Elephants in the Mist

Artwork by Charity Larrison

I know there are many people who say animals in circuses are cruelly treated. Here in England, many towns and cities will not allow circuses to camp on public land, or licence shows if animals are involved. I truly don't know enough to argue for or against that view. But for me as a child the circus was a wonderful sensory overload.
The first time I went to a circus, I must have been about six years old. My big treat in those days was to go to the local market town with my grandfather. He was a big, towering, kindly man, with white hair and a white moustach. he always wore a waistcoat, over a blue and white striped shirt, he wore brown boots, shiny, and over them and his legs below the knees, buckled leather leggings. On his head, an old flat cap. In one hand, a walking stick, in the other, my small hand.
He was a retired farmer, and his day for visiting town was the day of the livestock market. a music of lowing cattle, bleating sheep, grunting pigs, clucking hens, He'd walk slowly between the pens, cautioning me not to get too close, exchanging a few words with the men there.
On this one day, he said to me "Do you want to see a Tiger?" I stared about me, wide eyed, expecting a cattle-market pen to house a roaring cat, but he laughed, held out his hand, "Come on then." We walked, out of the market, past the cattle trucks and chatting farmers, past the fire station, and gradually out of the town. Through a gate into a field. four white horses were trotting side by side, a circle of wagons beyond them, we continued, my grandfather spoke with a big man, who smiled, turned, and led us to a row of wagons, with open bars one side. There it was, in the shade, a great striped creature, far bigger than I'd imagined, the man called to it, it got up, stretched just as our cat at home did, although its skin looked baggier, looser, it turned, took a couple of steps to the bars, the man reached his hand in and scratched it behind the ears. It yawned, great yellowy pointed teeth, and lay down, rolling toward the bars belly up, head outstretched, for the man to scratch.
"But Tigers eat people", I squeaked, "Yes, the man said, but only if they're very hungry, and only people they don't like".
Then we went to see a Zebra. And horses, lots of horses. At last, in the corner of the field, in the shade of a tree, the elephants. Oh those elephants, great grey wrinkly beasts, oh, I was in love, these were my favourite animals oh look, oh.
That evening we returned for the show. My sister was extremely jealous as I recited the few things I'd been told, and paraded my superior knowledge, and the fact I KNEW all these people in gaudy costumes, I'd even touched one of the elephants.
Those wonderful people, in their exciting bright costumes, the sounds and the smells, and appearing to me to be genuine, their love of their animals.
I was told by an old soldier who had worked with elephants in Burma, that you work with elephants by their consent. an elephant will remember forever any slight. He recalled an elephant killing a burmese timber worker. The british officer was demanding the elephant be shot. But the burmese said this man had been cruel to the elephant, and had hurt its calf some ten years previously. The elephant had never attacked any other person, and waited patiently by the body, raising its foot to allow a restraining chain to be attached. It was reprieved, and the soldier told me all his mates were extremely cautious, after that to never give offence to an elephant. If it stole your bread, or ate your hat, you learned to laugh. The elephants did work in the jungle carrying heavy loads, during the day. In the night they were set free, to roam and forage, in the morning they'd all be there, waiting for their loads.
Maybe circuses are cruel. I truly don't know.

One evening, about ten years ago, I was walking with a friend and her two dogs, in a wooded area of a city park, The night was misty, and ahead of us a great shadow loomed, making a strange rumbling sound. we were a bit spooked, the fierce brave tough dogs hid behind us.... out of the dark came two elephants, and a girl, maybe 15 years old, she spoke quietly to them, and they stopped, and waited, to let us pass, We stopped too, and spoke to her, she spoke very little english "like we, they love walk, but cannot when is many people, now in the night, they can walk in trees, they dream of their home, I too of my home" . We had cakes in a bag we showed the girl, she clapped her hands oh yes, oh yes, as we gave to the elephants my girlfriend's mother's lemon cake, and then the chocolate cake. All this time the two dogs kept a safe distance, clearly thinking we were extremely stupid.
The Elephants were gentle, exploring us with their trunks, and conveying handfuls of cake to their mouths.
Then we all moved on, that was the last time a circus with animals performed in this city.
I'd forgotten that, remembered it in the night.
We went to the circus, Didn't recognise the girl, she was probably transformed into a glittering queen of the highwire.

