Short Story: One Day In The Future

What would Philip Astley, the Father of the Circus, make of today’s animal-free big top? Find out in this timeslip story by Douglas McPherson, which originally appeared in My Weekly. In 1794, flames lit up the night sky. Astley’s Amphitheatre, the greatest hippodrome in London, was ablaze. The streets south of Westminster Bridge were full of smoke and running men. Philip Astley hadn’t seen such chaos since the war against the French, which he’d fought his way through on horseback, sword in hand. At least he’d got all the horses out of the arena, and the people, with no lives lost. The business he’d built for twenty years, he couldn’t save. Choked with smoke and physically spent, England’s greatest showman staggered into a dark lane. He fell against a wall and then to the ground. His world dissolved into blackness. Two-hundred-and-thirty years later, the sun rose over a man laying on the pavement. He opened his eyes and blinked. “Patty?” He grabbed the wrist of the woman leaning over him. “I’m not Patty, sir, I’m Jane – a paramedic.” “The fire!” The man’s eyes appeared to focus. “Where’s Patty?” “What fire is that, sir?” It had been a long shift, but Jane hadn’t heard of any conflagrations in the area. “My amphitheatre! It was ablaze.” “Try to stay still, sir, until I see if you're injured.” Jane put the man at around 50 – twice the age of the typical male she found passed out on a pavement after a party. He’d clearly been to some kind of event. He wore knee-high black boots, white breeches and a short red tunic with rows of gold braid across the front, like a member of a marching band. His clothes and face were smeared with soot and he smelt of smoke. “Can you tell me your name, sir?” “Philip Astley.” “As in the man who invented the circus?” Jane realised his clothes were a circus outfit. “Yes, that’s me,” he said without smiling. “Fancy dress party, was it? So what’s your real name?” “That is my real name!” Brushing aside her protests, he climbed to his feet. He was tall and powerfully built. “Where am I?” “Cornwall Road, Lambeth,” Jane told him. “I don’t recognise these buildings.” Philip’s eyes widened as a car sped past Jane’s ambulance, which was parked on the kerb. “What in the name…? Carriages without horses?” “I think you may have hit your head,” said Jane. “Can you tell me the date?” “The 17th… no, that was yesterday. The 18th of September, 1794.” “Try adding a couple of centuries,” said Jane. “It’s the 18th of September ….2024.” “What nonsense do you speak?” Philip demanded. “Does it look like 1794 to you?” Jane asked. “No.” Philip rubbed his chin. “It does not.” A thunderous rumbling made him spin around. He watched in wonder as a train rolled over a bridge. “Is this witchcraft?” he mused. “But hold on! If this is the future, how would you recognise my name and know of my circus?” “My dad’s a circus fan,” Jane grinned. “And there’s a blue plaque over there.” Philip followed her pointing finger along the pavement. High on the orange brick wall was a blue disc.

ASTLEY’S

Philip and Patty Astley first staged spectacular horse-riding feats nearby in 1768.

Adding acrobats and clowns they created what we know as

CIRCUS

Cupped in the bottom of the circle were the words 250th anniversary 2018. Philip stared at the memorial like a man who had found his own grave. Jane gazed at him and shivered. She’d never believed in ghosts or time travel, but an icy feeling was making her pulse race. Taking out her phone, she looked up Astley’s Wikipedia page. “Sir, what is your date of birth?” “8th of January, 1742,” he answered automatically. “Place of birth?” “Newcastle-under-Lyme.” Jane’s throat tightened as she checked the information. “When did you open your amphitheatre?” “Twenty years ago, in 1773.” “And your riding school before that?” “Just after the war. 1768.” “What regiment did you serve in?” “The Light Dragoons,” Philip snapped. “Why?” Jane thought it was a lot of backstory for a fancy dress party-goer to memorise. But he couldn’t really be Astley, could he? Jane stared queasily at the date Astley’s first amphitheatre had burned down: it would have been last night, 230 years ago. “Do you have any ID on you?” she asked. “ID?” Philip frowned, as if she'd used a foreign word. “Anything in your pockets that might help us… clear this up.” He checked, and Jane prayed he would find a driving licence that would prove he was John Ordinary, born in the 1970s. “Looks like I have just a few farthings to my name.” Jane looked at the coins in his palm. The pavement wobbled beneath her. She was no coin collector, but she knew at a glance that the money was 18th century. “I think we should have a doctor take a look at you,” Jane said carefully. “A ride in your horseless carriage?” Philip flashed a showman’s grin. “If this is a dream, I might as well enjoy it.” Late that afternoon, Philip stood in a hospital gown, staring from an upstairs window at a London he didn’t recognise. The dream that he’d begun to enjoy had long lost its novelty. He wondered impatiently if he would ever wake – and, more worryingly, if he was dreaming at all. The door of his room opened and he turned to see Jane. She’d changed from her paramedic overalls to a jumper and long skirt. “Ah, a visitor to the lunatic asylum.” Amid all the confusion of the day, Jane had been a kindly presence and he was glad to see her again. She reminded him of his darling Patty: a strong, capable woman. When he’d set out his first ring in the open air on Lambeth marsh, Patty had played the drum while he performed tricks on horseback, standing on the galloping animal’s back with his sword brandished aloft. Patty had ridden her own horse in the show – side saddle with no reins and her hands in the air, gloved in two swarms of bees that buzzed around her, to the amazement of the crowd. “It’s not an asylum, it’s a hospital,” Jane gently corrected him. “An asylum is where you think I belong, though, isn’t it?” Philip said grimly. “You all think I’m mad – and perhaps I am.” “Not mad. Maybe confused.” Jane said it without conviction, because it was she who was baffled. “I’ve brought your clothes. Freshly dry cleaned.” She put his tunic, shirt and breeches on the bed. They’d turned out to be not a costume. Not the modern fancy dress type, anyway. A silk label inside the tunic identified its tailor and date of manufacture: 1790. She supposed it could be an antique, but it looked almost new. “The doctor did a DNA test and there’s no record of you anywhere,” Jane said. “You don’t match any missing persons. The address you gave no longer exists.” “Then I’m to be locked up here?” “You’re not a prisoner. You’re free to go at any time,” said Jane, although she wondered where he could go with just a handful of 18th century change. “I’d be better off locked up.” Philip indicated a newspaper he’d been reading. “Out there seems to be the madhouse.” “The doctor recommends you stay here a few days to see if…” Jane stopped herself saying, “... you remember who you really are.” “In the meantime,” she said, “I had an idea, and the doctor agreed it might be worth a try. We wondered if you’d like to go to the circus?” It was a balmy evening, with the sun just setting, as they walked across the heath towards the lights of a red-and-yellow big top. On Jane’s right were her husband and two children. On her left, Philip and her dad, Mike, were locked in lively conversation. She smiled at the sound of the two men getting on so well, as her dad filled Philip in on 250 years of circus history. Mike didn’t believe for a moment that he was talking to the real Philip Astley, but he could talk about the circus for hours with anyone who would listen – and he seldom met anyone who was prepared to! “Look how popular your creation remains!” Mike enthused as they joined the crowd converging on the tent. At the entrance they were met by an usher wearing a similar tunic to Philip’s. “Are you a circus man?” the usher asked. “Indeed I am.” “Which show?” “My own: Philip Astley’s!” “Good one, mate!” The usher laughed. “Enjoy the performance.” They took their seats at ringside and Jane began to doubt her reasoning behind the outing. Would taking Philip to a circus really break his delusion that he invented the entertainment – or might it deepen his belief? And how realistic was her other half-formed hope, that a confused homeless man might find refuge in a business where he thought he belonged? She wondered if he actually had any skills to offer a travelling show. The show began and Jane cast sideways glances at Philip. The lights gleamed in his eyes as he watched transfixed the clowns, tightrope walkers and trapeze artists. “What do you think of it?” she asked between acts. “No horses,” he said, sadly. “But even so…” “Instead of horses, there are bikes!” Mike beamed. They watched a quartet of Chinese girls pedal around the ring, then stand on their saddles – no hands! – the way Astley had stood on horseback centuries before. At the end of the show, the packed audience rose in a standing ovation. Philip thumbed his eyes. “I’m quite overcome. Excuse me. I need a little air.” He left his seat and Jane touched her dad’s arm. “You’d better keep an eye on him.” “Of course.” It took a while for the audience to file out. When Jane and her family emerged on the dark heath, she looked around for her dad and Philip – and saw only her dad. “Where is he?” “I’m sorry, Jane, I lost sight of him.” For the next half hour they searched inside and outside the tent until there was no one left around but the circus staff, none of whom had seen Philip. “He can’t have disappeared,” said Jane’s husband. Trembling in the chill, Jane wondered if he had – as mysteriously as he’d arrived. In the dark grass, something glinted. She picked it up: a bronze farthing. It was the last trace she ever found of the man who thought he was Philip Astley. Philip opened his eyes and blinked in the morning sun. The air stank of smoke, but there was no roar of fire – the inferno must have burnt itself out. A woman leaned over him. “Patty?” “Oh, Philip, you’re all right!” His wife’s face was streaked with tears. “I searched all night and couldn’t find you. I must have walked past this very –” He cut her off by pulling her to him and kissing her lips with a deeper gratitude than he had ever felt before. “I’m back!” His eyes soaked up the familiar buildings. He climbed to his feet. “I had the strangest dream… or was it a vision, a glimpse of a possible tomorrow?” “The amphitheatre is completely destroyed.” Patty’s eyes were empty. “Then we’ll rebuild it! Come, Patty,” he took her hand. “We have history to make.” About to lead her away, the showman paused and frowned. For a moment he thought he’d seen something on a nearby wall. A blue plaque… But no, it was a shadow. Shrugging, he put his free hand into his pocket and was surprised to find a small piece of paper.

