadow cast by
a shop awning, felt his gaze reach out and touch her. She suddenly
found herself interested in some bolts of calico outside the
haberdasher's. Meanwhile, the old woman had been talking earnestly to
some passers-by. When they moved off she gave the man a shout and they
walked on. As soon as they were out of sight Esther rushed across the
road to read the notice. It was poorly printed and she didn't
understand some of the words at all. What were "ombres chinoiserie"
which were the "toast of the metropolis"? Luckily the rest of the
notice was plain enough

Professor Jack Macklin's
World-Famous Gallanty Show
will Present on this very Spot
As Soon as Night Falls
the Celebrated Dramas of
Cobbler Jobson,
Kitty Boiling the Pot
and
Billy Waters the London Beggar
Followed by
a Phantasmagoria of Extraordinary Effects
to Divert and Delight both Young and Old."

A show! "Professor Jack Macklin's World-famous Gallanty Show!" Esther
felt a rush of excitement "As soon as night falls." The words
themselves had an ominous feeling about them that intensified her
excitement. "As soon as night falls." What time would that be? The sun
was still stubbornly high in the sky and then, as if on cue, the church
clock struck three. It would be a long wait until nightfall, in the
meantime there were the chores she had left undone, and so she hurried
home.

&;#353;

In the stable of The George Inn Tom Lucas also heard the clock strike
and felt he could reward himself with a few minutes rest from his
labours. A few minutes wouldn't make much difference to the pile of
horse-muck that he been shifting since first light. His father had
always said that you needed a steady pace for a job like this. A
foolish man would try to rush it, hoping they could get it over and
done with quickly but just wearing themselves out before it was
finished On the other hand, it'd be just as foolish to take it so
slowly that you might begin to think it would never get done. Steady as
she goes - that was the way to do it. Dad had a lot of these sayings -
a spot of advice for every situation. Tom thought about his father a
lot these days and sometimes felt sad that he wasn't around to see him
carrying on his philosophy of life.
Suddenly, his daydream was shattered by a noise from outside. Two
people were having a conversation in the yard. He listened hard, trying
to work out who was talking. He could hear two voices. One was loud and
squawking reminding him of the parrot that old 'Sailor' Watkins had
brought back from the West Indies. It drove everyone in The George so
crazy with its chatter that Sailor had to leave it at home and on his
next voyage he took it back to where it had come from. The other voice
was very low and hushed. Like something that lives deep underground,
thought Tom. But he couldn't think what that could be. What were they
talking about? Were they arguing or just passing the time of day? He
couldn't resist opening the stable door a little to have a look.
A little old man sat on the mounting block with a pack on his back
that was almost as big as himself. Because he was so bowed down by the
weight of this pack he appeared to be talking to his feet. Meanwhile
the squawker - a ruddy-faced woman wielding a vicious-looking stick -
strode around animatedly as if addressing an audience. At some point
the squawker took a breath and the old man, who had begun to unhitch
his pack, was able to get a word in edgeways. The old woman came over
to assist him and at that moment Fred Towers, the landlord of The
George, came out of the kitchen door.
"Can I help you?" he asked, a little startled to see them there and
even more by their curious appearance.
"We'd like somewhere to sleep, we'd like something to eat - and we'd
like it cheap!" declared the squawker uncompromisingly.
"Well, this is an inn," began Fred. "We can offer you both -"
"And rob us blind, no doubt. This is just the sort of place to take
advantage of unwary travellers."
"Now, look here," Fred began again, outraged by this accusation.
A throat-clearing sound from the mounting block stopped him in his
tracks. Both he and the squawker turned to look at the old man.
"What my dear wife intended to convey to your good self was that we
are, as you can see, itinerants, wanderers, travellers, a knight of the
road and his lady fair. We, therefore, have little in the way of
disposable income to take full advantage of all that your most
excellent hostelry offers. A dry place to lay our heads and some simple
victuals would meet our needs most adequately."
There was something almost hypnotic about his speech - the low tone
and the sing-song rhythm seemed to lull Fred into a more conciliatory
humour.
"Well, you can bed down in the stable loft, if you like, and we'll
find you some meat and potatoes," he said. Then, seeing Tom standing
with his mouth hanging wide open, Fred's mood darkened. "You got no
work to do, boy? Get that muck shifted and then spread some clean straw
in the loft!"

