CHAPTER IX

I experiment with geese. A goose race in tubs. A fiasco. Sarony, the showman artist-photographer of Scarborough. I begin the training of geese. Their erratic behaviour. They devour the stuffing of the ring fence. Mr. Hengler’s indignation. The Sisters Vades and their safety net. The geese make a meal off the net and spoil the turn of the sisters. Their doom pronounced by Mr. Hengler. How they terminated their career. I fail to train a vicious monkey. The late King Edward (then Prince of Wales) at Scarborough--I am permitted to join his shooting party. I arrange a children’s cricket match at which the Prince and Dr. W. G. Grace captain the respective sides. I get up a comic cricket match at Hengler’s at the Prince’s request. I make up as “W. G.” and execute a marvellous and unsuspected hit. My horse “Spot” and his dancing on the Scarborough sands. The Scarborough widows.

It is a short step from donkeys to geese. Both are popularly supposed to be stupid, but as a matter of fact they are remarkably intelligent. Another point in common between them is that when they make up their minds to do a thing (or not to do it--generally the latter) they persist in following their own way, and no amount of persuasion can turn them from it.

My first experience of geese was in Ireland. While Hengler’s Circus was at Dublin a certain nobleman called on Mr. Powell, Hengler’s manager, and asked to see me. I was sent for, introduced to his lordship, who disclosed the nature of the business which had induced him to seek me out. It was nothing more or less than to act as master of the ceremonies of the Royal Irish Yacht Club at their regatta to be held at Kingston.

It sounded like rather a tall order and a bit out of my line, but when the matter was fully explained it appeared to come within the range of clowning. What I was wanted to do was to superintend a race in tubs drawn by geese. His lordship had seen something of the sort at Yarmouth Regatta, and had been much taken with the sport. It was, of course, no novelty, and if my memory serves me it was first introduced by a celebrated clown, who tried the experiment on the Thames early in the nineteenth century. I could not quite make up my mind, seeing that I knew nothing about geese or tubs, but when it was suggested that I should visit the club the following day and have a champagne lunch and talk the matter over, there really seemed to be something in the idea.

Accordingly I went to the club and learned that it was proposed to have four tubs, each to contain a soldier, and each tub to be drawn by a team of four geese. The scheme did not include me as a performer. I was simply to see that everything was in order, act as starter, etc. So _I_ was all right and ran no risk of a ducking. The geese were to do without any training; we were to trust to their intelligence and their appreciation of their duties as entertainers. At the same time, knowing something of the vagaries of the brute creation, I suggested that it would be well to have at least one rehearsal, and this was agreed to.

My first business was to get the tubs and the geese. The tubs were procured easily enough, the purchase of sixteen geese a little more difficult, as I wanted them of the same size as nearly as possible. Luckily geese are plentiful enough in Ireland, as the English well know at Christmas time, and after visiting two or three farms I picked up my team and had them driven to headquarters. It was a sort of rambling procession to the stables, hundreds of delighted children following me and my geese and wondering what all the hubbub and cackling was about.

During the next four days I was busy in having suitable harness made for the geese and in preparing the tubs. The regatta day was on a Friday (nobody reflected how unlucky this choice was) and his lordship fixed the rehearsal for the day before. The sea on Thursday proved to be rather rough and I did not care to take the risk of a failure, so suggested that the rehearsal should be deferred until eight o’clock the following morning, when it would be high tide, and so it was settled.

At the hour appointed we had everything in readiness--the four soldiers, the four tubs and the sixteen geese. They were all eagerly waiting for me and prepared to enter heartily into the fun like true Irish lads. Each soldier had a long cane, with little pieces of ribbon tied to it by way of decoration, to guide the geese with, as of course bits had to be dispensed with, Nature not having provided the necessary teeth.

“Now boys,” said I, “directly you see me drop my handkerchief jump into the tubs.”

They took up their positions each opposite a tub, their eyes at “attention,” fixed on me.

“Are you all ready?” I shouted.

“Yes, sir!”

