The Tiger's Paw by Joyce Kennedy
I couldn't believe a tiger's paw was so heavy.
I was at the circus, with all the dangerous animals and prancing ponies expected in the ‘50s. Its overwhelming presence was amazing - the constant roar of engines, music from somewhere unseen, the brilliant coloured lights dancing madly in the wind blowing off the Tay ...and, oh, my goodness, the smell. It was exciting, promising. A heady mixture of sawdust and trampled grass, and overpoweringly of animals.
Animals have always been important to me but a third-floor flat meant it was impossible to keep any, so to be in close proximity to circus animals was wonderful. The clowns did nothing for me. I wasn't scared of them, I simply didn't see the point of them running around throwing water at each other or jumping in and out of a car that fell to pieces. At last white horses came on - I adored horses. They pranced, danced and whirled and I applauded until my hands stung. More acts followed - clowns again, merely a filling-in of time until something more interesting appeared - ah, like the ponderous elephants moving with such grace despite their bulk and who took things in their delicate trunks - including the ringmaster's shiny top hat! Dogs jumped and caught and proved how clever they were, as did the counting cockatoos with the bright chrome-yellow combs raised above their heads, shrieking their pleasure at their own cleverness.
The acrobats were light as thistledown as they arced from one swing to another, a well-timed clasp of hands keeping them from crashing to the ground. I admired them, but having no fear of heights reckoned, with practice, I could do the same. As they acknowledged the applause far below them and started to slide back down the ropes, we could see, all the while, men had been quietly putting up fencing around the ring......the lions and tigers were coming!
The lions came in first, leaping to their allotted stools with a snarl and flash of huge teeth. I almost stopped breathing. To be near these glorious animals was mesmerising. They moved around the ring proud and so lithe, their bodies almost in slow motion as the bundled muscles propelled the weight of the animal effortlessly from here to there. Occasionally one would turn with a ferocious snarl on another, or even towards the lady dressed in the traditional red jacket and top hat of the lion tamer and we were suddenly reminded that these were King of the Beasts. But flashes of irritation were controlled with a snaking crack of the lion-tamer's whip and they were again obediently leaping through hoops and jumping back onto their stools. Their act finished and they were sent away, but then the tigers appeared.
Fewer of them, heartbreakingly beautiful as they slunk through the tunnel and into the ring. I sat in complete and utter awe as I watched these wonderful animals perform. Was it my imagination, or did these striped beauties seem less interested in pleasing the lady in top hat and spangled tights? How could such bright black and gold and touches of white be any kind of camouflage? Surely they must stand out against the green grasses of their homelands, just as a barber's pole stands out against the grey in Scotland's cities? My mind danced with all these thoughts as I sat entranced. Far too soon the whip marshalled them into that tiny tunnel and out of my sight.
I couldn't tell what happened afterwards. The fences were removed, so there wouldn't be another appearance of the big cats. I know there were more acts, that the audience laughed and cheered and applauded. I must suppose that I did too, but I was lost, utterly mesmerised by the power and beauty of those tigers. Then, right at the end of the show, the lion tamer lady came back and from the centre of an empty ring asked if any children wanted to ride on the back of a tiger. Hardly were the words from her mouth when I was on my feet, whipping past Mum who grabbed at me crying, ‘No!' in dismay, but my Dad put his hand out, "Let her go." and I was down into the ring. I was told later there was laughter at my eagerness but I knew nothing of that - I only wanted to be close to my wonderful tigers. An older boy came forward, but timidly. A tiger was brought in by a keeper. The lady lifted me onto its back and the boy, much to his - and my - disgust, got on behind. We were led round the ring twice to the applause of the audience but I was aware only of the roughness of the tiger's coat beneath my bare legs and the feel of its muscles ripple as it walked. Then, in the centre of the ring we had to dismount. I ran my hand down the shoulder of my beautiful steed, reluctant to be parted from it. The tiger was made to lie down on its side and we were invited to lie by its side. The boy refused, but I eagerly nodded. The lady lifted the tiger's huge paw and told me to lie with my head on the tiger's forepaw. She gently laid the other paw down across me. I was in raptures. To lie so close to a large animal, to hear its harsh breath and feel the weight of that paw - nothing could ever match up to this.
Fifty years later I was lucky enough to see a tiger again, this time in its own territory, walking free and proud. That was when I discovered these magnificent gold and black stripes are the perfect camouflage as it melted away into the long dry grasses of India.
And when I remembered the excitement and wonder of a seven-year-old girl, lying trustingly between the paws of her tiger.