&;#353;

On her way home from the Market Place, Esther slipped down a quiet
jitty where she thought she might find her sister. Sarah was playing a
solitary game of hopscotch.
"Sarah, guess what?" said Esther, eager to share her exciting
news.
"Guess what about?" asked Sarah, throwing her stone to number
eight.
"There's going to be a show tonight outside the Corn Market."
"What kind of show?" Off she skipped to retrieve the stone.
A Gallanty Show." Esther announced grandly, trying not to hint at her
ignorance as to the precise nature of this entertainment.
"What's that?" Sarah picked up her stone and eyed her sister
suspiciously.
"I dunno. But there's going to be dramas and . . ." she hesitated,
desperate to get it right. "Phantasmagorias."
"What's them?" asked Sarah, setting off back to the start of the
hopscotch course.
"I dunno. Animals, I think."
"What kind of animals?"
"I dunno. It doesn't matter. The show begins as soon a night
falls."
"What time is that?"
"I dunno." Sarah's endless questions were beginning to annoy Esther.
She wasn't as excited by the prospect of the show as she'd expected.
"But we'd better get home and make sure we can go."
"She'll never let us," said Sarah. You know she'll never let
us."
"Why not?" It hadn't occurred to Esther that she might not be able to
see the show.
"Because she won't. After dark and enjoying ourselves - she'll never
let us."

&;#353;

As the sisters neared their house Esther began to fear the worst. It
wasn't just that her sister might be proved right - which would be
infuriating enough - it was that she'd allowed herself to get carried
away by what she knew in her heart was impossible. Their Aunt Emmeline
wasn't a cruel woman; she didn't ill-treat the sisters or harm them in
any way. She fed them well but starved them of love and affection. She
looked after them because it was her duty not her delight.
She had 'inherited' Esther and Sarah after their parents had died in
one of the cholera epidemics that regularly swept through the town. The
sisters had escaped because they had been staying with their
grandparents in the country, at the time. They would have preferred to
live with their grandparents but they were old and couldn't really care
for them. As if to prove the point they had been turned out of their
cottage a year later by a new landowner and had been forced into the
workhouse. As the only alternative was an orphanage, the sisters went
to live with Aunt Emmy.
She had never had children, never been married. "Because the good Lord
did not see fit," she would say. Sarah, being Sarah, had another
explanation but she kept it to herself. So, Aunt Emmy fed them, clothed
them, and ensured that their souls were kept safe from the snares of
the Devil through daily prayers and regular attendance at chapel. Apart
from this she showed little interest in their happiness. Indeed, she
seemed determined to avoid happiness at all costs.

&;#353;

Back at The George Inn, Tom had finally shifted the pile of muck and
was enjoying a big piece of Dundee cake that Mrs Towers had given him
for his tea. He sat in the yard hoping to catch sight of the strange
couple that had livened up his afternoon and he was soon rewarded by
the sight of the little man's legs descending from the hayloft. Tom
grinned at the awkward way he came down the ladder but the smile fell
from his face when the showman reached the ground and straightened up.
A transformation had taken place. He still wore the street-sweeping
coat and stovepipe hat but, freed from the burden of his pack, he
seemed to have grown taller and his walk had become leisurely and
dignified.
"Good afternoon, young bedmaker," he said. "You've done a fine job on
our apartment."
"I just spread some straw around," said Tom, slightly uneasily.
"But you have spread it well, that is what matters. You have
introduced air into it and air affords comfort to tired bones."
"Are you a showman?" Tom asked.
"Indeed. Professor Jack Macklin at your service. The greatest showman
between the Avon and the Trent." He bowed deeply, seeping off the
stove-pipe hat as he did so to reveal a completely bald head.
"What sort of show do you do?"
"In the high summer months you will find me on the East coast beaches
presenting the age-old drama of Pulchinello - Punch and Judy to you. I
have drawn crowds that have stretched as far as the eye could see. My
wife does the bottling for me."
"Bottling?" Tom imagined the squawker setting about some poor
unfortunate who had annoyed her with a beer bottle.
"Collecting the grateful contributions of our audience. Bottling -
it's a theatrical term," explained the showman.
"You're a long way from the beach here," observed Tom who had never
actually seen a beach, let alone the sea. The largest stretch of water
he had ever seen was the big lake at Hassenden Hall when he and his
father had gone on poaching expeditions.
"The season is very short and we must make a living. As the nights
draw in I adapt my show booth to present the 'ombres
chinoiserie'"
"The what?" said Tom, perplexed.
"It's a shadow show. They're all the rage in metropolitan circles. But
in these provincial locations all people want are the simple delights
of the Gallanty Show."
"How's it done, then? asked Tom eager to know more.
"I fix a screen across the front of my stage and a lamp at the back,
the puppets go in between and hey presto!"
Tom had some notion of what the showman was talking about now. He
remembered his Uncle Frank had kept them amused in the winter evenings
by making shadow pictures on the wall with his hands - rabbits hopping
about, butterflies flapping their wings - that sort of thing. It was a
pity Uncle Frank hadn't thought to make a living out of it instead of
working himself to death in that factory.
"So, where are you doing this show?" Tom asked.
"Outside the Corn Market, as soon as night falls. Come along, you'll
enjoy it." The showman leaned close and with a glance up to the hayloft
spoke conspiratorially. "But make sure you bring a penny," he
cautioned. "The missus won't let you get off scot free however well you
make our beds."
With a jovial laugh he bowed again, turned and ambled out of the
yard.