He took it out: a ticket. On it was printed: Zippos Circus, 18.09.2024.

A Midsummer Night's Circus - short story

A Midsummer Night's Circus
As it first appeared in My Weekly

With Britain's circuses currently off the road, here's a heart-warming short story to take you back to seasons past, when a gang of young dreamers decide to start a circus in the 1980s...

“A circus, eh?” With face and hands as red as raw meat, the burly butcher stared at Summer Day’s beautifully designed, hand-printed poster. “How many elephants ‘ave you got?”
“I’m afraid we don’t have any elephants.” Summer, a 20-year-old vegetarian, tried not to feel queasy amid the split carcasses hanging from every wall.
A mince-splattered transistor radio in the corner was quietly playing the summer’s big hit, There Must Be An Angel Playing With My Heart by the Eurythmics.
“Oh, that’s a shame.” The butcher’s sausage-like fingers were leaving bloodstained creases on the poster’s edges. “I love the elephants, when Smart’s come to town. Have you got any lions?”
“We don’t actually have any animals,” Summer admitted.
“No animals?” The shopkeeper’s meaty features shifted from disappointment to concern.
“It’s a different sort of circus.” Summer could feel her cheeks becoming as red as his. “A new sort of...”
“Any clowns...?” The butcher asked with little hope.
“Ahem.” Summer pointed two index fingers at herself.
She was wearing bib and brace overalls decorated with multi-coloured patches, a hooped t-shirt and Doc Martin boots spray-painted with metallic purple and silver swirls. Her top hat had a large plastic daffodil sticking out of the band.
The meat vendor looked her up and down and frowned.
“So where’s your red nose?”
Summer sighed as she left the shop. It had been the same story up and down the high street. Although most of the retailers had let her put a poster in their window, their reactions made her wonder why she was spending the holidays promoting a show that defied everyone’s expectations of what a circus should be.
The reason, of course, was Raphael, the dashing, raven-haired English Lit student she’d met at the university’s juggling club. The always inspired and contagiously inspiring Raphael, who had decided to combine his passion for Shakespeare with his new love of circus skills to stage Romeo and Juliet with stilt-walking, fire-eating, a tightrope and clowns.
“Can I be a clown?” she’d heard herself ask, and the moment Raphael’s dark eyes and warm smile turned her way, her fate was sealed.
Oh, Raphael, Raphael! Wherefore art thou, Raphael?
Just the thought of him melted her innards like a Curly-Wurly left in the sun, and brought the skip back to her step as she headed to the park where their tent, a former wedding marquee, stood bedecked with bunting in the sunshine.

Olly was outside, wearing a court jester’s costume as he balanced on a unicycle and juggled with three clubs in a effort to draw attention. None of the passers-by were taking any notice of him.
Still, it was hours until show time, Summer consoled herself. She was sure an audience would come, because Raphael’s idea was such a brilliant one.
“Is Raphael around?” Summer asked, keen to tell him she’d placed all her posters. Maybe it would make him fall in love with her, she thought, giddily.
“Um, not sure.” Olly’s face was strained. Summer thought he sounded worried, but put it down to him trying to keep his balance.
She went into the tent and found it empty apart from its mismatched chairs, standing unevenly on the grass, and the plywood scenery that she’d spent so long carefully painting - picturing Raphael’s sublime features as she applied every stroke.
As well as directing the production, he was starring as Romeo, and Summer doubted that anyone had ever been better cast as Shakespeare’s most famous lover.
Blinking as she re-emerged into sunlight at the back of the tent, she saw the van and minibus that they’d borrowed from uni. The sliding side door of the ‘bus was open and the sound of giggles drew her to it.
At first, she thought there was no one inside. Then she saw a tangle of limbs writhing happily on the back seat. Raphael and Nicole, who played Juliet in the show, were doing a lot more than rehearsing their lines.

“Are you alright, Summer?” Olly asked.
She was sitting alone on a park bench, in the warm, still darkness at the end of the evening. The only light was a pale glow from a nearby streetlamp around which moths fluttered fruitlessly.
She was still wearing her bib and braces and holding her top hat with its plastic flower in her lap.
“Fine.” She looked away from him, her frizz of dark brown curls shading her smudged makeup, as Olly sat down beside her.
For what could she say? Neither Raphael nor Nicole had done anything wrong. There had never been anything between Raphael and Summer except a hope in her heart. But hope, she’d learned, was the most painful thing to lose.
“Beautiful show, wasn’t it?” Olly pulled the ring from a can with a ftt. “Shame no one turned up.”

Back at uni, Summer stopped going to the juggling club, and could offer no real reason when Olly asked her why. Luckily, she, Raphael and Nicole were reading different subjects, so she didn’t have to hang around and watch their relationship unfold. But it still brought her up short, like a punch to the heart, whenever she turned a corner on campus and unexpectedly saw them laughing together or talking closely, so clearly a couple.
For a while, she went out with a boy called Aide, but like a moth she found herself drawn back into Raphael’s orbit.
At a graduation party in a noisy pub, she was surprised to hear Nicole regaling her friends with her plans for a gap year in India - apparently without her Romeo.
“So what have you got planned?” Olly asked Raphael, who was looking distinctly sidelined.
Raphael shuffled his stylish winkle-pickers and looked up shyly from under his black fringe as he said, “I’m thinking of giving the circus a proper go.”
“You’re kidding me?” Olly had a job lined up with a city bank, his juggling days behind him.
“No, I’m serious.” Raphael stood straighter, his chin level. “If I can get a tour of arts festivals I think it could work.”
“Course it will,” said Summer, daring to move closer. “Shakespeare and circus is a brilliant idea.”
He turned, smiling gratefully, as if he hadn’t seen her for a long time. With an inward sigh, Summer wished she hadn’t that very morning accepted a job in Spain, teaching art to primary school children.

It was two years and a broken heart later that Summer found herself back in England. With the job market tougher than she’d expected, she was strolling through the sunny park when she heard shouts and saw the flapping colours of a small circus tent being erected.
With memories of juggling balls bouncing out of her past, she headed towards the small group of longhaired young people struggling with their ropes and poles.
Her heart quickened when she saw a single-decker bus painted like a rainbow, with the words Shakespeare’s Circus emblazoned like graffiti on the side. Then a raven-haired man straightened up from tying a rope, to wipe his glistening brow.
“Raphael!” Summer exclaimed.
Tanned and broad-shouldered from working outdoors, he glanced her way and did a double take.
“Summer!” His beaming face radiated health. “Long time, no see!”
He hugged her, and his muscular manliness left her light-headed.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“Hand to mouth,” he admitted. “Still get ten people a day ask where the elephants are, but we’re getting there.”
“Need any clowns?” Summer asked.
“Got too many!” Raphael laughed.
At that moment, two men and a pole fell to the grass and the far side of the tent collapsed.
Raphael grinned at her and said, “I could use a good designer, though.”

Three years later, the orange and blue-striped big top was set up in the corner of an arts festival field. With Jimmy Sommerville singing You Make Me Feel Mighty Real on the sound system, people were milling around enjoying pre-show drinks and food.
“Summer, can you take over the barbeque a moment?” Raphael called.
“Sure.” But when she reached the smoking grill, the sizzling fat turned her stomach.
“’Scuse me!” Hand over her mouth, Summer dashed for the Portaloos.
“Summer...?” Raphael stared after her.

“So when are you and Summer going to tie the knot?” asked Olly, when the burger queue had died down.
“You can’t keep a woman waiting forever.” Nicole fluttered her hand to show off Olly’s ring.
“It’s alright for you two,” Raphael joked. “You’re both loaded.”
“If only!” Olly laughed, but everyone knew he was making a mint in the city. Nicole, meanwhile, was a successful TV producer.
The previous year, Nicole had made a documentary about Raphael using circus tricks to make Shakespeare accessible to underprivileged communities that wouldn’t normally experience the bard.
Raphael sighed and said, quietly, “Between you and me, we’ve been going through a rough patch. It might be time to call it a day.”
Nicole looked at him curiously, remembering how mildly he’d taken it when they broke up at uni. They’d both been young and flighty then, but she’d come to think he and Summer were much more serious about each other.
“Ah, here comes Summer now,” Olly cut in, too brightly.
Stunned and pale, Summer looked at the three troubled faces.
“Feeling better?” Raphael asked, nervously.
“Fine,” she said, quietly. “I better get changed for the show.”

