As a boy in Edinburgh in the 1950s, I was captivated by the acts at the Bertram Mills Circus.
I especially liked the plate-spinners, whose curiously tortuous routine had a hypnotic effect on the audience. The Filipinos who juggled cigar boxes and two teams of footballing boxer dogs were also favourites. And so, from an early age, I developed a keen interest in the novelty act.
Throughout history, bizarre, ludicrous and often painful acts have been performed. In 1870, Joseph Pujol (1857-1945) discovered, aged 13, he could ingest air through his rectum and expel it at will. And so was born his flatulist act – he was known as Le Pétomane.
In 1892, at the Moulin Rouge in Paris, he delivered cannon fire and thunderstorms via his bottom. He played ‘O sole mio’ via a rubber tube inserted in his anus, and blew out a row of lighted candles. An instant success, he toured the world until retiring at the start of the First World War. Today, Paul Oldfield performs a similar act as Mr Methane.
In 1674, Matthew Buchinger was born in Germany without hands or feet, a deformity he turned to his advantage.
As an adult, he toured England and Ireland playing various instruments, including the bagpipes. An accomplished calligrapher, he was the first man to put a ship in a bottle. Known as the Greatest German Living, he died at 65, leaving a substantial fortune.
The great P T Barnum persuaded a tiny Charles Stratton to change his name to General Tom Thumb when he was 11, in 1843. A colossal draw, he was presented to Queen Victoria three times.
Barnum and Norman were the undisputed leading promoters of performers unfortunately termed ‘freaks’.
Tom Norman (1860-1930), nicknamed the Silver King for his success, managed poor Joseph Merrick, aka the Elephant Man. He also managed Mary Anne Bevan, the World’s Ugliest Woman, and John Chambers, the Armless Carpenter.
In 1900, Oofty Goofty began a short career as the Wild Man of Borneo. He would tar and feather himself and consume chunks of raw meat thrown at him, all the while shouting ‘Oofty goofty’ and rattling his cage.
In 1921, Martin Laurello toured the world as the Human Owl. He could rotate his head 180 degrees, baffling both doctors and scientists.
Performing animal acts have largely disappeared because of cruelty issues. One is still going. Hugh Lennon’s Hypnodog, Oscar, became famous in 1995 when he got loose in the streets of Edinburgh and randomly hypnotised pedestrians who approached him. His piercing eyes failed him a few years later.
But the act continues: Lennon’s niece, Krystyna, now performs with Oscar’s descendant.
Other novelty acts survive. Zippos Circus still thrills us with the Globe of Death: three motorcycles hurl around a steel globe at breathtaking speed. Asia’s Got Talent gave us Gonzo the Sumo Tambourine Master.
In 1990 and 1991, Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer featured Novelty Island in their Big Night Out on Channel Four.
Sadly, they now fish and paint, leaving a huge gap in the comedy of the ridiculous.
My favourite act was Disgusto, the Human Dustbin. His flyer read, ‘You bring it and he’ll eat it!’ He performed in the early 1950s at small country fairs and fêtes, where he would eat a huge variety of household goods brought by the audience.
He once consumed most of a pram; it took him all day. Most of the audience got bored and went home by the time he finished. A disagreeable drunkard, he spent much of his life living rough. His real name was never known but his death was noted in a parish magazine after he tried to eat six live terrapins. It was a speedy and deeply unpleasant demise.
The modern world no longer craves the more distasteful aspects of these performances, thank God. But long live the diversity, humour and ingenuity of the novelty act.
Piers Pottinger is a public-affairs consultant