I recommend: Busted Wonder
Artwork by Charity Larrison and story by Kieran Gillan.
A long time ago, I found them. I found a blog called "Cabinet of Busted Wonders". What a great title, it drew me in. At the time, only the first few frames had been drawn, so I had to return many times for the story to unfold. The first few frames had me though. It's still unfolding.

Stop press: I posted this before asking permission. then I emailed Charity, seeking forgiveness, and have had it granted. And she's very kindly given a permit to use some other images. I will.
I think her drawings are great, I love the people, the style, the way she uses perspective, the choice of palette. No, She's not paying me to say this. I just really like her work.

Nick Drake

Delores Aloft

For Stephanie; fragments of a lost story.

This story began: Once upon a time, there was a beautiful trapeze artist called Delores. She lived in an ornate wooden circus caravan, hauled by an elephant named Nelly.With her, in the closets, lived her friends and fellow performers, a troupe of tiny dwarves, (who preferred to be known as Porgs, or Persons of Reduced Growth.) To a man, they were in love with their curvaceous amazon.
Part of the story is lost here................

...She loops out of the darkness in the upper tent, spins, forward roll, lets go of the bar, flying forward, sequins sparkling, AAAH!! The crowd gasp, yes, she's missed the bar, falling, 60 feet in the air, a scream, then- Whup! Out of the dark comes an elephant, looping below the falling girl, with a cry of "HUP-La!", she twists, a moment later, she is in the elephant's trajectory, one muscular leg gripping the trunk, she precedes the elephant, like a finely carved, buxom, figurehead on a sailing vessel, Hup-----LA!! And girl and elephant spin again, catching the safety net, which bulges, but stops short of the sawdust. What a show, AHHH!!! Look! Aloft, a troupe of tiny pirates are swinging, swashbuckling, cutlass fighting on the high wire, swinging oblivious of the drop below, one leaps at another, bowls him off his perch, another grabs hold, they cascade off the wire, like a tiny grappling chain of porgosity, then flup! Little parachutes pop up, they steer, wildly out, over the audience, a shout! What's this? A porg sets fire to his tiny adversary's chute, with a squeal, the tiny chap plummets, the audience screams, but below, suddenly, is the statuesque, shimmering amazon, astride the huge grey elephant- how did they get here, in the walkway where only the ice-cream girl strode? But no matter, for with another squeal the tiny porgs perilous plummet plops safely to an end, cushioned by the cleavage of our heroine. One by one, out of the dark they come, circling in, and being plucked out of the air by Nelly's trunk, and Delores's curvaceous arms, the roar of the crowd is immense, Nelly trumpets in triumph and farewell, the little fellows stand, bouncing on Nelly's back, and bow deeply with a wave of their feathered hats, at last, the beauteous amazon stands, balanced on one slender foot on Nelly's great head, she sweeps then a graceful curtsey, winks at the crowd, and in one fluid move, scoops up a porg and bowls him at the clowns, the stiltman is first to go, then the stepladder, the clown with the wallpaper paste throws it at the porg, who dodges and scrambles up the stiltwoman's leg, she screams and shakes him off, he tumbles onto the dog and rides it ferociously twice around the ring, the ringmaster throws a long pole with a net on it to the slim clown who gives chase…. Ah! Yes! No, in the net is a dog, but sitting on the top of the re-erected stepladder is the porg, out go the lights, the band strikes up, the performers return to take a bow.

In the big old wooden caravan, in the soft light of the oil lamps, a very big wooden bathtub is waiting, and Delores cries out as they enter "C'mon boys! Whose turn is with the sponge tonight?!"

As I recall, Delores was later arrested, accused of Porg abuse, and un-british activities, spirited away by secret policemen and flung into a noisome dungeon in the Tower of London.
Extaordinary repetition- They flung her twice.

It continues:

delores languished., deep in a dungeon,far below the tower of london.... your writer can't remember the earlier genesis of this story, but is used to improvisation, and all repairs requiring string or silicone. so those will be used in Delores' rescue....

