"D'you know, Sydney, I fink I've finally found my place in life. I could do this circus lark for a living," sighed Roland contentedly as he slid down the tent-pole to settle on the soft grass beneath. He gazed around him in awe at the bright colours of the bunting, fluttering like butterflies in the bright afternoon sunshine.
The field was teeming with smiling villagers, the ladies in their finest, most colourful summer dresses and the men, most in their shirtsleeves, determined to make the most of this annual occasion. The cheery music of steam-driven and barrel organ and the appetising aroma of the nearly cooked hog-roast filled the air and the commentator's voice could be heard calling for the entries in the under-tens' fancy dress competition.

"It's not a circus, old boy, it's just a village fête," replied Sydney. "I have managed to persuade Miss Isobel Hartington-Brown of our extensive experience in the organisation of such events."

"Well, if it means lazing about in the sunshine all day, you can count me in. I might even take me coat off later. Do we get paid?" asked Roland expectantly.

"I trust you have washed this morning," asked Sydney wrinkling his nose and looking critically at his colleague. "I wouldn't want you exposing yourself to the gentry in that odorous under-garment you usually wear. Your apparel tends to frighten normal people off. And no, we do not get paid; we are volunteers.

"I can't remember the last time we did get paid," bemoaned Rolo. "Your schemes always end up wiv me doing the all donkey work, and usually for nuffin'. What's in it for us this time, then?"

Well, dear boy I have offered our services to the various entertainments around the arena - the sideshows if you will," Sydney explained. "Miss I H-B suggested that we circulate and proffer a hand where needed."

"By we, you mean, me," commented Rolo sarcastically. Since the two gentlemen of the road had joined forces, Sydney had usually been the driving force behind their many disastrous encounters.

"I must keep my eye on the bigger picture," insisted Sydney with his usual pomposity. "May I suggest that, seeing as you have settled beside this particular entertainment, you roll up your sleeves and start 'pulling in the punters', as they say?"

"Okay by me," said Rolo raising himself luxuriously from the ground. "Where's the coconuts?"

"There are no coconuts, dear chap. This is the Aunt Sally stall - slightly more refined than the common coconut shy.
The idea is that you place this wooden figure, the dolly, on that post at the back of the tent and participants' try to knock it off with these sticks." Sydney picked up an cluster of short sticks, each the diameter of a broom handle, and a brightly painted block of wood, and dumped them into Rolo's arms. "Go on, have a go," he said.

"So what's the prize if there ain't no coconuts?" asked an enthusiastic Rolo as he violently scattered sticks around the tent - none anywhere near the dolly.

"What I suggest we do," said Sydney. "Is that we start a league table on this blackboard here - one point for every dolly knocked down - and keep a running score. Shall we say fifty pence for five sticks? Oh, and while I think of it, old boy, we must make sure all the money goes in the tin."

"Wot do you mean, money in the tin? Are you saying I can't be trusted?" asked Roland angrily.

"Well, my friend, we mustn't forget the sad episode of the Boy Scouts' camping fund."

"I told you," exploded Rolo. "I reckon it was the vicar! Anyway, if we ain't getting paid, 'ow we going to eat? I can pick up more cash sitting on me arse outside Boots up the town!"

"Well, Miss I H-B has assured me that we may avail ourselves of the refreshments, the tea and biscuits, during the afternoon."

"Oh, good," said Rolo, rubbing his grubby hands together. "Well, before we start I'll just nip over the tea tent and grab meself a chunk of cake. I'm starving," he levered himself up from the ground and started to pull his coat around him.

"I don't think so, dear fellow," said Sydney, raising his hand. "Miss FH-B has requested that you stay clear of the facilities. She is worried about the smell. If you need sustenance, I will fetch it."

"Wot smell?" demanded Rolo.

"We really must be honest, dear Rolo but your appearance does leave a lot to be desired, cleanliness wise. It was also requested that you keep away from the bottle stall."

"Cheeky cow," expostulated Rolo shucking his coat sleeves down over his less-than clean hands. "I wash regularly you know. And, while we're on the subject, most of 'em round 'ere stink of 'orses.

"Good afternoon, major. I trust all is going well here. I see you have got him with you again." The concerned face of Miss Isobel Hartington-Brown appeared behind them. She was dressed in the widest, fully-filled pair of jodhpurs that Rolo had ever seen. Until now he had only seen her behind the library counter and was surprised at her enormity.

