Snarling tiger and bamboo on the ribs

The big top came down in Shrewsbury on Tuesday, and the men had to cut the canvas off the poles because nobody could find the ropes. Mr Garrity says we will winter in the field behind the gasworks if the council lets us, though he said that about Doncaster too. I have been sleeping in the wagon with Rajah's cage bolted from the outside, which is the only way I can stop myself going to look at him every hour.

The cage is the old green one, and the bamboo screens Father painted on its back panel have flaked so badly that only the stalks are left. Rajah has not roared in a month. Yesterday I brought him the meat myself because Dennis has the flu, and when I turned away he came to the bars and roared at the bare wood where the leaves used to be. It went right through the wagon. The carthorse in the next field bolted. I stood there with the bucket and laughed until I was crying, because he looked so furious at a forest that wasn't there.

I have decided to paint the leaves back on. Not in Father's careful style, just quick grey strokes and a bit of orange where the sun would catch. Mr Garrity says there is no money for paint. I have told him I will pay for it from the sale of the calliope, which he has not yet noticed is already gone.

Come home for the paint, and bring the good brushes. He will need something to roar at when they take the wagon.

Love, Nell