Languishing, thought Delores, is such beastly boring work, whilst filing her nails with the side of a matchbox. In fact, look at that! a matchbox with sandpaper! when did you last see one of those, she mused....

I wonder if a jailer dropped it? being as she is a nicely mannered girl, she bethought herself of the need to reunite the jailer with his property. Gathering a quantity of staw from the floor of the noisome cell, she proceeded to knot it into a short cosh. Using the matches, she set fire to another bunch of straw, and screamed as loudly as her well equipped lungs could manage. Cloppity clop!, there was a sound of hooves in the corridor, " What the?" she mused, as two jailers dressed as a pantomime horse burst in. "THWOCK" went the straw cosh, the front half of the panto horse toppled, taking with it the rear end, whose warder was encumbered not a little by a faceful of the front end's buttocks. "THWOCK" and his problems ceased to trouble him.

Meanwhile, Huweegebung, and the smallest porg, miniature in all respects but one, Huw, had split from the rest of the group, and were strapped to carrier pigeons, circling high above London. They were hoping that the bloodhound of restricted growth (borg) strapped below the third pigeon could keep following the faint fragrance of the giantess. So far they had stopped to investigate several noxious bins, a boneyard, a sausage shop, and Buckingham Palace. She's been here, cried Huw, as Muttley bayed, look, he's pointing! sure enough, the hound of the basketcase was glaring eastward, a forepaw outstetched, along the glistening line of the Thames.

"Send up a flare" cried Huweegeebung, Whoofle! up it went, calling the attention of porgs throughout London. P chuckled with tiny glee, rubbing his hands, "Taroo! Taroo!" went the porghorn, and porgs dropped what they were doing to heed the call. The people of London had never seen such a thing, out of those little hatches at the bottom of street lights, clambering out of post boxes, issuing from cat flaps, porgs were everywhere, armed with knitting needles, pastry rollers, electric toothbrushes, out they came onto the streets, marching eastward with one purpose, "Taroo Taroo" !

Back in the Dungeons, Delores had immobilised the pantomime horse with some inspired knotting, and muffled its indignant cries with a couple of well placed warder socks.... the warders dare not shout for fear of having to inhale deeply of each others pongy foot odour, but what next? creeping quietly up the stair, our amazon was readying her formidable armoury.... yes, she was now equipped with a tin plate, a fork and a spoon. "Just let them TRY stop me," she murmured.

But up ahead were the Beefeaters, Yeomen of the Guard, gates, portcullisses, could she really escape?

"Foong! Foong!" "what the?" as startled beefeaters looked up, a pair of synchronised porgs came over the wall in a steep trajectory, spinning slowly, in unison, the first pair crashed painfully into a tower wall, and tumbled, unconscious to the grassy sward. Foong Foong, Two more launched into view. "What the hell!" cried the Captain of the Guard, training his binoculars on a knot of porgs on the far side of the river, this time the two aviators deployed spotted handkerchief parachutes at the very apogee of their flight, steering expertly toward the inner court, Foong!, Foong!, across the river two more launched. "My God" he cried, "They're catapulting from a giant brassiere!

The advance porgs were taking, from their belts, tiny axes made fom pencil sharpener blades, and hacking at the stout oak doors of the inner tower. Above them a Voice boomed out, "This is the Pope! cease all your porgish activity at once or you will be condemned to eternal damnation"
-"Foong! Foong!" vame the reply as more porgs breached the perimeter.
The porgs were not afraid, Heaven sounded boring anyway, and the devil has all the best tunes!
Deep below came a scurrying Clop Cloppity, as more warders in pantomime horse garb deployed.. "EEK" squealed Delores, at a loss for anything more constructive. "I hear my beloveds, Foong! Foong!" she murmured, recalling the days when they would launch off the wardrobe, aiming at her recumbent form. (The lucky ones found warmth and softness, but more often a bedside light, a kneecap (oof) or in one case, an open window and a mound of horse poo.)
At that moment, Delores spied a side tunnel, unlit, and eased into the dark crevice just as a bedraggled panto horse panted into the light of the stairwell. Outside the cacophony of shouted orders, as warders tried to snare the scurrying porgs, was deafening. Neighbours called the city council to complain about it, "They're using a Cacophone!" one cried, And on a weekend too.
Huw and Huweegeebung by now had landed atop the highest tower and were tying together short pieces of string, in preparation for abseiling down the inside of the chimney. From Harley Street, the street of the plastic surgeons, a crack squad of porgs was rushing, clutching the entire stock of silicone breast implants, Viewing though the satellite link, P chuckled, it was all going very well indeed.

