Chapter 221: Magnificent Zippos Encore!

It was another quiet May morning strolling down Althorpe Road towards Wandsworth Common. On a breeze floated a few petals from the cherry blossom, scented with a touch of jasmine. But what really put a spring in my step was the sight at the end of the street of a red and white candy-striped awning of the prettiest tent in the South. MAGNIFICENT Zippos Circus was back!

This is a special year for Zippos. They have just been awarded the Big Top Label, the Michelin star of the circus world and the only British circus to earn it. Not only that, this year marks the 50th anniversary in entertainment of Martin Burton, aka Zippo the Clown. I will never forget a chance conversation about him with a visiting emeritus Oxford professor, over from the US to teach English at Wadham College for the semester. When circus cropped up in conversation, as it tends to with me, he recounted how his tutor in his Oxford days had been Burton's father-in-law, who said to him, "Some people say their son-in-law is a clown... mine really is!"

Funny that last year the show was called Nomads as this year we were a pretty well-travelled bunch: we went as a family with my husband's Flemish cousins, newly arrived in London after years living in Hong Kong, friends of theirs over from Belgium, my husband’s nieces over from Switzerland, and aerialist friend Isabella over from East London, who I met through doing aerial at National Circus and who has made both my own tightwire boots and aerial gaiters (check out magical world at www.isabellamars.com. A few days later I went back for an encore with my friend Sam, whose husband Jon taught me fire-juggling, and whose gift of a circus girl pendant was my talisman sailing round the world, and beyond. A week later, I went back for the hat trick. This time with a colleague from my teacher-training days in Camberwell, another Lucy. Lucy is the most creative DT and art teacher, and we had met originally when I first stopped outside her classroom to admire a display of circus-related pieces, from handbags to posters, that her pupils had made. We've been on a number of circus-related adventures since, from Circolombia in Coventry to Revel Puck in Hackney Marshes, but this was the first time Lucy had come to my neck of the woods, and it was such a joy to have an excuse to catch up and welcome her here. While waiting for Lucy at the entrance, fashionably late, I chatted to the roustabouts, who were all from Kenya, as is Lucy originally. No sooner did she whirl in than they were all chatting away in a wave of Swahili, that swept us up and along to ringside seats. It really did feel like the whole world was coming together.

The acts delivered thrills and delight. Paulo dos Santos, the Brazilian clown par excellence, balanced physical comedy with jaw-dropping acrobatics, flipping between humor and daring feats with effortless charm. We cheered on Ukrainian clown La Loka, bringing mayhem and mischief, who danced through her routines with infectious energy, ran circles through her hoops and performed a fab Cabaret turn. There ain't nothing like a dame! Jackie Louise took to the air with breathtaking grace, suspended high above the audience as if floating on air. Alex Michael, meanwhile, toyed with the audience's nerves leaping between trapezes, and suspended in suspense on the Sky Walk — no strings attached! 

The energy soared with the motorbike globe riders, whose octane-fueled rush felt like a heart-pounding finale, but the show was far from over. The Magnificent Mongolian Warriors leaped and tumbled on the teeterboard, their precision and strength defying gravity itself. Then came the Timbuktu tumblers, whose sheer joy rippled through the crowd as they built human towers and limboed under poles and flipped on Chinese poles, as well as skipping into rhythm like poetry in motion. . Hungarian Anna Usakova captivated us on the tightwire, tangoing across with natural ease and then in ballet shoes, crossing "en pointe", blending elegance and drama in equal measure.The Novotny family act blended humor with skill as Toni spun plates and his son Nicol charmed the audience with his diabolo mastery. Each act left us wide-eyed, suspended between disbelief and admiration. My daughter loved the fact that there were so many female performers taking centre stage, and the diversity of role models.

However, not all were similarly delighted by the arrival of the Big Top. It had been raining recently and, while Zippos received the green light from the Council to go ahead and park, the ground was still soggy as the HGVs and caravans arrived. My heart sank, wondering what else this would churn up, as I caught sight of a poe-faced man snapping his camera to document each tread in the ground. Some people prefer to look down at the mud rather than raise their eyes to the stars, I reflected.

