WOMBWELL, THE WONDERFUL

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LI, Issue 319, 9 January 1909, Page 3

WOMBWELL, THE WONDERFUL

A PAGE OF STORIES KKO.U THU I LIFE OF AN OLD SHOWMAN. jFUO.U MIiXAGEIUE KING TOI'AUI'EU I " Walk up, gcnTincii—walk up, walk up, walk up! .lust step inside, and see tin' greatest show on earth! Come in and see tlio most wonderful collection of wild beasts ever brought together in this or any country! Lions from Africa! Tiger» from Jiengal! Panthers, leopards, chimpanzees, pumas, elephants—not .. tribe of the animal kingdom unrepresented! ISring your sweethearts and your cousins, and your daughters ana your wives! .Now, tlieu, you children, plunk down your threepenny-bits, and walk up, wall; up, wall; up!" Jiang drums—blare trumpets—crash cymbals—skirl fifes. George Wonibwell's remarkable and world-renowned men. agerie is just commencing! And where is George Wombwcll? Where is the man whoso show filled with .pleasure the hearts of thousands upon thousands, on whom small children looked as a veritable magician of joy, as his wild-beast procession filed magnificently through the villages, lions roaring, elephants trumpeting, pumas screeching, causing them to beat hasty retreats within their doorways, palpitating rait h a delightful, thrilling fear' George Wonibwcll is in Edmonton Workhouse, an old man of ninety-one, forgotten, friendless, alone. Here .1 representative of "Answers " found him, bright-eyed and shrivelled, dressed in the blue-grey garments of the ''house," filling with trembling lingers his oil clay pipe, and living only in the happy memories of the past. To think, from sunrise to sundown, over the old, happy days, before cruel misfortune overtook him, is his only occupation, as he sits there, waiting for death. " Ah," he sighed, as the representative asked him for his story—it was in the first days of November—"you want to make a guy of me! They're all making guys just now—eh V What you're not making fun? Sit down, then. Here's my story!" And this is the story of George Womfowell: From Land's End to John o' Groats I don't believe there's a city, town, or village I havn't visited . During u career of long over half a century as a showman I must have been up and down our island scores of times, along it and across it and around it, and re-visiting, and sometimes, even, I don't doubt, discovering. My uncle, George Wombwell, was tlw first of our family to take to the road with a menagerie, starting in IWM with nothing more tlian a couple of boa-con-strictors . for which he paid, however, £75. The speculation turned out to be a most profitable one, and in three weeks he had netted more than their cost by showing them in London. Th?n he gradually added to his collection, and began to travel round the country with his menagerie of wild beasts and birds, which soon became by far the largest and anost complete of its kind in the whole country. 1

My father died when I was quite a little boy. It was then that I joined my uncle, and thus began the career I was destined to follow throughout my life—throughout my working life, that is to say. What a queer set it is the travelling showman conies in contact with on the openroad! lien with peepshows, circuses, dancing hears, itinerant jugglers, professional mendicants, quack doctors, roadside preachers, gipsies, fortune tellers, one-man orchestras, pro-, prietors, of roundabouts and cocoanut shies—l had mixed with them all by the time I was ten years old—had talked with them, lived with, them, and become acquainted with the tricks and trials of each man's trade. I suppose I have conversed with a score of "fattest women in the world," and quite three times as many " tallest giants." There was a wonderful sense of comradeship between us all, and we would extend a helping hand willingly and ungrudgingly, whenever want and hardship manifested themselves in the affairs of a fello.vwanderer.

•My uncle was a very shrewd man oi business, ami had the art of attracting people to his show, which is the real key to success in business of this nature. Just before he opened at Ihrtholomcw Fair once during his early days, his only elephant died. There was only one other menagerie present, and the owner of it immediately advertised "The Only Living Elephant In the Fair." My uncle retaliated 1 with a large poster announcing that his own menagerie contained "The Only Dead Ulcphant in the Fair"; and his show was crowded to suffocation, while bis rival's remained practically unvisited. My uncle was very fond of and good to me, and whenever the men were doing their work badly would exclaim, "Get young George to show you the way! He's worth ten ol you! Get my little George—he's the boy!" But life on the open road, sleeping in caravans, living right next to Nature, so to speak, with the sun and stars for company, ia not quite as attractive as it sounds. Try it! These caravans are appallingly unhealthy—baking hot in summer and terribly cold in winter. The food isn't regal, and then you have to get it first. As for the sun" and slurs—well, it is generally wind and rain, and sometimes snow, which may lie pretty to look at. Of course, there is a pretty keen rivalry between shows when they chance to hit upon the same place on tiie same day, and sometimes ugly blows are exchanged between rival factions. On one occasion several shows were making for the fair at Henley at the same time, and just behind us on the road was Hilton's menagerie. Now, we had iby far the .better collection of animals, possessing at that time a giraffe, a rhinoceros, and two elephants, besides the usual complement of lions, tigers, etc.; against which Hilton's could only set an enormous elephant, weighing about three tons. So tliey were pretty jealous of us. 1 can tell you.