The next morning, as the cast were taking down the tent, Raphael came up behind Summer and wrapped his arms around her.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
Summer wriggled free.
“I’m just tired, okay?”
“Aren’t we all?” Raphael huffed.
“I have to get something from the shops,” Summer said, without looking at him.
“Whatever.” Raphael headed back to help the others.
As Summer walked into town, her mind replayed for the thousandth time what she’d overheard Raphael tell the others about calling it a day.
He was right, they had lost the magic. They’d been preoccupied, trying to get the grant or sponsorship that would let them give up their part time jobs as supply teachers and run the circus full time. There hadn’t been much time for each other.
But if things were that bad, why hadn’t he said anything? Or was he just plotting his escape, the way that sneaky Miguel had in Spain?
Summer recalled the first time she and Raphael had fallen into each other’s arms, one scented summer night after a show. They hadn’t discussed the future, because it felt so right she’d taken that for granted. Now she wondered whether, to Raphael, their relationship had been just a convenience all along.
At the local chemist, her fingers trembled as she bought a pregnancy test. She knew it was more than a stomach bug that had put her out of sorts for the past week.
Sitting on the edge of a fountain in the town square, not wanting to go back to the circus to face her fate, she wondered what she would do if all her suspicions were correct.

That evening, with the circus packed away, Summer went into their little caravan to find Raphael had laid a table for two. A fine-smelling dinner was on the stove.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked, nervously.
“Take a seat,” Raphael said solemnly. “I need to talk to you.”
Feeling faint, Summer was glad to take the weight off legs that had suddenly gone weak. Her stomach tightened as he sat opposite, his smile tense.
Was this it, then? she wondered. The big break-up speech?
“I know things haven’t been so smooth between us lately,” he began. “And it’s probably my fault. We’ve been so busy trying to get funding...”
Her chest tight, Summer wondered if she should get her news in first. Would knowing she was pregnant change what he was about to say? Knowing Raphael, she reckoned it would. But she didn’t want to live a lie. If he was tired of her, she wanted to know.
“But this isn’t about the circus,” Raphael was saying. “It’s something I’ve been meaning to say for a while. Nicole made me realise I can’t put it off any longer.”
He reached out and took her hand. “Summer, my darling, will you marry me?”
“Marry you?” she spluttered. “I thought you were going to split up with me.”
“Why on earth would I want to do that?”
Tears sprang from Summer’s eyes. “I heard you tell Olly things were rough... you wanted to call it a day.”
“You heard...? I meant the circus!” Raphael protested. “I love what we’re doing, especially taking Shakespeare into schools. But unless we can get proper funding... I don’t want the way we’ve been struggling to come between us.”
“Nothing could ever come between us.” Summer tearfully squeezed his hand in both of hers. “I love the circus as much as you do.”
“Is that a yes, then...?” he grinned, hopefully.
“Of course it’s a yes!” Summer laughed. “And by the way, I have some news, too...”
Before she could finish, their chunky mobile phone rang.
“Hold on a moment... Oh, hi, Olly.” Raphael listened with an increasing look of disbelief, then clicked off the phone and beamed at her.
“Olly’s finally talked his bank into sponsoring us! We can do the circus full time, on a scale like never before!”
For a long time, Raphael talked excitedly about his plans for their next show. Summer watched him happily, full of the admiration and love she’d felt when he first had the idea of staging Shakespeare with circus.
She loved the way it had never been just about him or making money. His motivation had always been finding ways to help other people enjoy and understand the bard’s timeless beauty as much as he did.
Recently, he’d been so down, because it had seemed they’d taken their mission as far as it could go, but suddenly it was like a weight had been taken off his back and he was flying again.
Summer’s heart soared with him.
Eventually, Raphael said, “So what were you about to say?”
Summer blushed and said coyly, “Only that if we’re going to get married, perhaps we should do it sooner rather than later.”
Perplexed, his eyes flicked from her face to the hand on her belly, then the penny dropped.
“You’re not...?”
She nodded, smiling.
Raphael raised his eyes and spread his arms to the heavens as he declared, “Oh, the news just gets better!”
They both stood and she melted into his arms as he kissed her passionately.
“This calls for a toast!” Raphael pulled a champagne bottle from the fridge and popped the cork off the caravan’s ceiling. “To you! And to us!”
“And to Olly,” Summer reminded him.
“And to Olly, of course. It’s good of him to remember his old friends isn’t it?”
“It’s not just the sponsorship,” Summer grinned. “Didn’t he ever tell you? He only took me along to the juggling club in the first place in the hope that I’d distract you from Nicole!”
Raphael laughed and raised his glass. “In that case, here’s to Olly! And here’s to Shakespeare’s Circus!”

A Midsummer Night's Circus first appeared in the popular women's magazine My Weekly. If you've ever fancied writing for the women's magazine market, try my ebook How To Write and Sell Fiction to Magazines. Click here to buy it from Amazon.

If you're in the mood for another circus story, click here to read Murder at the Circus.



   

Animal rights activist goes undercover at the circus

What happens when an animal rights activist goes undercover at the circus? Find out in The Lion's Den, one of three romantic adventures in The Fairground Girl and Other Attractions by Julia Douglas - a perfect read to download to your e-reader this Christmas.

Here's an exclusive extract...

It was love at first sight - for Charlotte, anyway. What the lion was thinking, she had no idea.

A printed sign tied to the wire mesh identified him as Sphinx, and he sat as proud, still and beautiful as the ancient Egyptian monument after which he was named - head up, forepaws gracefully crossed in front of him, in the exact centre of the cage.

It was a chilly evening. Charlotte was glad of her cable-knit tights and the sheepskin coat that had been a real find in the charity shop. But Sphinx, so far from his African home, seemed oblivious to the damp English wind that stirred ocean-like waves in his luxuriant mane. He appeared oblivious, too, of his harem of four lionesses, lounging and washing themselves in the shadowy far corners of the enclosure.

Charlotte wondered if he was aware of her, or the other circus goers - mums and kids who had paid an extra 50p to gawp at the show’s ‘performers’ in a shanty town of pens and tents behind the big top.
If Sphinx was aware, he feigned regal indifference.

Charlotte moved closer, her tied-back copper hair a righteous blaze in the sunset, and dared to touch the cold mesh. She imagined the lion dreaming of the open veldt, its horizons shimmering in the heat haze, with no cruel humans in sight.

That’s where you should be, Charlotte thought, angrily. Not caged among these throbbing generators, caravans and lorries. Not forced to earn your dinner by jumping through hoops.

It was the 1980s, for heavens sake, not the 1890s when people knew no better.

Her pulse quickening, Charlotte glanced around for a door to the enclosure. She’d set him free this minute if she could.

Not that she would dare, with all the families around. She didn’t want anyone hurt, no matter how misguided they were in paying to see an ‘entertainment’ that made slaves of creatures as noble as Sphinx.

She forced herself to be calm. There was a longer game to play.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?”

Charlotte jumped at the sound of a man’s voice, close behind her. She spun around and found herself staring at the broad chest of Guy Starr, the circus owner.

Want to read more? Click here to buy The Fairground Girl and Other Attractions - three stories of women in unique worlds on the fringes of entertainment.

In The Fairground Girl, Beatrice falls pregnant by fairground worker Eddie and runs away to join his world in the rock'n'roll years of the 1950s.

In The Lion's Den, animal rights activist Charlotte goes undercover to expose cruelty at the circus and finds herself torn between two men and two ideologies.

In Blue Eyes and Heels, Angel fights for equality in the world of professional wrestling.

Read all three adventures in The Fairground Girl and Other Attractions.

When Emily ran away with the circus

If you're looking for a circus adventure to curl up with this Christmas, try downloading The Showman's Girl by Julia Douglas to your Kindle or other e-reader, or pick up the large print paperback at your local library. 

Here's how the adventure begins...

It was ten in the morning, on the first of May, 1932, and the circus on the common was just coming to life. In the roped-off paddocks, horses snorted in the morning sun. In makeshift runs beside ornately carved and painted caravans doves and chickens cooed and clucked. From nearby tents, more exotic animal noises carried on the air: the low, raspy yawn of a lion, and the trumpet of an elephant’s reply.

They found Adam Strand, the circus owner,
in the big top...

Thirteen-year-old Emily Brooke had come to know the sounds and animal smells of the circus well, and its sights, too: gleaming motor lorries and horse-drawn goods wagons, each emblazoned with the

name of Strand’s Grand Circus; simmering, shimmering traction engines that provided electricity; the doll-like circus women, in their silk dressing gowns and headscarves, hanging tiny costumes on washing lines; the men in their vests, painting pieces of scenery or repairing props.

