Off To See The Wild West Show Part 1, Chapter 8 (5/5) By Frank Beill 1886: Hull, Yorkshire

(1/5), (2/5), (3/5), (4/5), (5/5). Part 1 Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Part 2 Prologue, Chapter 1, 2, 3.

'Look over there!' George's shout caught our attention and our eyes followed his pointing finger. More mounted figures appeared from behind the station buildings. They had been there all the time and we didn't know it. Hull could never have seen anything of such brilliance before. Cowboys with bright coloured shirts and bandannas led the way, waving Stetsons or lassos to greet the crowd.

Hairy brown animals, snorting heavily followed with more riders keeping them in order. 'They stink!' Sal pulled a handkerchief from her coat sleeve to cover her nose. 'They're buffaloes!' I wanted to show off my knowledge, although I discovered later they were actually bison but no one contradicted me. 'Ones that he ain't shot!'

I was about to expound further but the wind was knocked from my sails. Behind the animals came the Red Indians. Buckskin clad braves were on horseback with squaws and children following on foot. They were proud and fierce but this was not what caught my breath. At the front of the tribe was their leader, mounted on a frisky brown and white Palomino pony. His fluttering headdress was a cascade of eagle feathers, stretching down from his head to the rump of his steed. Beneath was a bronze face, streaked with black, white and yellow war paint.

I recognised the face. I was certain. 'It's me father!' I screamed but my words were lost in the tumult. 'Father! Father!' The leading figure on horseback couldn't hear me and continued to look straight ahead, aloof from everything and everyone around him. 'What's up?' George must have seen me shaking. 'It's him!' I was still screaming. 'Said he'd got to America! Didn't I?' 'That's Red Shirt.' Mr Jason interrupted my exclamations, although he couldn't have heard what I was shouting. 'He's the chief of the Sioux tribe.'

'It's me father!' I yelled in his face. He smiled until he saw I was serious. 'I don't think so.' His firm hand fell on my shoulder. 'Maybe he just looks like him?' I wanted to run out and into the middle of the parade but the teacher's hands on my shoulders held me back. 'Is there a problem?' Jolly Rodgers' sharp accent cut through the noise like a cutlass. 'No, Mr Rodgers.' There was a smile in Mr Jason's voice. 'The children are just getting very excited.' His hands gripped my shoulders even more firmly and I bit my lip.

The tail end of the parade disappeared into the distance and made its way towards the football ground on Holderness Road. This was where tomorrow's show would take place. Barefoot urchins ran after the mounted figures. How I longed to be one of them again but Mr Jason still kept a firm hold on me. 'It's me father, sir!' Tears were streaming down my cheeks. 'He was shipwrecked in America. He's come back for me! I knew he would.'

The teacher smiled benignly but before he could speak, another voice chirped in. 'Tellin' one of yer stories again, black boy?' It was Snelgrove's sarcastic voice. 'Don't listen to him, sir. He's always tellin' tales.' George lunged at the interrupter but Mr Jason's free arm wrapped itself around his chest. Sal managed to grab one of her brother's arms, too. 'What's going on here?' Mr Rodgers could always be depended upon to be around whenever we were in trouble. 'Nothing, Mr Rodgers. Everyone's getting overexcited.' 'Time we were getting back to the home.

Mrs Grainger will have one of her special stews waiting for us.' It was the Master speaking now. 'Let us get back into our classes. Double file!' 'It was me father, sir.' I looked up plaintively towards Mr Jason. 'Look at me skin. It's the same colour, sir.' For the first time in my life I wanted someone to see I was different. 'Everyone in line!' Jolly Rodgers demanded loudly and everyone dutifully obeyed.

Copyright © Frank Beill 2005

Continued Part 1, Chapter 9

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