Another lost bit...

The Prime Minister, alerted by his underlings, called George Bush," It's no good George, You'll just have to do what you do best, an accurate, intelligence guided surgical mission to recapture the curvy woman and take out the little guy's chain of command" "YEEHA!!!! Okeyfurdokey, Blairie, A mission to restore peace and harmony to your capital. CAN DO!!!" "Okay guys, Accurate, intelligence led, Time to carpet bomb Engerland, there's terrists on the loose!"

As the first smart bombs took out a bookshop, a public toilet, and a railway station, prime minister Tony Blur stood to address parliament.
"Look, ah, well, in any intelligence led operation of such overwhelming accuracy, there are bound to be a few casualties, but we must be vigilant, I am assured by ah, our brave allies that there is unequivocal evidence that certain porgs are known to read, and as such, a bookshop, or a public library may well feature in their plans, we must deny them resources, ah, and sometimes that may be a little painful, ah, yess, public toilets, we had clear evidence that at least one of the porgs may be constipated and it seemed a pre-emptive strike on the toilet was ah, yes, justified, as soon as the evidence team finishes collecting the body parts, ah, we will conduct a dna analysis that I am sure will prove that a senior porg might um, possibly ah, have um, (what?) oh, well maybe not exactly a SENIOR porg, but a a a a (yes?) a porg sympathiser? might, um, ah have been in, um, over um yes, during the last three weeks, it's hard to set a time, but I'm sure the members of the public, loitering, ah (what? minister for what? boys?) my dear friend the Minister for Public Decency, and his young, ah, friends will be sorely missed.
And um, Railways, well, what can I say, it was just an accident. The missile was aimed at a curio shop with a subversive display of garden gnomes in the window...(what? Two miles?) yes, ah, smart guidance systems, well, ah, yes, budget cuts we are all forced to make, the base in question needed batteries for the radio in the canteen, so I understand they had to use the ones from the Wrath of George missile guidance system, I hope when it comes to budget time we'll hear less whining from the opposition benches, when a further £62 billion pounds is needed for defence...
Ah, yes, of course, absolutely, I'll have an urgent summit meeting with Mr Bush, just as soon as Cherie and I get back from our two weeks in Barbados, in the meantime, you will all be reassured that in order to support our brave allies up above us, I've ordered 6000 of our finest troops to secure and pacify London with whatever force Geor... The President, thinks necessary" WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!! "Argh! Quick! Where's the bloody shelter!"

she being brand new, by e.e.cummings

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The Small Box

The small box gets its first teeth
And its small length
Its small width and small emptiness
And all that it has got
The small box is growing bigger
And now the cupboard is in it
That it was in before
And now it grows bigger and bigger and bigger
And now has in it the room
And the house and the town and the land
And the world it was in before
The small box remembers its childhood
And by overgreat longing
It becomes a small box again
Now in the small box
Is the whole world quite tiny
You could put it in a pocket
Easily steal it easily lose it
Take care of the small box.

by Vasco Popa

This poem inspired a whole series of small ceramic pieces and drawings for me.
I'm fascinated by contradictions of scale, models in glass cases, giants and dwarves.
So is Til Nowak, maker of the movie in the post below this.

'Delivery', by Til Nowak.

Fantasy shoe day

I shall be wearing these on my voyages. They'll protect my feet from spiky things in the ocean, and leave oversized, strangely non-human footprints on your beach. In order to avoid all the Robinson Crusoe jokes, I shall NEVER land on a blogisland on a friday, unless the owner thereof has never heard of Robinson Crusoe.
RDG: Please note. These are not available with 6" pointy heels. But they are allowed on deck and in the rigging.

The Sheep Look Up

Okay, No sheep. Cow? Always look up. And double check you have the right pack.
For Steve.




This studio produces some great work.