This morning, though, as she hurried across the rough grass, trying to keep up with the long, confident strides of Molly Malone, the elephant trainer, Emily scarcely noticed her surroundings. Her insides were too tied up with nerves.

They found Adam Strand, the circus owner, in the big top. The side panels were rolled aside, like curtains, to let some air under the towering roof, and as Emily’s eyes adjusted to the strange half-light beneath the canvas, the sight of the tall, imposing showman made her catch her breath.

Want to read more? Download The Showman's Girl by Julia Douglas

Dalekmania meets Circus Mania!

What have the Daleks got to do with the circus? Not a lot, except that while I wondering what to call my circus book I found myself gazing across the office at my Dalekmania calendar, and suddenly it came to me: Circus Mania!

I’ve also written a short story set in the era of Dalekmania. It’s called My Dalek Days - a Dr Who-dunnit on a film set in the swinging 60s. It’s was originally published in My Weekly and you can click here to read it. (From behind the sofa if you wish...)

Murder at the Circus!

The Blue Rinse Brigade
Four harmless old ladies.
Four thrilling adventures.

About the time I started writing Circus Mania, I also began writing a series of comic crime capers for women's magazine My Weekly.

The stories feature four harmless-looking old ladies who each have a colourful past. 81-year-old Evelyn is a former police chief inspector who led the murder squad at Scotland Yard; 80-year-old Pam is a retired pathologist and army medic; 75-year-old Jane was a spy in the Cold War; and 90-year-old Maude was a code-breaker in World War Two.

Undaunted by age, the fearless foursome use their years of experience and unique skills to take on an increasingly outlandish parade of villains from crazed circus stars to psychotic pirates, while Evelyn's long-suffering son-in-law, Inspector Mervyn Pickles, can only roll his eyes in horror.

Four of the ladies' adventures are now available to download in a single collection, The Blue Rinse Brigade, exclusively from the Kindle Store for just £1.98.

You can also read their big top mystery, Murder at the Circus, free of charge, right here on the blog, by clicking here.

Murder at the Circus
as it originally appeared in
My Weekly

Murder at the Circus

Part 3
by Douglas McPherson

A serial killer is stalking the circus and an arsonist is on the loose. Can the four fiesty ladies of the Blue Rinse Brigade catch the killer? Find out in the final part of my three-part comedy crime caper which first appeared in My Weekly. (If you missed Parts 1 and 2, just scroll down the blog and find them below).

Murder at the Circus as it originally appeared
in My Weekly

Big Ted Telford came running across the green with the two constables Mervyn had left on duty while he went back to the station to interview Tommy the Clown.
"Shall we call the fire brigade?" asked one of the officers, waving aside the smoke.
"Bit late for that," said Evelyn as she set a fire extinguisher down on the grass. "But nice of you to stroll over and say hello."
"If it hadn’t been for these ladies, I’d have been burnt alive," said the girl who had been serving in the hotdog wagon.
Ted gazed at the badly blackened back of the otherwise intact wagon and said, "If the fire had reached those gas cylinders it would have wiped out half the circus."
"I think that was the intention," said Pam. She pointed her walking stick at a paraffin can casually discarded next to the remains of some hay bales that had formed the seat of the fire. "This was deliberate."
A little way off, Jane used a pair of eyebrow tweezers to pick up a matchbox. "It looks like the arsonist went this way."
"Heading for the caravans," Evelyn deduced. "I reckon whoever sawed through Tamsin’s tight-wire realised their plan had been foiled and stayed around to wreck more havoc."
"Which means they could strike again," Maude said, darkly.
"Agreed," said Evelyn. Turning to Ted, she asked, "Are there any particularly dangerous stunts in the second half of the show?"
"Well, there’s the knife-throwing, Marko catching a bullet in his teeth, Luigi juggling with chainsaws... nothing out of the ordinary."
"You’d better warn the performers to be on their guard for another attack," said Evelyn. "Maude, you’re needed as the plant for Tony’s gorilla routine, so you can keep an eye on things ringside. Pam, cover the backstage area. Jane and I will search around the lorries and caravans for clues to where our saboteur may be hiding.
"As for you two," the former Chief Inspector pointed at the constables, "Guard the main entrance to the big top - and if anything happens, try to react a bit quicker this time."
"Yes ma’am!" One of the officers saluted.
........................................
"The killer must be someone who knows their way around the circus," said Evelyn, as she and Jane perused the vehicles that encircled the big top. "Always watching and able to slip away unseen. But where can they be hiding?"
"Over here!" Jane hissed, suddenly. She pointed to a wet handprint on a caravan door and mouthed: "Paraffin!"
They checked the windows, but the blinds were down.
"Shall we call for back up?" Jane whispered.
"From Pinky and Perky back there?" Evelyn scorned. "I think we can handle this. Cover me."
Jane drew her miniature pistol and Evelyn rapped loudly on the door. "Open up! We‘ve got you surrounded!"
There was no sound from inside the caravan.
"Looks like nobody’s home," said Evelyn, "Shall we take a look inside?"
"Allow me," said Jane. Taking a hairclip from her blue rinsed ‘do, the former spy poked it into the lock and sprung the simple mechanism.
Inside, they found just the normal signs of recent habitation: the remains of a meal on the worktop, some clothes on the bed.
"Well, there’s no sign of... Eeeek!"
Having idly opened a wardrobe door, Jane jumped back as a young man fell forward and crashed full length on the floor.
"Is he...?" Jane asked shakily.
Evelyn nodded grimly and pointed to a flash of glittery nylon wound tightly around the man’s neck: "Strangled with a pair of circus tights."
"But who is he, and who’d want to kill him?"
Evelyn noticed a brightly illustrated circus poster on the wall and said, "My guess is someone wanted to steal his identity."
..........................................

For more adventures
of Evleyn, Pam, Jane
and Maude,
download new ebook
The Blue Rinse Brigade
from the
Kindle Store

