Only a rose
Here we go!
Only a smile to keep in memory
Until we meet another day
Only a rose to whisper
Blushing as roses do
III bring along
a smile or a song for anyone
Only a rose for you
A Stephen Fo'ster album.
A South American album!
Exotic firebird's
from the fore'st's of the Amazon,
a blaze of breathtaking beauty.
A very 'special 'surpri'se
for children of all age's,
our gue'st 'star for tonight,
Hopalong Ca's'sidy!
That's him! Sure, it's Hoppy!
A Chri'stma's album.
Jingle bells, jingle bells
Jingle all the way
Oh, what fun it is to ride
in a one-horse open sleigh
Your hair i's too red,
your leg's are too thin,
you have lip's like a cat.
Youre no good.
You give me too much trouble.
Flattery roll's right off me.
But you make a fire here.
Well, 'simmer down, General,
before you melt your medal's.
What could be more fitting
for the Chri'stma's album
than Adeste Fideles?
The performance ends,
but the drama never stops.
In the grey, drizzly morning,
the first section of the circus train
pulls into the railroad yard,
long before the city is awake.
But the animals are awake
and looking for their breakfast.
Then comes the unloading.
Two hundred tons of living power.
Sixty carloads of equipment.
Wheels rolling, gears grinding.
A circus is gigantic power
and unceasing movement.
It is a restless giant,
unlimbering its muscles
after the long night ride
before moving in to capture a new city.
Up from the railroad yards
with their faithful escort
of early-rising young fans
whove been waiting since daybreak
to follow these living tanks
as they lumber and sway
to the circus grounds,
where the stakes are being driven
that will anchor the big top
against the beating
of its constant adversaries,
wind and rain.
An army is at work,
an army the audience never sees.
An army that must be moved
from city to city, fed and housed,
a thousand strong, hardworking men,
moving like a finely-geared machine,
with one purpose,
to roll the show.
The all-important baling ring
clangs into place.
Bales of fireproof canvas,
58,000 pounds of it,
are hauled out, unwrapped, rolled out,
stretched, laid on the ground,
where it lies like the skin
of a mighty dismembered giant,
waiting for some magician
to bring it together and give it life,
waiting until, one by one,
the giants ribs rise into place
and are firmly fastened in the earth.
Boys line up for the punt games,
a chance for a free ticket.
The disciplined army never loses
a moment nor wastes a motion.
The boss canvas man makes fast
the canvas to the baling ring.
The lives of all depend on it.
Each of the hundreds of roustabouts
has his place and his job,
a responsible job, for one mistake,
one bit of carelessness,
could cost a life.
The giants skin is stretched out
until it lies smooth and moulded,
like the bowl of a great coliseum.
But eyes watching for trouble
have noticed a little tear
that must be patched
before the searching fingers of the wind
can rip it into a disaster,
before the giant can stand up
and stretch
over his feast of colour and laughter.
Now the giant comes to life.
Slowly, the tons and tons
of his canvas body
rise and swell into the air.
He starts growing to his full,
majestic height
as he catches his first deep breath.
The strong baling rings
slipping along the great poles,
until at last they reach to the flags
flying from the peak.
And as the big top rises in each town,
new risks are taken.
Caution is thrown to the winds
in this battle for the centre ring.
...55, 56, 57, 58,
59, 60, 61,
62, 63, 64,
65, 66, 67,
68, 69...
I warned her not to do Jenny's act
on that rigging.
Yeah.
I wa's there the night Jenny got killed.
...75, 76, 77,
78, 79, 80,
81, 82, 83,
84, 85, 86,
87, 88, 89,
90, 91, 92,
93, 94, 95,
96, 97, 98...
- Paying for the hay all in 'silver?
- That's how we get paid.
Holly's 'spinning like a weathervane
in a Kan'sa's twi'ster.
-