It was the day the Clockwork Circus came to town. For weeks beforehand there had been posters on every wall, promising thrills and delights beyond our wildest dreams. Our appetites had been whetted by visions of mechanical clowns, filigreed acrobats and the prophecies of The Great Prognosticon. In our schoolyard conversations we wondered about mysteries of the mechanical menagerie and whether one could tame a brass tiger.

Then, when the day came, we joined the throng at the station; watching as the circus train pulled into town. Clouds of steam obscured the colourful wagons, and from within the vapours we could hear shouting and banging as the circus folk unlocked gates and dropped planks to let the wonders of the Clockwork Circus loose upon the town.

The parade emerged from the station, led by a band of mechanical musicians playing John Philip Sousa marches with great enthusiasm. Behind them was a platoon of clowns, their cloisonné bodies shining in the sun as they juggled balls and balanced on built-in unicycles. Above them all, on a magnificent float built around a steam calliope, stood the ringmaster. He waved at us as he passed by, occasionally cracking his electric whip to keep his clockwork creations in line.

But, in the middle of the parade, were a pair of ironclad elephants. They strode forward with power and grace, guided by the mahouts on their backs. Atop their trunks, each elephant balanced a spinning ball made of glittering plates. As the elephants passed, the balls opened to reveal acrobats made of aluminium and clad in bright fleshings. While my friends goggled in openmouthed astonishment at their cargo, I only had eyes for the elephants.

That night I stood in line to pay for my ticket - a few pence for a night of amazement and wonder. I followed the crowds along the midway to the big top, past the sideshows and the stalls. While they held temptations for others, I resisted them. All I wanted was to see once more the elephants from the parade.

I took my seat on the bleachers and waited for the show to start. Like the others, I clapped for the clowns and applauded the acrobats; but, when the elephants arrived, I sat in awed silence. The mahouts led them through their routines, and I wondered how such ponderous creatures could move with precision and delicacy.

Then, disaster struck. One of the ironclad elephants shuddered from some internal upset. Flames began to lick along its sides, fuelled by its painted covering. The mahout screamed in panic and raised his explosive ankus, jabbing it into the elephant's controls. The charge destroyed the creature's head, but, still responding to its program, the elephant's body continued with its dance. The crowd fled in panic as flames rose to the canvas above, but I stayed to watch until, with one last blast of tortured brass, the elephant collapsed in ruins.

I snatched a cog from the elephant's body, letting its heat brand me.