The backstage area was hectic, with brightly costumed performers coming and going from the ring.
"Where’s the Masked Assassin?" Helga shouted above the music coming through the sparkly curtain.
"The Masked Assassin?" Pam asked, dubiously.
"He shoots the bullet I catch in my mouth," explained Marko the Magician, who was checking the mechanism of a powerful rifle.
"That doesn’t look like a fake gun," Pam observed.
"It’s real!" Marko said proudly. "The trick is he aims past my head, at a sandbag concealed in the wings, and I produce another bullet from under my tongue."
He grinned, and was suddenly holding a bullet between his teeth.
"He fires that rifle straight past you?" Pam marvelled. "You must trust him like a brother."
"He is my brother," said Marko.
At that moment, the rear tent flap was thrust aside by a sinister looking figure, clad in a long black trench coat and slouch hat. His ‘face’ was a featureless black satin mask.
"And about time," snapped Helga.
Ignoring the ring-mistress, the Assassin strode towards Marko and reached out with leather gloved hands to take the rifle.
"Don’t give it to him!" Evelyn shouted, as she and Jane burst into the tent.
As the Assassin spun around in surprise, Jane covered him with her pistol and Evelyn yelled, "Grab him Chewbacca!"
Still dressed in his gorilla suit, Tony wrapped his arms around the Assassin from behind.
"Get your paws off me!" came a muffled hiss from behind the mask. But although the trench-coated figure squirmed and struggled, the self-defence instructor’s grip was unbreakable.
"Now let‘s see who the circus murderer really is," said Evelyn.
Tugging off the Assassin’s hat and mask, Evelyn stepped back in surprise as she revealed the red with rage face of a woman in her 60s.
"Cora!" Ted exclaimed. "I thought you’d joined Zippos!"
"What as?" Cora snarled, "A 65-year-old trapeze artist? Not that you cared what happened to me as long as I was out of the way and you could shack up with this harlot!"
"How dare you!" exclaimed Helga.
"And how dare the lot of you steal my circus!"
"It’s my circus," Ted corrected.
"What do you know about circuses?" Cora raged. "It might have your name on it, Elvis, but it should bear the name of this country’s finest circus family, The Flying Flynns!"
"You had a generous divorce settlement," Ted mumbled.
"But where’s my brother?" Marko asked, confused.
"Gone to that great curtain call in the sky!" Cora spat unrepentantly. "Just as I’d have picked off the rest of you, one by one, if it wasn’t for these geriatric crime-busters!"
"You killed my brother?" Marko stammered. Suddenly he began stuffing bullets in his rifle. "Then I’ll kill you!"
"Stop him!" Evelyn commanded. "The law will take care of Cora."
As Helga and Tamsin tried to wrest the rifle from Marko, it went off and shot a hole in the canvas roof.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Cora stamped on Tony’s foot and elbowed herself out of his embrace.
"Sorry I can’t stick around for the rest of the show," she said, "But I promise I’ll be back!"
"You’re not going anywhere!" said Ted.
The grey-haired Teddy Boy grabbed the lapel of his ex-wife’s coat. But with an acrobat’s ease, Cora slipped out of the coat and left him holding the empty garment.
Underneath, she was wearing her old trapeze costume.
"Yes, it still fits!" Cora crowed. "And I can still do this!"
With a high kick worthy of a can-can dancer, Cora booted the pistol out of Jane’s hand. It went off with a loud bang and shot another hole through the roof.
Turning on her heel, Cora darted through the sparkly curtain towards the ring.
"After her, Galen!" said Evelyn.
In the spotlight, Luigi almost dropped the dumbbell he was holding, but the audience cheered as Cora ran across the ring chased by a gorilla.
Evelyn pulled a whistle from her bag and blew it loudly, causing the two constables to join the affray and try to block Cora‘s escape.
Around the edge of the ring were four metal pillars that held the tent up. Each was made from criss-crossed steel, like a crane.
Nimbly evading the police, Cora dashed towards one of the pillars and began climbing it, hand over hand.
Tony, in his gorilla costume, began scaling it behind her.
"He’s gaining on her!" Jane cheered.
Just out of Tony‘s reach, Cora came to a rope coiled around the pillar. The audience let out an admiring "Oooooh!" as she uncoiled the rope and swung diagonally across the ring.
There was applause as she leapt off the rope and landed with a loud clang on another pillar.
"Follow that, monkey boy!" Cora taunted.
As the rope swung back, Tony made a grab for it, missed and lost his footing. The crowd gasped as he hugged the pillar for dear life.
Cora, meanwhile continued climbing, past the spotlights into the murky heights of the roof.
"Where’s she going?" asked Jane.
Evelyn shaded her eyes against the spotlights and made out a faint ring of light around the top of the pillar where it poked through the canvas into the evening sky.
"She’s going onto the roof!" Evelyn shouted. "Everyone outside!"
Evelyn, Pam and Jane rushed towards the tent flaps as fast as their joints - collective age 236 - would carry them.
Backing against a caravan, they and the rest of the cast squinted up at the huge dome of the big top, which was silhouetted like a mountain against the sunset.
"There she is!" said Pam, as a tiny figured shinned up one of the four columns that poked through the roof of the tent, each topped with a flag.
"And there she goes!" said Evelyn, as the silhouetted figure disappeared over the central ridge.
"I’ll get her!" Helga sprinted off around the perimeter of the tent.
"I‘ll come with you!" said Tamsin.
"Me too!" said Ted.
In the meantime, a second, hairier silhouette emerged on the roof.
"It’s Tony!" Jane cheered.
On the sunny side of the big top, Cora sat on the canvas and whooshed down the steeply sloped roof as if on a toboggan.
At the bottom of the slope, she rolled athletically over the edge and dropped the final six feet, feet first into a clown car waiting below.
As Cora started the car, the noise was drowned by a protracted "Waaaaaaagh!" as a gorilla came slithering and rolling down the slope of the tent in a much less graceful manner.
Unprepared for the drop at the bottom, Tony flew straight off the edge and landed face first in a heap of straw that had recently been mucked out of the horses’ paddock.
Having no idea what was happening on the other side of the tent, Jane suddenly said, "There she is!"
As the Blue Rinse Brigade watched powerlessly, Cora came into view around the edge of the big top, driving a spluttering and bouncing clown car that sporadically let out a fire cracker bang from the exhaust pipe, accompanied by several clangs as various doors and mudguards fell off onto the grass.
Despite its condition, the car was moving remarkably quickly.
As it bumped away, heading for the edge of the green, it was followed by a straw-covered gorilla on a wobbly bicycle, which was in turn being chased by the leggy shapes of Helga and Tamsin in their circus tights.
A grey-haired aging Teddy Boy followed them, angrily shaking his fists, and two policemen brought up the rear, waving their truncheons.
"If only Mervyn was here to see this," Evelyn breathed.
"I’ve just called him," boomed Maude, who had finally emerged from the tent. "By the way, do you think she’s forgotten this?"
Maude was holding a remote control handset with a long, floppy aerial. She began thumbing the controls and the clown car abruptly veered away from the edge of the green.
For a moment, the car appeared to be on a collision course with the box office wagon, then it swerved away once more.
"Ah, I’m getting the hang of it now," said Maude.
As Cora wrestled uselessly with the steering wheel, and Tony and the other pursuers tried to keep up with the constant changes of direction, the little car settled into a wide arc that brought it trundling back the big top.
With a final shudder and bang, the brightly coloured vehicle came to an obedient halt right in front of the four ladies of the Blue Rinse Brigade.
"Nice driving," said Pam, clapping Maude on the back.
"It seems all those Sunday mornings playing with my great-granddaughter’s boats in the park finally paid off," Maude smiled.
"Give me that!" Cora made a grab for the handset, but Jane levelled her pistol and stopped the trapeze artist in her tracks with a stern, "Not this time."
"That was quite a performance," said Evelyn, "But you can save your encore for the judge."
............................................

After the formalities had been completed at the police station, Ted invited everyone back to the big top for a much needed drink.
Evelyn watched fondly as Tamsin threw her arms around Tommy the Clown, who had been released without charge.
"I tried to tell them I wasn’t doing a runner," he explained. "I was chasing a suspicious looking woman dressed as a fortune teller. But you know what the Old Bill’s like - they didn’t believe a word I said."
Mervyn blushed and cleared his throat, awkwardly. "Well you must admit, sir, it seemed an unlikely story at the time."
Ted clinked his glass with Helga and said, "I can’t believe Cora went so psycho... although she was always a bit fiery."
Helga slipped her arm around the showman’s waist and said, huskily, "I thought that’s how you like your women."
Noticing Tony glancing wistfully from Tamsin to Helga, Evelyn said, "Well, Kong, you may not have got the girl, but I’m sure that after your performance today there’s a job for you on the circus anytime you want it."
"I‘ve had enough monkey business for one lifetime..." Tony began.
But the electric blue sleeve of a Teddy Boy jacket was suddenly draped around his shoulders.
"I’ve been thinking," Ted began, "We should recreate that chase every night. The audience would love it...!"
As Ted moved away, with an arm each around Tony and Helga, making plans for the show, Mervyn sidled up to Evelyn, Jane, Pam and Maude with a sheepish expression on his face.
Evelyn gave her son-in-law a triumphant look and said, "Have you come to apologise for once again doubting our ability to assist in the fight against crime?"
"Well, the thing is," Mervyn began, "I thought Cora would turn out to be responsible for those cat burglaries the circus was accused of. But it seems I was wrong again. So I was wondering..."
Evelyn exchanged a look with her friends and said, "It sounds to me like another case for the Blue Rinse Brigade."
...............................................

For more adventures of Evelyn, Pam, Jane and Maude, download new ebook The Blue Rinse Brigade from the Kindle Store.

For more circus fiction visit Polka Dot Dreams

Murder at the Circus

Part 2

by Douglas McPherson


A clown has met a sticky end and a serial killer is stalking the circus. In the second part of this comedy crime caper, which first appeared in My Weekly, can former police chief Evelyn and her doughty friends in the Blue Rinse Brigade catch the villain and save the day? (If you missed Part One, scroll down to find it below)