I dropped the handkerchief. The soldier boys made for the tubs, each one anxious to be first. It was a rare scramble. Thump, thump, I heard, the tubs rocked, the water poured in and swamped them, and then to my consternation I saw the tubs slowly sink, dragging the geese with them. Out jumped the soldiers, who luckily could all swim, and there they were making for the steps on which I was standing helplessly.

It was easy after all was over to account for the mishap. The craft had not been properly ballasted by adequate weights to keep them steady, and the mad rush of the soldiers had destroyed whatever balance the tubs possessed, which wasn’t much.

The most mortifying thing was the mirth of the crowd, who were inclined to go for me, looking upon me, I suppose, as a fraud. Anyway, I thought it was best to bolt, and so I did. I made a dash for the railway station, jumped into a train going somewhere--I did not stop to enquire--and that was the end of my engagement as a M.C. of a regatta. The next day I had an interview with his lordship, who good-humouredly accepted my explanation that the roughness of the sea was the cause of the mishap.

I need not point out that in no sense were these geese performing geese, but in justice it must be said that they never had a chance of showing what they could do. My doings with properly trained geese came afterwards, when I was with Hengler’s at Scarborough. I had some time previously had a trial with game-cocks--their story will find a place later on--but I found they were not to be depended upon, and this led me to turn my attention to geese.

The great man at Scarborough in those days was Sarony. In his way he was quite a genius. He had begun life as a showman--in America, I think--and he was enormously successful not only in the profession in which he started but subsequently as an artist-photographer. He had a sumptuous studio at Scarborough and was patronised by the highest people in society. His photographs certainly were the loveliest things of their kind then to be seen, and his work was well-known all over the world.

But in his heart he was the showman, and he looked it--a short, thick-set man with enormously broad shoulders, big muscular throat of which he showed an ample quantity, with his turn-down collar and flowing necktie, his smooth black hair allowed to grow somewhat lengthy, his hawklike nose, flexible lips and penetrating dark eyes. He always wore the broad brimmed soft felt hat which in those days marked the photographer. His personality was distinctly attractive and he had a way of making himself very engaging, especially to his lady sitters.

He did not forget the showman, even as an artist and photographer. It was a matter of indifference to him how few the number of copies of a photo a customer ordered. He had a formula in reserve which brought him in hundreds of pounds. The plan was this. Directly a photograph was taken with which he was satisfied--and he was a better judge than the sitter--a lantern transparency was made from the negative. In the meantime, while the transparency was being prepared, he would engage the sitter in his beautifully appointed reception room in fascinating talk, and while bowing him or her out would remark quite casually,

“By the way, here is something which might interest you.”

Drawing aside a curtain he would usher his customer into a darkened chamber, at the end of which was a screen on which a life size enlargement of the photograph which had just been taken was thrown. The sitter was naturally overwhelmed with surprise--surprise by the way is the essence of the showman’s art. Sarony in his insinuating way would dilate upon the beauty of an enlarged reproduction finished in oils, and it may safely be said that in five cases out of six he landed his fish, and the customer who came in with the intention of spending a five pound note ended in spending twenty times that amount.

But the finished reproduction in oils was well worth the money. Sarony had a painter’s studio attached to his establishment and a staff of fine artists to whom he paid very large salaries. He would touch nothing, no matter what he dabbled in, but the best. I may say in passing that no one had a larger clientele of actors and actresses than Sarony of Scarborough, and his portraits, many of which were to be seen in the box office lobbies of theatres, were always greatly admired.

Now Sarony had built a magnificent circus in St. Thomas’ Street, Scarborough, and it was there that Hengler’s had its pitch, not for one season, but for many. Of a necessity novelties had to be thought out to give the public variety. After a talk on this point with Mr. Hengler, it occurred to me, as animals were always a strong feature in my “business,” that something might be done with performing geese.

Accordingly I made a start with a little flock. I adopted the same course of training with them as with my other pupils. Every morning about the same time I went to the circus and gave the geese a lesson which usually lasted about one hour. They were always somewhat erratic and wayward. Sometimes I was very pleased and sometimes just the reverse. They were like the girl who when she was good was very good indeed, and when she was bad she was horrid.