&;#353;

"A show!" exclaimed Aunt Emmeline. "Tonight? What sort of a show would
be performed on a street corner at night?"
"It's a Gallanty Show -" began Esther tentatively.
"The work of the Devil, that's what it will be!" said her Aunt.
"But it can't be - it wouldn't be allowed," said Esther beginning to
feel desperate.
"The Devil takes many shapes and forms in this world, my girl, the
sooner you realise that the better. A show indeed!"
"It only costs a penny - twopence for Sarah and me, she pleaded.
"You would be buying a twopenny ride to Hell," her Aunt declared. "And
they don't sell return tickets for that journey." Esther had no answer
to this and so, after a brief pause, Aunty Emmy stormed from the room
in triumph.
"I said she wouldn't let us go," said Sarah with a self-satisfied
smile.

&;#353;

As the light began to fade that evening Esther sat in her bedroom
becoming more and more despondent. All she had wanted was to see the
show and she found it hard to accept that the price would have been to
risk eternal damnation. They wouldn't allow a recruiting sergeant for
Satan to set up his stall in the Market Square, she reasoned. Aunt Emmy
just didn't want them to enjoy themselves.
Gradually, an extraordinary idea crept into her mind, waited patiently
while it was ignored, grew stronger until it pushed out everything else
and became a conviction. Esther would defy her Aunt. She would disobey
her. But just thinking this made her blush with shame. How could she,
when she had so much to thank Aunt Emmy for? She should feel nothing
but gratitude. Aunt Emmy had a right to expect her obedience. A chill
ran down her spine. Maybe she'd already been snared by the Devil - just
by reading the notice about the show. That couple certainly looked
peculiar - perhaps there was a tail under that coat and a pair of horns
hidden beneath that hat.
Something pinged against the windowpane, which made her heart leap.
Then there was another ping and another. Was this Satan come to take
her? She heard a voice calling her but it didn't sound like a hellish
demon. Instead it sounded reassuringly like her friend Tom Lucas. She
ran to the window and looked out. Tom was standing in the middle of the
road with a handful of gravel. She pulled up the sash and poked her
head out.
"There's a show in town tonight," said Tom. "Are you coming?"
"I know. I saw the notice."
"Well, are you coming?"
"I can't. Aunt Emmy won't let me."
"Why not?"
"She says it's the work of the Devil. We'll be on a twopenny ride to
Hell with no return."
Tom laughed; he had no time for these God-botherers as his father had
called them. "Don't be daft. I talked to the showman this afternoon.
They're staying at The George. It's just a puppet show."
If Tom had talked to them, thought Esther, they must be all right.
Unless . . . no, of all the people she knew Tom was the least likely to
be won over by the Satanic trickery. He'd spot a devil in disguise
before anyone else.
"Come on," Tom pleaded. "It's almost dark. The show'll be starting
soon."
"But Aunt Emmy -"
"She's gone down to the chapel for a meeting. I passed her as I came
up here. She won't be back until the show's well and truly over."
This information changed things significantly. Esther would still be
disobeying Aunt Emmy's instructions but if there was little chance of
her being found out the consequences would lie on her conscience alone.
She so much wanted to see the show and a bad conscience could always be
eased at some other time.
"Wait there," she called to Tom. "I'll be down in two minutes."
She closed the window and tiptoed across the landing. Opening the door
of her sister's room as quietly as she could she was relieved to see
that Sarah was fast asleep. At least she wouldn't be drawn into this
web of lies and deceit. No-one would know except herself and Tom.