Murder at the Circus as it originally
appeared in My Weekly

The drums rolled, the music struck up and spotlights spun around the inside of the big top as six leggy dancing girls, clad in feathers and sequins, skipped into the circus ring for the opening spectacle.
While the dancers flashed their toothy grins, Luigi the strongman stood in the spotlight and ripped a telephone directory in half.
Backstage, there was just as much of a performance in progress.
Amid the jostling circus stars waiting to take their turn in the ring, former police chief Evelyn, retired pathologist Pam, former spy Jane, wartime codebreaker Maude and self-defence instructor Tony examined the split in the tight-wire used by Evelyn’s granddaughter, Tamsin.
"That saw cut looks like the work of someone who knew what they were doing," said Pam. "My guess is it would have only broke when Tamsin was half way across."
"Sabotage!" said Helga, an Amazonian blonde dressed in the red tailcoat, top hat and black tights of a ring-mistress.
"This isn’t sabotage," Evelyn declared, "It’s attempted murder."
"But who would do such a thing?" The gravel-voiced speaker was the aptly named Big Ted Telford, the circus owner. He was a big, grizzled man with a grey quiff, wearing an electric blue Teddy Boy jacket with a black velvet lapel.
"It was probably the same person who dropped a kitbag of cement on Rory the Clown, earlier," said Evelyn.
"Then that proves Tommy wasn‘t the murderer," said Tamsin, who was wearing a skimpy, yellow sequined costume, ready for the ring. "He might have fallen out with Rory, but he’d never do anything to harm me."
"Who else had access to your equipment?" asked Evelyn.
"It could have been anyone on the show," Tamsin shrugged. "I just left it here with all the other props."
As if to confirm the constant to-ing and fro-ing through the backstage area, the music grew briefly louder as Luigi’s muscle-bound torso emerged through the sparkly curtain from the ring. Two evening-suited magicians ducked past him to take their turn in the spotlight.
"It must be the Varneys!" Helga said, fiercely. "Messing around with our equipment so we start blaming each other."
"The Varneys?" Jane enquired.
"A rival circus," Ted explained. "They’re in the next town and they’re always trying to spoil our business."
He took the half-sawn-through tight-wire from Evelyn’s gloved hands. "But I can’t believe even the Varneys would stoop to this."
"I wouldn’t put it past them," Helga said darkly.
"Either that or it was someone closer to home," said Evelyn.
"More to the point," Helga addressed Tamsin, "Have you got another wire?"
"In my caravan."
"Then go and get it," Helga snapped. "The show must go on, and you’re on after me."
"Are you sure you’ll be alright up there after the shock you’ve had?" Evelyn asked her granddaughter.
Tamsin hesitated, her eyes wide with fear. But Ted said, "Helga’s right. We’ve already lost the clowns, we can’t afford to drop another act from the show."
"Don’t worry," Tamsin reassured her grandmother, "I’ll be alright."
"That‘s my girl," Evelyn said proudly. "As you can see, Pam, a stiff upper lip runs in the family."
As Tamsin hurried off, Evelyn turned to Ted.
"If you’re running short of performers, Mr Telford, I may be able to help you."
Ted gave her a dubious look. "What do you do, ride a unicycle?"
"We form a human pyramid," boomed the 91-year-old Maude, straight-faced, from where she was sitting on a plastic chair nearby.
"Not us!" Evelyn said, hastily. "Tony here is the funniest clown since Charlie Cairoli."
Tony dropped his candyfloss and turned to Evelyn with his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
"See what I mean?" said Evelyn, "Perfect comic timing! If you’ve got a spare costume he can start straightaway."
"Now hang on a -"
Before Tony could complete the sentence, Evelyn said, "This is no time for false modesty, Coco. The circus is in trouble and we must all rise to the occasion."
Ted didn’t look convinced but said, "I suppose I could try you out with the old escaped gorilla routine."
"The old escaped...?"
Evelyn put her heel onto Tony’s trainer and sank her weight onto it, causing him to whoop like an ape: "Oow, oow, oow, oow!"
"The escaped gorilla routine is his speciality," Evelyn smiled.
"Oh, I saw that at Bertram Mills in the 30s," Maude put in, brightly. "I could be a plant in the audience and you can pretend to steal my handbag."
"Perfect!" said Evelyn
"Alright then," said Ted. "You can have Rory’s gorilla suit and I’ll put you on in the second half. Helga can be the straight woman and you can work out the details between you in the interval."
Helga rolled her eyes and grumbled, "As if I’m not doing enough in the show with the hula hoops and the sword-swallowing!"
"That’s because you’re the star," Ted mollified her. "The public can’t see enough of you."
Tony, meanwhile, suddenly looked a little keener at the prospect of teaming up with Helga. She was quite a looker, even if her face was far from friendly.
"By the way," he asked, "What happened to your last clown?"
"Oh, didn’t anyone tell you?" Pam said breezily. "He was murdered."
.......................................

As the music from the big top wafted on the balmy evening air, Big Ted ducked under the police tape that surrounded Rory the Clown’s caravan.
Evelyn followed him, a little more stiffly. As she straightened up, she took a closer look at the circus boss.
"Didn’t you used to be a singer?"
The grey-quiffed showman smiled for the first time since she had met him.
"Big Ted & The Teddy Boys," he confirmed. "We had a few hits in the 60s... although everyone mixes us up with Showaddywaddy."
"What made you run away with the circus?"
"Blame my ex-wife. She was a trapeze artist. The rock’n’roll was drying up a bit, so I thought I’d give it a go. As it turned out, the circus thrived but the marriage didn’t."
"And you got custody of the big top?" Evelyn surmised.
Ted nodded. "Cora didn’t think I’d be able to make a go of it without her, but I leave a lot of the day-to-day management to Helga. She cracks the whip a bit with the performers, but she knows the business inside out."
Following Evelyn and Ted past the lorries and throbbing generators that circled the big top, Jane slowed Tony down so she could whisper to him without being overheard.
"It’s what we call a honey trap - and you’re the honey. Use your charm to get as pally with Helga as you can. Find out all the show‘s secrets, one artiste to another. Think you can handle it?"
Tony thought of Helga‘s statuesque figure and said, "I‘m starting to look forward to it."
Ted let them into Rory’s caravan and said, "The police have taken a lot of his personal things away, but luckily they left his costumes."
Ted held the furry gorilla suit up to Tony and looked a little misty eyed as he said, "Rory would have wanted it to go to a good home.
"You‘ll need this, too." Ted shoved an outsize handbag into Tony’s arms and said, "The washing line’s inside."
"Washing line...?" Tony was baffled.
"For when you rummage through the contents."
Ted reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of polka dot bloomers that would have fitted an elephant. They were attached to a washing line with a pair of stripy socks, an enormous bra and a whole series of other comedy underwear hanging from it.
"Are you sure you’ve done this before?" Ted frowned.
"He’s just a little rusty," Evelyn cut in. "He spent the last two years on the Chinese State Circus and they speak a completely different language."
Turning to Tony, she said, "Why don’t you put it on outside. You’ll have more room to practise your monkey moves."
When Tony was gone, Evelyn gazed around the interior of the caravan, looking for insights into the life of the man who had lived there.
"What was Rory like?" she asked, casually.
Ted smiled, fondly. "Trouble Brothers was about right. They were a right pair of tearaways, Rory and Tommy both. But he was a good lad. It was never more than youthful pranks."
"What sort of pranks?" asked Evelyn
"Well, like I said, there’s always been a bit of antagonism between us and the Varneys - papering over each other’s posters and things like that. If ever anything like that was going on you can bet Tommy or Rory were involved."
With a chuckle, Ted added, "We’ve had a few jealous husbands looking for them as well. Rory in particular was a bit of a ladies man."
Evelyn and Jane exchanged a look. Evelyn said, "Were they ever in more serious trouble? Anything the police might be interested in?"
Ted looked shifty. "What makes you ask that?"
"I just wondered if there was anything Tommy wouldn’t have wanted to be questioned about? Anything, other than the obvious, that may have made him flee the scene of the crime?"
Ted glanced from Evelyn to Jane, then admitted, "We had the Old Bill sniffing around recently. There were some cat burglaries in the last town and some bright spark had the idea it might have been circus performers. You know, people good with heights and ropes.
"But I can’t believe Rory and Tommy would be involved in anything like that. I put it down to a malicious tip-off by someone trying to blacken our name."
"The Varneys?" Evelyn guessed.
Ted nodded. "Although the bad blood was really between the Varneys and my ex-wife’s family, the Flynns - two old circus families who’ve been at each other’s throats since the 20s. Since I split with Cora I thought all the trouble had died down."
"How long have you been divorced?" asked Jane.
"A year ago today. This would have been our 30th anniversary."
Evelyn‘s eyebrows shot up. "What went wrong after all those years?"
Ted looked sheepishly down at his blue suede shoes. "Er, that was when Helga and I discovered our love for each other."
At that moment, the James Bond signature tune filled the caravan. Jane pulled out her iPhone and went outside to take the call.
"I think the tension is starting to take its toll on the performers," boomed Maude, who was stationed backstage. "The Hungarian tumblers have just come out of the ring arguing furiously with each other."
"What about?"
"No idea," Maude said dryly, "Hungarian isn’t one of the six languages I speak.
"But we did notice Marko the Magician exchanging dark whispers with his assistant. Pam’s followed them to see if she can earwig anything pertinent to the investigation."
"Good move," said Jane.
As Jane put her phone away, Evelyn came out of the caravan and cast a critical eye over the six-foot gorilla cavorting rather unconvincingly nearby.
"Can’t you act a bit more ape-like?" Evelyn asked.
His voice muffled by his mask, Tony said, "I feel like a narner, to be honest."
"Well that‘s a start," said Jane. Reaching into her handbag, she offered him the banana she’d been saving as a snack.
.............................................
Bang! Bang! Bang! As Ted locked Rory’s caravan, three loud reports cut through the music coming from the big top.
"Gunshots!" Jane drew her pistol, ready for action.
"I don’t suppose it’s part of the show?" Evelyn asked, without much hope.
"Not as far as I know," said Ted.
As the foursome hurried towards the backstage area, the source of the bangs suddenly became clear.
A spluttering, backfiring vintage car was racing around the perimeter of the tent and heading straight for them. It had an open top, brightly coloured paintwork... and no driver!
"Evasive action!" Evelyn commanded.
As she spoke, the rickety little car veered to one side of its own accord, crashed through the police tape and came to a halt with a clang against the corner of Rory’s caravan.
Luigi the strongman came running around the tent behind the car. He was holding a remote control handset with a long, floppy aerial.
"Sorry boss!" he panted. "I thought we could still use-a the clown car without-a the clowns."
"Not until you’ve had more practise," Ted said darkly. "We’ve had enough fatalities for one day."
"Luigi!" snapped Helga, running up behind the muscleman, "Put that car back where you found it!"
Luigi fiddled with the remote control and the little car backfired as it reversed away from the caravan, just missing one of the guy ropes that held up the big top.
"Give that to me!" Helga snatched the handset from the muscleman’s grip. "Just drive it normally, before you cause any more damage."
As Luigi got into the car, muttering like a scolded child, Helga pointed her whip at Tony and said, "As for you, Cheetah, we’ve got fifteen minutes to work out an act. Quick march!"
As Helga stalked off, with Tony lumbering behind her in his gorilla suit, Ted let out a loving sigh. "I love it when she takes charge."
............................................
While Helga put Tony through his paces, Evelyn, Pam, Jane and Maude convened for interval teas at a table near the hotdog wagon.
"Unfortunately they don’t sell biscuits," said Evelyn as she set down the tray of plastic cups.
Like a conjurer, Maude reached into her bag and produced a packet of Hobnobs.
"Never go on a mission unprepared," she intoned.
As all hands reached for a sugary fix, Evelyn called the meeting to order.
"So what have we got?"
"If Marko the Magician can be believed, Helga has to be among the suspects," said Pam. "The other performers don’t like her because she rules them with a rod of iron. And because she’s thirty years the boss’ junior, some of them think she’s only with him to get her hands in the till.
"Marko overheard Rory accuse her of just that and reckons Helga dropped the kitbag on him to shut him up."
"She certainly looks ruthless enough," said Jane.
"But it wouldn’t explain her cutting through Tamsin’s tight-wire," said Evelyn.
"Perhaps Helga was jealous of her," Jane ventured. "After all, Tamsin’s one of the rising stars and Helga likes to be queen bee."
Evelyn rubbed her chin and said, "Something doesn’t smell right."
Pam sniffed the air. "Actually, something about those hotdogs doesn’t smell too good."
"Smells like they’re burning to me..." Maude boomed.
Four blue rinsed heads turned in puzzlement. Their mouths dropped open in horror as they saw an enormous plume of black smoke rising into the air. The girl serving clearly hadn’t noticed, but the back of the hotdog wagon was on fire!

