The day my circus career took off . . .

The circus horse was riding faster round the ring by now, with me clinging to its unfortunate neck. My first time on a horse, and i was the star of the show.

it was in the early 1970s, at Kingston Baths, in Surrey.

in those days, wooden boards covered the pool during winter, and small circuses revelled in the intimacy of the small arena.

A round ring was created, sawdust in the middle, the usual paraphernalia, presided over by the ringmaster in his red jacket and top hat.

A volunteer was required from the audience to ride a horse. To the roar of the sparse crowd, i found myself walking to the centre.

no chance to change my mind, a harness was strapped round my waist, rope threaded to the ceiling pulley, three circus hands on the ground holding the weight.

Shoes off, on the horse’s back, no saddle, clippetyclop. A wave to the cheering crowd, my newly-wedded wife hiding her face in shame. The horse went faster under urging from all.

‘now on your knees on the horse’s back. Yup, go on, you won’t fall off.’ The crowd had been whipped into a frenzy by the idiot in the red jacket. They demanded my knees on the horse’s back, and who was i to deny my adoring public. On my knees.

A few circuits and him in the middle with the whip was shouting: ‘On your feet!’ This is to someone who had never been near a horse before.

Like an idiot i succumbed to the baying of the mob, and for a few fleeting seconds was standing on that horse’s back. Poor old nag. next thing i knew, i was flying, because those three circus hands yanked the rope.

Mary Poppins without the umbrella, i milked it for all it was worth, arms outstretched, legs kicking.

never been back on a horse, never will — probably.

Harry Pope, Eastbourne.