I was not alone. Some passersby were delighted to see the circus again—"such a pretty tent!” However, its beauty was lost on others. It wasn't long before the council was bombarded with angry messages, and accusations against Zippos appeared on X (formerly Twitter) like "you've butchered our Common" or "it will take months, if not years to put right."

The damage to the grass really wasn't that bad. No worse than the annual funfair. A week later it had already bounced back, and soon families were back picnicking there, and team sports running around again.

Sadly, on this occasion, the Council did not see it like that, and in a knee-jerk reaction heaped on the circus restorative measures that can only be described as cripplingly draconian:

1. Charging a substantial fine to cover the costs of repairing the grass, when surely that is what the original fee is meant to cover.

2. Further punishing Zippos financially by curtailing their stay, forcing them to cancel opening night and the performances on the last day.

3. Banning Zippos from ever appearing in any Wandsworth green space again.

I understand that the Council is keen to protect and preserve community spaces, yet this heavy-handed approach felt unnecessarily punitive— not to mention a bit rich coming in the year of the proclamation of Wandsworth as “London Borough of Culture 2025."

So as this year comes to a close, while I am so grateful for the marvel and wonder the Zippos brought yet again to our Common, the refuge it affords to artists like La Loka and the Ukrainian dancing girls who flanked the acts, I am not a little heartbroken at this ban of exclusion by Wandsworth Council.

I hold on to a flicker of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, someone on the Council might see sense. And if not? Well, the magic of Zippos lives on. Right now, they’re dazzling crowds at Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park until 5 January, 2025. Roll up, roll up! Click here for more info: hydeparkwinterwonderland.com/things-to-do/zippos-christmas-circus/

Chapter 220: Life as Circus: Lessons from Art, Language, and Beyond

After running off to the circus for six years, then sailing around the world for two, retraining as a modern languages teacher when we got back seemed like the most logical progression. From balancing on tightwires to navigating ocean passages, the classroom offers its own challenges in communication, adaptability, and connection. Though there’s less trapeze involved now, the same principles of flexibility and storytelling still shape my work — just juggling more lesson plans and scaling fewer ropes!

But even before that, my lifelong passion for languages had already shaped how I see the world. It’s a love older than my fascination with circus, though both hold similar truths at their core: a sense of fluidity, adaptability, and the ability to cross boundaries. Much like circus performers move in liminal spaces — balancing on the edge of what is possible, and historically on the margins of society  - linguists operate between worlds, embracing other cultures, looking from the outside in, and translating the untranslatable.  Whether I’m in the classroom or balancing on a tightwire in my garden, I am constantly reminded that we are all part of the same performance: creating, learning, and moving between worlds. 

Learning languages has therefore always meant more than just mastering grammar or vocabulary for me. It’s about stepping into different perspectives, immersing yourself in new worlds, and cultivating a flexible mind that can switch between cultures as easily as performers leap between apparatus. This idea of linguistic agility was further sparked by a gift from a colleague recently: Through The Language Glass: Why The World Looks Different Through Other Languages by Guy Deutscher. The book delves into the fascinating ways that language shapes thought and how our worldviews are reflected in the words we use. It’s an exploration of the dance between language and culture, reminding me again of how the work of a linguist is, in its own way, an art form — much like circus, where we play with boundaries and invite others to see the world anew.

Recently, I took up Arabic on Duolingo, in part to offer me an alternative dopamine hit to Instagram when I need a break, but also for the love of it, and to move outside my comfort zone linguistically. I’m always banging on to my students about the rich heritage embedded in Spanish, a language deeply influenced by the cultural exchange during the convivencia of medieval Spain, a time of coexistence between Christian, Jewish, and Muslim communities*. The Arabic legacy can be found in words like alfombra (carpet), alcalde (mayor), or even the wishful "¡ojalá!" (may it be so! if God wills it!), which are reminders of this intertwined history, even  if the latter phrase in Spanish no longer carries any of the original religious connotations of "inshallah", it still expresses the same sense of hopeful longing. The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know, and how much there is to explore.