Next week: What other disasters await the circus? And can our plucky heroines catch the felon responsible?

Click here to read the next thrilling installment!

For more adventures of Evelyn, Pam, Jane and Maude, download the new ebook The Blue Rinse Brigade from the Kindle Store.

MURDER AT THE CIRCUS!

Part 1

by Douglas McPherson

Roll up, roll up as ex-detective Evelyn and her fearless friends return for another thrilling adventure.

Murder at the Circus
as it originally appeared in My Weekly

"It’s murder!" Boomed Maude.
"Are you certain?" asked Jane.
"Positive. Six letters, third letter ‘r’, couldn’t be anything else."
There were advantages to having a friend who had been a code-breaker in World War Two, thought Jane, as she filled in the cryptic crossword.
Mind you, it was handy having been a spy in the Cold War herself, she reflected, as she completed 13 Down: E-S-P-I-O-N-A-G-E.
As Maude turned back to her own newspaper, the peace of her sunny conservatory was disturbed by the sound of her mobile phone ringing with the theme song from Dad‘s Army.
She had the sound turned up to maximum because at 91 she was more than a little deaf. But she had no trouble recognising the ever crisp tones of her friend, the former Scotland Yard detective Evelyn Winstanley-Hughs.
"How do you fancy a trip to the circus?" Evelyn asked without preamble.
"Sounds fun," said Maude. "What time does the show start?"
"As soon as we get there. A clown’s been murdered in front of 500 witnesses and Mervyn’s arrested the wrong man!"

...................................


Evelyn’s maroon and cream Citroen 2CV was at Maude’s door within five minutes.
"We’ll rendezvous with Pam in the high street," said Evelyn, as she pulled away. "Ah, there she is, right on time!"
Mentally back in her youth, as the first woman leader of the Met’s Rapid Response Unit in the 1970s, Evelyn swung her rickety little car up to the kerb just as retired army medic and police pathologist Pam Saunders stepped out of the Dye Hard hairdressers with her freshly blue rinsed ‘do.
"It’s not quite dry," Pam said crustily, "But a Code One is a Code One."
"Reminds me of East Berlin," enthused Jane, who enjoyed some James Bond-style chases behind the Iron Curtain in the 60s.
"Let’s hope you won’t need your Licence to Kill," said Maude, dryly.
Jane whipped a miniature revolver out of her handbag and assured her friends, "I’m locked and loaded, just in case."
Evelyn made the tyres spin and soon the fearless foursome were bumping up onto the grass of the village green.
An orange and blue-striped big top dominated the green, like a pointed fairytale castle surrounded by a circle of lorries and caravans.
A blonde girl leaned out of a pink wagon marked ’box office’ and shouted ’Hey! Have you got a ticket?’ as Evelyn drove straight past her and right up to the front of the circus tent.
Two uniformed police constables guarding the entrance looked up in alarm as the little car chugged and bounced across the grass towards them.
"Who are these clowns?" one PC muttered.
His colleague snapped to attention as Evelyn climbed out of the car. "Good afternoon ladies. Please go straight through..."
When the ladies had gone into the tent, the better informed PC explained to his baffled colleague, "That’s the Blue Rinse Brigade. Led by the Guv’nor’s mother-in-law."
With a smirk, the policeman added, "Mervyn will be happy..."
The big top was empty, and dark except for the spotlights trained upon its central sawdust ring.
Evelyn marched around the perimeter towards the sparkly curtains at the far end as fast as her 81-year-old legs would carry her.
Pam, who was a year younger, trailed behind, using her walking stick to compensate for a hip overdue for replacement.
Jane, who was the youngest of the friends at 75, brought up the rear because she was holding the arm of Maude who was no longer as steady on her feet as she used to be.
Sweeping aside the sparkly curtain, Evelyn found her son-in-law, Inspector Mervyn Pickles, drinking tea from a paper cup and chatting to a uniformed constable in a small backstage area crammed with circus apparatus.
On the grass at their feet, a tarpaulin covered the unmistakable shape of a body. Two enormous red and white clown boots protruded from under one end.
"Never too busy for a cuppa and a good gossip, I see," said Evelyn.
Caught off-guard, Mervyn said, "Actually, we’re waiting for the police pathologist."
"Well you’re in luck," said Evelyn, "Because I’ve brought the best in the business."
"I mean the real police pathologist..." Mervyn began.
Before Mervyn could stop her, Pam reversed her walking stick and used the handle to lift one edge of the tarpaulin.
She winced at what she saw.
"Looks like someone dropped a ton of bricks on the poor fellow."
"That’s not so far from the truth." Mervyn indicated an army-style kitbag on the grass by the wall of the tent.
"At the end of his act a bag full of feathers was supposed to fall out of the ceiling and burst on his head. Unfortunately someone replaced the feathers with that kitbag. It’s full of cement."
At that moment, Jane and Maude caught up with the others. On the way, Jane had picked up one of the plastic patio chairs that formed the ringside seats.
She set it on the grass beside the tarpaulin, and Maude sat down, saying, "Have we missed much?"
"Just one badly flattened funny man who appears to have brought the house down," said Pam. "On his head, unfortunately."
Mervyn said to Evelyn, "Not that I should be telling you lot what‘s going on. How did you hear about this so quickly, anyway?"
Evelyn gave him a triumphant look. "You’re forgetting that your niece is also my granddaughter. When she saw you‘d made such a hasty arrest, she thought the case needed a fresh pair of eyes."
Mervyn bristled. "Now look here, Evelyn. I know you and your friends were very helpful with that dreadful business at Christmas, but that doesn’t give you permission to poke your noses into any investigation that takes your fancy."
"Poke our noses...!" Evelyn protested. "Do I have to remind you of my twenty years at Scotland Yard, ten of them leading the murder squad...?"
"I think you’ve reminded me quite often enough," Mervyn sighed.
"But in this instance your assistance will not be needed. As it happens an arrest has been made but this is an ongoing inquiry and I don’t want you trampling all over it."
Before Evelyn could respond, her mobile rang, with the theme music to The Sweeny.
"Hello my dear," she answered. "I’m in the big top right now. I’ll come to your caravan directly."
Evelyn pocketed the phone and gave Mervyn a smile of mock-innocence.
"Are you forbidding me to pay a social visit to my granddaughter on the rare occasion she comes to town...?"
Mervyn rolled his eyes and wondered if he’d ever win an argument with the formidable leader of the Blue Rinse Brigade.

..................................