A little before Reading, about three o'clock in the morning, when it was still dark, Hilton's men tried to pass us; but as we were ahead, and naturally wanted to be first on the field to secure the best pitch, our men drew across the road in such a way as to prevent them. Hilton's men looked ugly, and suddenly one of them knocked one of the drivers olt his seat with a tent-pole. In a minute all was confusion. Everybody on both sides seized arms—crowbars, whips, and so forth—and then ensued a ■ grand melee. Members of the other I shows, which had been following still farther in the. rear, came up and took sides, and "fattest men" battered "living skeletons" with crowbars; while "giants" and "pigmies" closed in deadlv° combat. Then, to add to the confusion, our elephants broke loose, and the lions set up such a roaring as I had never beard before. Th«e was bloodshed Hint ilav. but we carried it. Many men of both' sides had to be conveyed to Reading hospitals, our great elephantvan was all smashed in, and it was a very sorry lot of performers tha,t was seen at Henley that day, In 18.")() my uncle died, and I set out hopefully with « menagerie of my own. Rut the' expenses conncttcil with a big show of this kind are very heavy indeed, and at first 1 hud a hard struggle to make both ends meet. Travelling from

place to place each day—sometimes a distance of thirty miles—paying my men, feeding the animals—on shins of beef, bullocks' heads, bullocks' hearts, cows, and dead donkeys; once I secured two of these latter in one day at half-a-crown apiece, which, was a i'liid.—together with a great many preliminary cNpenses, made, a big hole in niy pocket; and, in addition to this, I used to find each night that I had been paid ny visitors ipiite a quantity of bad money, which I threw away as useless. Later on I learned to keep a sharp look-out. but, even so, was 'not infrequently imposed 'on. Gradually, however, my show increas-

Ed in size ami importance, anil the lime came 'when 1 would lake as much as .C.120 in one day. Perhaps the most notable event of my whole life was when 1 paid a visit to Windsor, and Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, together with His Majesty—thou young

Prince of Wales—came to see my menagerie. At that time (he chief feature of my collection was a number of lion and tiger cubs, and as soon as Prince Albert saw theni he saiil: "I think Hie Prince would like to nurse, one. Is it quite safe';" Of course, I said " Yes," and handed him one. of the cubs, which lie fondled. Suddenly, however, as he was handing it back, the cub just caught the palm of his hand with one of its claws, and drew a little blood; and T can tell vou T had a pretty big scare-while he bad a pretty big scar. But, luckily, the injury was not by any means sciious, and I was -lot executed, as, in the excitement of the moment, 1 iinagin. Ed T might lie. The possession of a menagerie entails, of course, a great amount of risk ti life and limb, and, (hough one grows wonderfully fond of one's animals, and the animals grow wonderfully fond of their master, they are always liable to

i turn nasty without giving notice. 1 have scores of sears till over my face, hands, body, and head. One of my lingers lias-had tile end clean bitten off by an old black tiger, 1 had been in his cage, anil, mi going out, and closing Hie grill In-hind me, left my lingers inside for a moment. For some reason I can't explain, the beast was on, thein u> a Hash, and got a little bit for himself. A funnier thing—but one Unit might easily have, proved very serious—happened at Paisley, i had put my baud in'.o white hats—one must always be doing something new to attract, then us now —and had got a white, alpaca hat for myself. Xow, I used always to go in the lions' cage bareheaded, ami annuals hate any change. On this oeeasio.i, without thinking, 1 went in with ir.v nice new hat on, and consequently ono of the lions put up his paw, and basln-d it down over my eyes, resenting the Innovation. Then his claws tore out (he front of my waistcoat, and 1 only just managed to nip out in time. That was the last time. 1 ever went into a with my hat on."