However, I persevered, thinking they would ultimately pay me well. I was mistaken. They brought me little else but trouble. For instance, after the performance at night, knowing that they liked their liberty, I would let them loose and allow them to roam all night in the circus ring until I came in the morning to practise them. One morning when I went into the arena I could have torn my hair with vexation. The game those geese had been up to during that night was, I admit, an undoubted sign of their intelligence, but it also marked their unscrupulousness.

The circus ring fence happened to be padded with hay, covered over with valuable red plush, which had cost a considerable sum per yard. The geese soon discovered there was something underneath the plush which suited their palate and industriously going to work they literally riddled the plush with holes to get at the hay. I was too dismayed to say anything and I let Mr. Hengler make the discovery.

He came in. He looked round. He saw the scene of devastation. An awful frown wrinkled his brows.

“What does it all mean?” he thundered. “I take a pride in making my circus look as beautiful as a drawing room and I find it like _this_. Who will give me an explanation?”

A dead silence followed, broken presently by one of the frightened grooms, who muttered tremblingly,

“Please, sir, I think Mr. Walker’s geese have done it.”

I was called before Mr. Hengler. He was very angry indeed and I had to go through it. Of course, he had a right to call me over the coals as it meant the spending of money to put things as they were. However, all he visited me with was an injunction that while I was allowed to do what I liked with the geese during the day, I must not allow them to roam at large in the ring or elsewhere at night. So on the whole I got off very lightly. For the rest of the time the geese at night were put to bed in a large crate.

Somehow the spirit of mischief possessed the creatures, and no sooner was their exploit with the plush over than they started at thinking out some fresh devilry. Mr. Hengler about this time engaged two handsome and clever lady trapeze artists, the Sisters Vades. They performed with the usual protection in the shape of a net stretched beneath the trapeze. They started their turn and all went well until the following Saturday, when the net was pulled down and was placed on the top of the crate where the geese were kept, and here it remained all Saturday night, Sunday and Monday. No one gave a thought to it, save the geese, who all the while were thinking deeply.

The time came for the commencement of the preparations for the performance of the Sisters Vades. The net was taken from the top of the crate and--horror!--half of it had been eaten away. The geese had found their opportunity and had made use of it. But their digestions--they could hardly have been less powerful than those of ostriches!

The sisters could not perform without the net and when Mr. Hengler was told that they were unable to appear he sternly demanded the reason.

Again the reply, “Walker’s geese.” It was becoming monotonous.

A row followed, and the upshot was that the geese were condemned, to my intense chagrin and disappointment, for I was really looking forward to making something of them and out of them.

Their end was in a way a sort of Nemesis. I was invited by the Sisters Vades to dine with them and their manager. The principal dish was roast goose--one of _my_ geese! So in this way the ladies had their revenge. It was a fitting one.

I had another failure with animals while at Scarborough. This time it was a monkey. Mr. Clark, who was performing with a troupe of animals, made me a present of a monkey which he could do nothing with. I suppose that was why he gave it to me. I tried my hardest with the little beast, but he was either stupid or untameable. I looked about for someone to pass it on to, and I thought of Mr. Morgan, who was then Mayor of Scarborough, and who was at the time running the Aquarium, one of the attractions of the place being a cage of monkeys. Mr. Morgan thought companionship would be beneficial to my monkey and he accepted it.

Mr. Morgan sent a couple of sailors with a sack to fetch the monkey and a rare job they had. They chased him all over the loft and had to be extremely spry and wary, as the creature was very vicious. However, at last he was captured, thrust somehow into the sack, carried to the Aquarium and put with the other monkeys. He had not been with them two hours or so before the harmony of the home was entirely upset. I had an agonised message somewhat to this effect:

“For Heaven’s sake come and take away _your_ monkey. He’s killing all _our_ monkeys!”

I could only see one answer to this and I made it. My reply was:

“Quite impossible. The monkey was a gift to you. I’m too much of a gentleman to take back a gift.”

I don’t know whether the people at the Aquarium took this view of the matter. Anyhow, they found a speedy way out of the difficulty. They shot the monkey.