"Oh, Granny Evelyn, I’m so glad you’re here!"
Tamsin Connor’s cheek was wet with tears as she wrapped her grandmother in a fond embrace.
"There, there," Evelyn soothed the girl. "Why don’t we go inside and have a cup of tea and you can tell us everything that’s happened."
The little caravan rocked and squeaked as the four blue-rinsed ladies followed Tamsin through the narrow metal doorway.
The inside quickly filled up, but somehow there was room for everyone to sit down. As Jane took charge of the kettle, Tamsin regained her composure.
Evelyn remembered when the raven-haired tightrope walker was a child. She used to love nothing more than playing with toy police cars while Evelyn regaled her with real life tales of catching murderers and bank robbers.
When Tamsin ran away to join the circus, her parents didn’t approve, but Evelyn told her, "If ever you’re in trouble, just call Granny Evelyn."
"I couldn’t believe it when Uncle Mervyn arrested Tommy," Tamsin said, as she wiped her eyes. "I told him Tommy would never hurt anybody, but he wouldn’t listen."
"Leave Mervyn to me," Evelyn said briskly. "Now, if I can just get the facts straight, I take it Tommy is the other clown?"
Putting on her reading glasses, Evelyn leaned towards a framed picture on the wall beside her. It showed Tamsin in a sequined leotard flanked by two handsome young men.
One was wearing a brightly coloured clown suit but had yet to apply his make-up. The other was clad from the neck down in a furry gorilla suit and carried the head under his arm.
"They called themselves the Trouble Brothers but they weren’t really brothers," Tamsin explained. "Tommy’s the one in the clown suit and Rory’s the one who... oh, I can’t believe what’s happened to him."
Tamsin started crying again and Pam handed her a tissue, saying "Chin up, girl."
"It’s all my fault," Tamsin wailed as she dabbed her eyes. "I should never have got involved with someone on the show, it only ever leads to trouble. But when your job moves to a different town each week, who else do you meet but the people you travel with?"
"What happened?" Jane asked gently.
Tamsin took a moment to gather herself, then said, "I joined Telford’s Circus at the beginning of this season. Rory showed an interest in me from the beginning but, like I said, I didn’t want to get involved with someone on the show.
"Rory seemed to accept that. But then Tommy asked me out and, well, I broke my own rule."
"How did Rory react?" asked Evelyn.
"Badly," said Tamsin. "He and Tommy were very competitive and he couldn‘t accept that I‘d chosen Tommy over him. He kept pestering me to go out with him and, of course, that made Tommy jealous."
"It must have taken the fun out of their clown act," Pam ventured.
Tamsin nodded.
"Helga, the ring-mistress, thought I was breaking up the star act. I think she had a word or two with Big Ted, the circus owner, trying to have me thrown off the show. And now... and now this has happened."
For a moment, Tamsin looked on the verge of tears once more. Instead, she fixed pleading, make-up-smeared eyes on Evelyn.
"But I’ll never believe Tommy killed Rory," she insisted. "Yes, he was angry with him, but he’s not a violent man. You have to believe me, Granny Evelyn. Tommy wouldn’t hurt a fly."
As it was such a sunny afternoon, the caravan door was open - and at that moment a shaven headed giant with a huge handlebar moustache shoved his muscle-bound torso through the gap.
"Justa letting you know, Tamsina," he said in a gruff Italian accent. "Big Ted say the evening show willa be going ahead as normal."

........................................

Word of the murder hadn’t reached the general public. When the lights went out and Rory the Clown was dragged from the ring, the audience thought it was all part of the act.
As a result, there was a jolly mood among the families strolling across the green for the evening performance.
The sun was still high and Pam and Maude watched the arrivals from a table beside a hotdog wagon.
Jane joined them, saying, "The circus loos are very clean."
"It’s zoo loos you’ve got to watch," Pam chuckled. "It was the zoo loos that did for Michael Caine."
As Evelyn returned from the hotdog wagon with four teas, Pam said, "You’ve got to admit Mervyn’s got a good case against young Tommy."
"Poppycock!" Evelyn snorted.
"He had the opportunity," Maude pointed out. "There are witnesses to him winching the bag of supposed feathers into the ceiling."
"That was after last night’s show," Evelyn reminded her. "Anybody could have switched the bag in the meantime."
"He also had a motive," Jane said gently. "If Tommy thought Rory was a rival for Tamsin’s affections, that could have driven him to murder."
"Tamsin told Tommy she wasn’t interested in Rory," Evelyn countered.
"She admitted that hadn’t stopped Tommy and Rory arguing, though," Jane returned.
"Then there’s the little matter of Tommy doing a runner immediately after the deed," Pam said darkly. "You have to admit that looks suspicious."
"He probably panicked," said Evelyn.
For a long, pointed moment, nobody spoke. Eventually, Jane said what Pam and Maude were clearly thinking: "I can see why you want to believe your granddaughter when she says Tommy wouldn’t do it..."
"But...?" Evelyn challenged her, icily.
Jane hesitated, then said, "Do you think you might be too close to the case?"
"I’m no closer than Mervyn," Evelyn retorted. "Tamsin’s his niece - and he clearly doesn’t believe her. No, I’m quite capable of looking at this case impartially.
"As it happens I do tend to believe Tamsin’s assessment of Tommy’s character. But whether she‘s right about Tommy or not, there’s no harm in looking into the matter and satisfying ourselves that Mervyn’s got it right for once."
"Where do you propose we start?" asked Pam.
Evelyn opened a circus programme and turned to the cast list. "Well, these are our suspects..."
"That Italian strongman has to be in the frame," said Pam. "He’d have no trouble manhandling a kitbag full of cement. What’s his name again?"
"Luigi," Jane said warmly. She held up her iPhone to show a picture she’d snapped of the shaven headed visitor to Tamsin’s caravan. "He’s quite a dish, isn’t he?"
"I expect you’re volunteering to pump him for information, Mata Hari " Pam chuckled.
Jane held up her hand to show a diamond ring, and said with mock primness, "I’ll thank you to remember that I’m engaged."
"Remember that you landed the millionaire owner of Burbridge’s department store?" Pam scoffed, "I don’t think you’ll ever let us forget!"
"Jealous as always," Jane said smugly.
"Getting back to the matter in hand..." Evelyn cut in, "I propose we divide ourselves into two pairs to interview the artistes."
"Will they talk to us, though?" said Pam. "Mervyn’s made it clear we’re operating unofficially, and I’ve heard circus people are a clannish, secretive lot."
"Perhaps we should launch an undercover operation," Jane enthused. "Infiltrate their secret world and overhear things they‘d never tell an outsider!"
"Good suggestion," said Evelyn.
Maude gave her a level look and said, loudly, "If you’re suggesting we disguise ourselves as the world’s oldest trapeze troupe I don’t think my knees are up to it."
"We could call ourselves the Wheezy Chesty-coughs," joked Pam.
"Or the Flying Zimmer Frames," Jane said, playfully.
"If we could all be serious for a moment," Evelyn rapped her knuckles impatiently on the table. "I don’t think we need to dig out our leotards. But we do know the circus is short of a clown. So who do we know who could fill his outsize shoes?"
"Have to be someone fit enough to do a bit of tumbling..." said Pam.
"And who wouldn’t mind getting the odd custard pie in the face..." said Maude.
"Afternoon ladies, fancy seeing you here."
The four friends looked up to see Tony Size, the fit young self-defence instructor better known to the ladies of the WI as Tony Thighs.
As four light-bulbs lit up in the air above the heads of the Blue Rinse Brigade, Tony’s stick of candyfloss froze half way to his open mouth.
"Er, why are you looking at me like that?"
Evelyn turned to her friends. "Now that looks to me like a young man who always dreamed of running away with the circus."
"A daring young man on the flying trapeze if ever I saw one!" Jane enthused.
"The roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd," cackled Pam.
Tony instinctively put his free hand on his behind.
"If this is another of your missions..." he began warily, "I’ve only just recovered from the mauling that boxer dog gave me at Christmas..."
"Oh, this wouldn’t be anything like as dangerous as that," Evelyn reassured him.
"Just a bit of clowning round," Pam said breezily.
"Well I might as well tell you straight," said Tony, "that I’m really not..."
Before he could finish, the theme music from The Sweeny burst loudly from Evelyn’s pocket. She whipped out her phone.
"Hello my dear..." Evelyn abruptly fell silent, a serious look on her face. "We’ll be right there," she said, and cut the line.
"Tamsin was checking her tight-wire backstage," Evelyn explained. "Someone’s sawn halfway through it and if she’d walked on it, it would have snapped. At 30-feet up, the fall could have killed her."
Pam pointed her walking stick at Tony. "So Sherlock, are you going to stand there and ignore a damsel in distress? Or are you going to help me get out of this chair?"

Next week: Is a serial killer stalking the circus? And will our four friends crack the case before the murderer strikes again?

Click here to read Part Two!
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To read more adventures of Evelyn, Jane, Pam and Maude, download The Blue Rinse Brigade from the Kindle Store.

For more circus fiction visit Polka Dot Dreams