Script quote along the ribs

The canvas came down on Tuesday in Hadleigh, and Pim sat on the ring curb with his hat in his lap and wouldn't get up until the lorry men shouted at him. I'm writing this from the back of the caravan because the post van leaves in ten minutes and I want you to have something in your hand that isn't a bill.

You'll remember the banner Grandad painted over the ticket tent in 1958, the lettering gone soft at the edges and the blue faded to something like an old bruise. Ringmaster says the buyers want the poles and the posts for scrap, and the banner for a bonfire. I took it down myself and rolled it the way he taught us, letters inward so the paint won't crack. It's in the trunk now under the spare harness. The line that still reads clear is the one about things being wild and free, which is a daft thing to paint over a tent full of sawdust and tired horses. Nobody's horses were ever free. But Grandad meant the sort of freedom you only get when you've been foolish enough to run away with a circus.

We're going to Norfolk in the morning, to a field owned by a man who keeps goats and says he'll take us for a fortnight in exchange for the horses mucking out his lane. Pim's coming. The clowns are splitting up. I'm told the trapeze girls have found work in a Blackpool hotel doing the cabaret, which is the closest thing to a circus left for them.

Come up on Sunday if you can. Bring the good scissors. There's a rope to cut and I'd rather it was you doing it than the man with the lorry.

Your loving sister, Mabel