After a few minutes, Ramen Ra is returned to her resting place in the black box, and the tent is cleared for her next audience.

Outside, with wildly coloured patter, I exhort a mass of people to step up and be astounded. To gather the 'tip,' I perform an age-old conjuring classic, the 'Cups and Balls,' a sleight-of-hand test piece for countless generations of prestidigitators. It goes down well with everybody, apart from a member of the Sally-Ann who thinks I'm a thimble-rigger with a gambling pitch. To allay his fears, I twist and tear green and yellow paper, making a tall tree for a little girl. She accepts it, smiling shyly, but an old countrywoman snatches it away and throws it on the ground. 'Huda maker!...' the old woman is afraid of me, she thinks I will put a spell on her grand-daughter.

My own kids began to learn the trade on that July day, barking and distributing handbills, decked out in top-hats and tails. Later, they got into the show itself, after a three year wait.

In the spring of '72, I told Vernon that I fancied sawing a lady in half, but not in the usual way... she must not be hidden inside a box, and she had to be bisected with an electric circular saw. I imagined something of the style of those buzz-saw benches, in the old movie serials, to which the villain tied the heroine ... 'Give me the deeds, or you die, me proud beauty!... this was the death that those fates were worse than!' We put our heads together and scribbled some plans for the most spectacular sawing-in-half ever seen since 'The Perils of Pauline.'

Vernon, clever illusion-builder that he is, set to work, and our infernal machine began to take shape. One evening, he was returning from the blacksmith's shop where a lethal looking thirty-inch-diameter blade had been manufactured. It was in the back seat of his car, when he stopped to give a lift to a hitchhiker. That's a big 'un,' said the innocent traveller, eyeing the blade, 'what's it used for? Vernon answered, truthfully, and his passenger said not another word until he asked to be let out, about a mile down the road.

When the great buzz-saw was ready, Vernon brought it, and a large wooden packing-case, to the 'Dog and Dragon,' near Porthtowan, where I was working. The packing-case, fitted with heavy padlocks, was to be used for a Houdini-like escape routine which the professor planned to perform, with the assistance of Chris and our other glamorous showgirl, Maureen. It seemed like a good idea to take on an extra lady assistant ... just in case the sawing-in-half didn't work properly first time round. Every day, for two or three weeks, we rehearsed in the garden of the Dog and Dragon ;' suffering just a few minor cuts and bruises in the early stages of creating our brand new, twenty-minute show.

July came around again, and we took to the road, with the first 'live' try-out of our new baby at Camborne Show. It went pretty well, and I even got my picture in the West Briton. At this rate we would, surely, soon be famous.

In August we appeared at our favourite date, 'the great West of England Steam Engine Rally' at Sinns Barton, near Redruth. This is always an enormously popular event, which grows bigger and better each year. With an excellent pitch and a beautiful centre-pole tent, we were all set to knock 'em dead. And we did too, all weekend, with up to fifteen separate performances a day. On the Saturday night, after doing my stuff on the showground, I had to rush back to the 'Dog and Dragon' and work there from seven till midnight, before returning to the field and kipping down beside the buzz-saw.

I remember waking up in the early hours of the Sunday morning, when the others were still sleeping, just before dawn, and hearing a strange 'chomping' sound coming from somewhere behind the back wall of the tent. I lifted the flap and peered out at the weird spectacle of an army of rabbits cropping the grass ... noisily.

There is something very special, something unique, about the experience of waking up under the canvas roof of a show tent. The light, the smell, the whole atmosphere is special. When you get up and step outside into the misty summer morning, the marquees and side-stalls, the fairground rides and traction engines, form a surrealist landscape. The whole thing comes alive gradually, as the steam-engine men, the market men and the showmen ... and women ... greet one another, fetch water, cook breakfast and set up shop. That first mug of tea and a plate of sizzling bacon and eggs tastes perfect ... just perfect ... puts a smile on your face. This is the life,' you decide, and the feeling lasts for quite a while... at least until you've done three or four performances that day.

The early afternoon, on a blazing August day, is the busiest time, when the crowds are thickest and the tent is like a bakehouse inside. The girls, in their spangled tights, take turns at being sawn in half, or being locked inside the box. It's thirsty work. Between 'sawings' and 'escapes,' they nip over to the beer-tent and bring back pints for the professor and me. The show must go on, but I honestly don't see how it could survive without ale. The pace becomes quite hectic as the afternoon wears on, with hardly a rest between performances. We have to pack in as many people as possible in order to make the thing pay, and some of those people could be trouble-makers ....

So, there I am, behind the backcloth, getting my bits and pieces ready for another show, when Chris whispers, 'Watch it ... angels in the audience.' She doesn't mean theatrical moneylenders, they are 'Hell's Angels,' complete with winged-skull patches and cowboy boots. One of them tosses his cap over the rope, stretched between the public and us, just as I'm about to start. He steps over the rope, smiling wickedly, as I go into my opening patter, and asks for his head-gear. I tell him that I think I'll keep it for a while, if he doesn't mind, there may be something inside it... you never know. He looks slightly puzzled as I say how pleased I am that he was good enough to step forward and volunteer to assist me with a few little experiments in legerdemain. Three tricks later, the lad is feeling a wee bit foolish, but his cronies are enjoying it immensely. I offer him a flower that I find in his cap and let him go at that. A good-natured fellow at heart, with a sense of humour, he takes it with a bow, and the crowd cheers. The 'angels' decided they liked us after that. I liked them too. We met them later, at one of the Helston fairs, and they made us a gift of a jar of cider. Nice lads.

The last 'date' of the 1972 summer season was at Liskeard in September, another traction-engine rally, where we met a lot of old friends, including members of Redruth's ‘Gladiator Club' with their magnificent showman's engine and fair organ. After that, we packed up and stowed the gear away for the winter.

From October, through into the new year of 1973, I did my mind-reading act at the 'Dog and Dragon'. By springtime, I was planning yet another new tent-show and, this time, the kids wanted a go.

The show of '73 was almost completely in the children's hands. Gareth, my eldest son, not quite fifteen years old at the time, appeared as 'Kalvini ... the World's Youngest Escapologist;' and Kate, eleven, demonstrated her telepathic powers. Outside the tent, Ewan, thirteen, did magic and barked, while Lucy, aged nine, dressed up as a clown, gave out handbills. The only one who chose to retain her normal character and appearance was Meg, Kate's twin, who toted the ticket roll and money bag. We also added a Punch and Judy show, worked by Gareth, in between escapes, which was a terrific crowd-puller. A friendly visit from members of Cottle and Austen's Circus, which was appearing in Redruth that week, boosted our collective ego enormously, helping everyone to work really well. The show was a great success and, by the end of their first full-time day, the kids were veteran showmen ... real professionals. This year they'll probably give me the boot ... that's showbiz!