Happily all this ill luck at Scarborough was more than compensated by the fortunate chance which sent the late King Edward, then Prince of Wales, to the Yorkshire watering place during the shooting season. I was at Hengler’s for a six weeks’ engagement and I rather think I was sent down to do my best to entertain Royalty. Among the Prince’s party were the Earl of Londesborough, Sir Charles Legard and Dr. W. G. Grace. I had a right royal time as I was often “commanded” to be one of the shooting party. Nobody could be a more delightful host than our late King. He aimed at being happy himself and in making other people happy.

I shall never forget when passing through Seamer, a little village a few miles out of Scarborough, the Prince turning to me as a crowd of children were swarming out of school and saying:

“Walker, can’t you get up a cricket match with the children?”

A word was as good as a wink to me, and I got all the kiddies together and took them into a cricket field at the back of a little road-side inn (kept, by the way, by a namesake of mine but no relation) which was rather a noted place for cricket matches.

No one knew the Prince was of the party and he picked his side without anything occurring to embarrass him. He was opposed by Dr. Grace, and for half an hour the game was kept up, his Royal Highness evidently enjoying himself to the utmost.

When the sport was over the party went back to Londesborough Lodge, and in the course of the evening the Prince said to me,

“Walker, we’re coming to see you at the circus to-night at about 9 o’clock.”

“All right, your Highness,” said I. “What would you like me to do?”

“Can’t you get up something to please the doctor?” (_i.e._, Dr. Grace).

“I’ll do my best,” was my answer, and I left the Royal party at that.

The idea in my mind was a burlesque cricket match, but there wasn’t too much time to prepare the “business”--about an hour, as a matter of fact. I made myself a huge bat against which no ball could have a possible chance unless I chose to give one, and--I made up as the celebrated and popular “W. G.”

The Royal party arrived--the Prince and Princess of Wales, Lord and Lady Londesborough, Miss Sykes, Sir Charles Legard, Dr. Grace and many others--and took their seats. I needn’t go over the comic business that the mock cricketers, all made up as clowns, indulged in. I need only say that our fooling seemed to please the distinguished visitors immensely. The hit--in more senses than one--came when I, as Dr. Grace, armed with my huge bat, took my place at the wicket. The bowler sent me down a “yorker” and I went for the ball (it was made of worsted) for all I was worth. I intended to swoop it among the gallery people, but somehow it glided off my bat and went straight for Dr. Grace, who had to field it whether he would or no. I guess his hands went up by instinct. Such peals of laughter, yells of applause, clapping of hands and stamping of feet as were sent up I never heard in any theatre.

Maybe some of the audience thought the thing was intentional, but it wasn’t. It was purely accidental. After the performance was over I was called to the Prince, who, with a merry twinkle in his eye, wanted to know how long the doctor and I had been arranging the hit and the catch. The only explanation I could give, I said, was that the thing was a miracle. He looked at me with a humorous expression as though he would have said, “Ananias.” I don’t think he really believed me, but for all that the incident was exactly as I have related it.

One more reminiscence and I have done with Scarborough. I used to go there year after year, as I had become a favourite with the visitors and they always expected some novelty from me. One year I went day after day opposite the Spa, and when the tide was out and Herr Meyer Lutz’s fine band was playing, I would give the people a treat with my performing horse, “Spot.” He was a black and white, and a very clever dancer to music. I always wore a frock coat, plaid trousers, and a tall silk hat, and I styled myself the “Duke of Scorby Mills.”

As the tide came rolling up, “Spot,” at a little sign from me, would roll down in the sea with me in my Rotten Row attire, to the huge delight of the spectators. In the afternoon it was pleasant pastime to mash some of the widows. I don’t think I was much to blame as Scarborough abounded in widows, and if you didn’t mash them they would mash you. One fascinating widow, whose acquaintance I made, ran me up a nice little hotel bill. Her money was always coming from South America, but somehow it never made its appearance, and then she vanished. Maybe she went back to South America, and got drowned on the voyage, as I never heard from her. But I preserved the hotel receipts as a memento. The moral is that every man who spends his holiday in Scarborough should keep the elder Mr. Weller’s advice in mind, “Bevare of vidders.”