"Major …?" stuttered Rolo. "Major?"

Yes, yes, old boy, I'll explain later," said a suddenly flustered Sydney. "Good morning, Miss Hartington-Brown, I trust you approve of our efforts so far? My colleague and I have come to a decision about the operation of the Aunt Sally," he continued. "Do you wish me to explain?"

With her nose still turned up as she continued to glare at Rolo, Miss Hartington-Brown replied sharply, "no thank you, major, that won't be necessary and, may I say I would, under other circumstances, question your choice of artisan.
However, I trust in your wisdom. Can I still rely on your support in the equestrian section of our afternoon?" she asked, softening her tone.

"Oh, course, Miss Hartington-Brown, of course," simpered Sydney. Rolo felt he would doff his cap were he wearing one. "I have quite a few suggestions to possibly improve the displays."

"Very well. I'll expect you in the committee marquee at 3pm." With that dismissal, Rolo and Sydney watched the lady's ample rear-end sway rhythmically through the crowd as she headed towards the committee tent.

"Major?" repeated a flabbergasted Rolo. "And wot's all this about equestrian and displays and fings? I 'ope you ain't got me down fer no 'orse riding!"

"Now, Rolo dear boy, there's no need to get excited. Let me explain." Furtively Sydney pulled Rolo into the depths of the tent. "Now, as you know my career has been in the military field, and as such I have found myself involved, at times, in various equine related activities - one such event was as director of the Musical Ride performed by the horsemen of the Household Cavalry at the Royal Tournament in Earls Court. I appraised Miss F H-B of the information," continued Sydney, "and she requested that I provide my expertise to the riders prior to this afternoon's gymkhana. Of course, I was more that pleased to help."

"Sydney, you are so full of it. 'Ave you no shame?" said Rolo in amazement. "You told me that you was in charge of the Royal Yacht - did they 'ave 'orses on board, then?" Roland referred to a previous painful event in their relationship where he had found himself shoulder-deep in pond water and where, once again, he didn't get paid.

"When one is of a senior rank in Her Majesty's armed forces, one finds oneself involved in many activities," countered Sydney without missing a breath. "You will not be aware," he continued, "of Joint Service Operations whereby the Ministry of Defence employs its more talented officers in the most useful way. Well, I held the rank of major for my various army related activities…"

"There you go again," interrupted Rolo. "You'll be telling me next that you used to ride 'orses wiv the Queen!"

"I am not at liberty to go into details," replied Sydney disdainfully. "Can I suggest," he commanded officiously, "that you get on with what you are here for?"
With that, eager to escape from Roland's questions, Sydney plonked the heap of Aunt Sally sticks into Rolo's arms and marched off on an inspection of the field.

"Don't forget me tea 'n cake," shouted Rolo, unperturbed, as he turned his attention to a tall spotty youth who had a rather attractive young lady draped about his neck. "Fancy a go, sir? Win a prize for the lady?"

 

As the afternoon moved along, Roland saw no sign of Sydney as he contentedly dealt with his Aunt Sally customers. As the list of names on the blackboard grew very slowly, the cash in the tin grew somewhat faster - it seemed that very few people were au fait with the Victorian game.

"I say. You, there," sounded a voice behind him. Rolo knew instantly who he would find when he turned. It would be Miss Isobel Hartington-Brown - the harsh voice that had banished him from the library many times.

"Yes? he said, pulling his coat around him in a protective fashion as he turned to face the gorgon. "How may I help you?" Roland had just discovered, that if he imagined the rear-view of Miss I H-B draped across her large, black hunter, the encounter held no fear for him. "I'm afraid that Sydney is out in the arena somewhere. I haven't seen him for a while."

"What? Who?" she barked.

"Sydney. 'E's helping you wiv the 'orses," stammered Rolo, his speech rapidly dropping back into what Sydney would call: common. "Ah, the major, is that who you want?" he asked, suddenly remembering previous conversations.

"Ah, yes. The major wants you in the paddock now. Now!" she repeated in her irritating manner.

"Wot for?" demanded Rolo bravely. "I'm busy 'ere. We got a good fing going 'ere. It ain't as easy as it looks - 'ere you 'ave a go."

"Do not be impertinent, ingrate," replied I H-B. "You are wanted in the paddock - I will not tell you again."