Speaking of exploration, I know it’s short notice, but if you can, check out Natalie Inside Out, tonight at Jacksons Lane. Natalie Reckert, a world-class hand-balancer, teams up with digital artist Mark Morreau to breach the fourth wall digitally by merging acrobatics with immersive video projections. The performance promises to be both playful and challenging of the boundaries, as well as exploring self-image in today’s image-driven world. By combining the raw physicality of circus with videography’s ability to manipulate and amplify, they uncover hidden details — like the subtle creases in her hand carrying a handstand or the thoughts running through Natalie’s mind as she executes a move, blending humour, poetry, and digital art to create a shared experience with the audience.

Coincidentally, today I came across a post on Instagram by Israeli-born artist and photographer Ben Hopper that echoed this idea of the interplay between camera film (if not digital) and performance. I have followed Hopper for years, after the installation of portraits of circus artists that was shown and the Roundhouse, he’s a great photographer with an ever curious mind…. and in his latest project Making Art with the Enemy, he collaborates with artists from countries that have severed diplomatic ties with Israel. Much like Reckert and Morreau’s exploration of performance and technology, Hopper’s work seeks to challenge and bridge divides. It’s a call for coexistence and reminds me of how art and performance can offer new ways to connect in an increasingly divided world.

One thing I’ve learned from both circus and language is that, to paraphrase an old Guinness advert, art reaches parts of us that nothing else can. I’ve felt this while watching Fauda, a Netflix series that follows an Israeli undercover security unit. The seamless transitions between Hebrew and Arabic drew me into the reality of a world full of tension and complexity, but also brought home how important it is to see multiple perspectives.

For this reason, when a colleague from the Languages Department at school invited me to the cinema to see the Palestinian film The Teacher, I jumped at the chance. The sheer humanity and courage of the story resonated with me, and through the presentation of individual experiences (based on real life events), the film offered insight into the lives of millions who live through conflict. It captured the power of education and human resilience, in a way that deeply connected with me as both a teacher and a person.

At the heart of this exploration is the idea of crossing boundaries — between art forms, languages, and human experiences. This idea is also embodied in the Blue Rider movement, founded by Kandinsky and other artists, which sought to transcend traditional artistic forms and create art that connected deeply with spiritual and emotional truths. The painting I’ve chosen to accompany this post, Kandinsky’s abstract depiction of a rainbow and dove, is part of an exhibition currently at the Tate Modern. I was lucky enough to visit it last week on an impromptu trip, thanks to a very dear friend. The exhibition and Kandinsky’s work exemplify the Blue Rider movement's belief in art as a universal language, speaking beyond words. The dove, a symbol of peace, and the rainbow, a bridge between worlds, resonate with the themes of flexibility and connection that run through this reflection on language, circus, and art.

Much like the artists of the Blue Rider, who believed that art could inspire greater understanding and unite people on a spiritual level, I see the work of artists like Natalie Reckert, Mark Morreau, Ben Hopper, and even language itself as a way to move between perspectives. Whether through circus, film, or conversation, these are all performances that invite us to look beyond the surface, much like Kandinsky's abstract works, and find deeper meaning in our shared humanity. May they transform how we connect and understand one another. 

¡Ojalá!

Links: Natlie Inside Out, Mark Morreau at www.morreaux.co.uk, for one night only, tonight, Friday, 11th October, at
 www.jacksonslane.org.uk/whats-on/all-performances/  therealbenhopper.com

Exhibition at the Tate Modern: Expressionists Kandinsky, Münter and The Blue Rider (until 20th October)

Postscript 14/10/24: Interestingly, it has just been discovered that Christopher Columbus’s DNA indicates he was of Jewish ancestry. Like many others, he likely hid his faith to avoid persecution as the era of convivencia came to an end with Ferdinand and Isabella’s 1492 decree forcing Jews and Muslims to convert or be expelled. The timing of this revelation, coinciding with Día de la Hispanidad (formerly Día de la Raza), adds another layer of irony, as Columbus is increasingly viewed as a symbol of the brutal legacy of colonialism. Once celebrated for his voyages, he is now often seen as a figure responsible for terrorizing indigenous populations. This complex legacy — a man crossing oceans and cultures while hiding his own identity — serves as a reminder that history, like language and art, requires us to constantly navigate between different perspectives to fully understand its impact.