&;#353;

By the time they reached the Market Square a sizeable crowd had
gathered which was buzzing with a hum of anticipation. The two friends
shouldered their way through the throng to get a good view of Gallanty
Show booth. It looked like the Punch and Judy show that Esther
remembered from her one and only visit to the seaside on a Sunday
School outing. She recalled the performance she'd seen that day - Mr
Punch with his slapping stick and wicked ways, the baby thrown out of
the window, the crocodile's snapping jaws, the stolen sausages, Mr
Punch tricking the hangman. Just remembering it sent twin streams of
laughter and alarm flowing through her body.
To the beat of her drum and a tiddly-tum tune on a set of panpipes, the
old lady stepped forward and announced in a strident voice "We are
proud to present Professor Jack Macklin's world-famous Gallanty Show.
Tonight Professor Macklin will perform three notorious dramas entitled
Cobbler Jobson, Kitty Boiling the Pot and Billy Waters the London
Beggar. During the performance I shall pass among you to collect your
contributions." She strode into the crowd pounding on her drum
aggressively. Those she approached hastily fumbled in their pockets for
pennies as if any delay might offend her and invite retribution.
Esther's eyes were fixed on the puppet theatre as the curtain was
drawn back. Inside a lamp was already lit. It gave off an oily, acrid
smell, which only added to the air of mystery. Then figures appeared on
the screen stretched between the proscenium arch and began to
move.

&;#353;

Afterwards Esther would give Sarah an account of what she had seen.
How Cobbler Jobson had worked at his last and given the little girl's
mother a drubbing because her daughter was impatient for her new shoes.
How Kitty worked the bellows to boil her pot and made smoke come out of
the chimney. How Billy Waters made fun of all and sundry amongst the
citizens of London town. And how, finally, the screen had darkened to a
deep crimson and clouds of smoke had drifted across the scene through
which all sorts of strange creatures loomed - ghosts, spirits,
spectres, phantoms and skeletons - all accompanied by eerie shrieks and
ominous drummings from the old woman. Were these the phantasmagoria
they had been promised or the hellish manifestations predicted by Aunt
Emmy? Esther had found herself gripping Tom's arm in terror and
delight.

&;#353;
Then it was all over. A great cheer went up and the crowd applauded.
Somebody started singing one of Billy Waters' songs:

Of the trades of England
A beggar's is the best
For when a man is weary
He sits him down to rest.

"Wasn't it marvellous?" whispered Esther.
"Worth defying your Aunt for?" Tom asked.
"Yes," she replied but immediately felt a pang of regret to be
reminded of her transgression. "We'd better be getting back."
"I'll just have a word with my friend the Gallanty Man," said Tom.
"Tell him what a grand show it was." Esther thought this was a little
like showing-off and she was anxious to get back now that she'd been
reminded of her Aunt but she followed Tom behind the booth where they
found the showman and his wife both puffing on their pipes.
"Greetings my young bedmaker! Did you enjoy the show?"
"Very much, sir," said Tom. "It's the best thing I've ever
seen."
"So kind. So kind," said the showman, clearly deciding not to ask what
other shows Tom had seen. "And your young friend?" he asked, peering
around Tom to look at Esther.
"This is Esther," said Tom.
"Pleased to meet you my dear. I don't need to ask if you enjoyed the
show. I can tell from your eyes."
"They're as big as pinwheels!" exclaimed his wife with a laugh.
"Did you do all that? The puppets, the scenery, the voices, the smoke
- all by yourself?" Esther asked breathlessly.
"All my unaided work," said the old man proudly.
""It's hard to believe," said Esther, then added quickly. "No offence
meant."
"None taken. I judge it a great compliment. Such is the magic of the
Gallanty Show, my dear."
"Is it dangerous - with the lantern and all that?" Tom asked.
"In the early days we used candles - then there was danger. The
slightest puff of wind could set the whole booth alight."
"Can I, . . . can I have a look inside?" asked Esther
hesitantly.
"Of course, my dear. I thought you would never ask." With this the
showman stood up and drew aside the back curtain of the booth. As
though welcoming a high-born guest he bowed deeply and said, "Enjoy
yourself."