Realising that he could only push his luck so far, with an exasperated sigh Rolo collected the cash tin, pushed it deep into his coat pocket and, wrapping his coat tighter around him, prepared to follow I H-B to the equestrian area. "I'll keep this money in me pocket," he said noting the lady's glare. "Yer can't trust no bugger round 'ere. You don't 'ave ter be a tramp to be a tea-leaf, you know," he said pointedly.

"Just follow me. And don't get lost," she ordered as she turned to stride purposefully across the arena.

"Be 'ard to miss," muttered Rolo as he followed in the wide wake of Miss Isobel Hartington-Brown.

"Wot do you want, Syd?" shouted Rolo fighting his way through the host of steaming horses, all much taller than he. "These 'orses are enormous, ain't they."

"Sydney, please. We must maintain decorum," chided Sydney. "Yes," he continued, "these fine specimens must all be over seventeen hands."

"Okay, Major," said Rolo impudently, nervously moving away from the horses. "I dunno about 'ands. These buggers should be measured in feet!"

"Thank you, Roland," said Sydney ignoring the obvious sarcasm. "Now, I'll explain why I've sent for you. I have agreed with Miss I H-B that you should parade each horse, with its rider seated, out into the centre of the arena."

"Me? Why me?" Roland had never been this close to a horse before in his life. "I told you, I don't like 'orses, an' any way I got me Auntie Sally to look after!"

"Rubbish, dear boy, Miss I H-B will get someone to attend your stall.
"Now listen: the best way to overcome a phobia is to face it head on," said Sydney.

"I just told you," wailed Rolo vehemently. "I ain't going near no 'orses and," he added pointedly, "an' I ain't wearing that neither!" Marching purposely towards them came the terrifying bulk of Miss Isobel Hartington-Brown carrying a hunting-pink jacket.

"Don't be impudent. Put this on," she ordered holding the jacket out to him. "I've warned you before!"

"Our first entry in the under-sixteen dressage event is Miss Melinda Dray on Alfie … ," droned the commentator as a quaking Rolo, dwarfed by Alfie, a chestnut gelding, stumbled toward the centre of the arena - Rolo, the ridiculous pink coat stretched across his beloved overcoat, felt very exposed, and very frightened - as his tight grip on the horse's halter showed.

"Don't worry, Mr Rolo," whispered Melinda way above him in the saddle. "Alfie's a darling. We'll walk this, you'll see. When I click my tongue," she instructed, "just let go and step away backwards. I'll ride away and you can move back to the perimeter. When I've finished my round, I'll canter over to you and we'll take our bow together. Is that okay?"

"Righty ho," replied Rolo. Trying to sound braver and more confident than he felt. "Righty ho." This girl knows what she's about, he thought to himself. This will be a piece of cake.

As they paraded slowly around the ring, Rolo began to relax and almost enjoy himself. Suddenly he felt the hot breath of the giant horse on his neck. "It's eating me!" he cried jumping and pushing the enormous head away from him. "Nobody told me it's 'ungry. Get it orft me fer God's sake!" Rolo threw himself to the ground, curling himself into a ball as protection.

A surprised Alfie, having received Rolo's finger in his eye, reared up on his hind legs determined to pull away from this sudden and painful assault. The crowd watched, helpless as Melinda, looking like a rodeo rider, stretched her arms tightly around the bucking horse's neck. Someone was screaming.

Laying face down in the grass, his head in the darkness, Rolo waited for the fatal blow from the monster above him. "I hate you Sydney," he muttered vehemently in between prayers to the Almighty.

"You absolute fool," came a familiar voice from above him. "You could have injured a very valuable animal with your antics. Not to mention," it added, "the hurt that could have come upon a fine young horsewoman. Stop that screaming, get up and get out of my arena, now."
Isobel Hartington-Brown was furious as she stood over him. Rolo turned cautiously over and, still with his arms protectively over his head, looked around him. The crowd gathered around him looked more angry than concerned.

"It's alright, Mr Rolo. We're okay," said the now dismounted Melinda with an encouraging smile. "Miss Isobel calmed Alfie down. He only wanted to nuzzle you, you see," she continued. "I really think he likes you. Why don't you come over and see him - show him you're alright."

Don't go near that horse," ordered the still irate Miss Hartington-Brown. "Somebody find the major and tell him to get this fool out of here? And before you go," she added glaring at the still prostrate Rolo. "I'll have the Aunt Sally tin."

[THE END]

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