The View From Connor's Hill by Barry Heard Page B

pursuits. There was a keenly contested competition that decided who was the champion shearer; at times, the winner would be one of the best in Australia. Wood chopping was also a highly sought-after prize and, like Tasmania, East Gippsland boasted world-class axemen.
    On the arena were horse events. However, with all this entertainment, only two things appealed to me: the caravans and the sideshows.
    The caravans, arrayed in a long line, sold fairy floss, hot-dogs, toffee apples, bags of lollies, and showbags full of wonderful goodies. The other magnets were the numerous sideshows, and the boxing tent. This area was packed. It was the first time I had seen sideshows. There were wooden clowns with heads swivelling, waiting for balls to drop into their mouths. Another tent had a large painting and a sign, which boasted that inside was a person who was half-man and half-woman.
    Nearby were a merry-go-round, dodgem cars, and a long walk-through tent that showed snakes. Several times during the day a snake handler performed daring feats outside, to much applause. The man with the snakes was world-class, so the man with the megaphone said. Other tents offered great prizes if you could throw balls, coconuts, and rings accurately. I had never seen anything like this before in my life; it was a real thrill.
    To top all of this off, and totally out of character, Dad gave me ten bob (one dollar) to shout us kids to some of the rides, and to buy some sweets. The four of us — Robbie, John, Jeff, and I — were beside ourselves with excitement and expectation. This was a real treat.
    We stuck together and headed for the sideshow alley. A kindly man with a pleasant smile invited us to try his game. ‘No, thank you,’ was my quiet reply. The man then added that we could, with a little luck, make a lot of money. He then explained the game — all I had to do was throw four darts at a board, and score less than twenty-one.
    The board was square, quite large, and covered with fine netting, with each number encircled. It was two shillings, or 20 cents, for a throw of four darts. If you got less than 21, you won a pound, which was two dollars. Easy — I could do this. We gathered in a tight little circle, my brothers egging me on. I handed over the orange ten-bob note, and pocketed the eight-bob change. My first three darts registered 21; the last dart was a four.
    â€˜Next time, mate,’ encouraged the man.
    I parted with another two bob. This time I managed 26 — I was home and hosed. Quickly I handed over a further two bob. After two darts, I had eleven, then a nine. I looked for a one, then realised I couldn’t win even with a one. Okay, I had it worked out — three of six or less, and then the two or the one. But when the first dart hit the two, it bounced off, and my free throw hit a nine. Damn, this time …
    I was stunned when it dawned on me that I had parted with the full ten bob. The bloke handed me a card with a photo of Hopalong Cassidy.
    I felt terrible, and wondered how I could tell Dad. I didn’t but, to make it up, I took the boys to the crowd that had gathered outside Bell’s boxing tent. It was truly entertaining. The ringmaster had a group of world-class boxers on a stage about six feet off the ground. It was the front of a large marquee with flags flying on the top. He introduced each of his boxers as a champion in his own right, and stated which country they had come from. This included a ‘Red Indian’ from America and a ‘Negro’ from darkest Africa. During the introductions, one of the boxers beat a large drum. Then the ringmaster turned to the crowd. ‘Roll up, roll up, welcome to Roy Bell’s Boxing Troupe — to the greatest boxing show on earth,’ he called out.
    The drum-beat got louder and louder. He shouted into a funnel-shaped loudspeaker, encouraging the onlookers. ‘Are there any men out there man enough to go three rounds with