Mademoiselle Francisca’s caravan is a metaphor for her life. Glamour is offset by work-day domesticity in her tiny mobile home where rhinestones and water bottles jostle for space.Outside her grassy stand at East London’s Police Park, the legendary circus performer has strung a washing line from a floodlight pole and alongside her little front door a large mirror ball creates an incongruous still-life next to a kitty litter tray.
Observations about the grit and glamour of life in the big top have been made before, but Francisca Laszig lives them out in the most poignant way.
She found love and lost it in the circus and her heavily made up eyes fill with tears when she talks about her late husband; fellow performer and soul mate Manfred Laszig who died suddenly two years ago, leaving her to smile tragically through her astonishing balancing acts at McLaren Circus solo.
Like the stereotype of star-struck young people who run away to join the circus, Laszig, who says she is 53, left her Witbank home after Standard 9 (Grade 7).
“My mom was upset.
“She was crying, but I said I had to go and so she let me. I travelled all over South Africa and the world. My brother, Theo Kruger, also joined the circus.”
Laszig felt the first stirrings of circus fever when she was eight and accompanied her father to a Boswell-Wilkie show.
“I saw the glitter and glamour and music and lights of the acts and I knew I wanted to join the circus, so when I was about nine I put up my own slack wire in the garden and tried to walk on it.”
She and her brother also set up a home trapeze and put on little shows for family and friends.
When the diminutive performer, with her Liza Minnelli-esque megawatt smile and ability to walk a tight-rope in stilettos, fell instantly in love with a German trapeze artist who went by the name of Prince Manfred, her life felt complete.
“He was so handsome and sexy and we became a duo called Manfred and Francisca.
We did a trapeze act together. He would lie on broken glass and I would walk on top of him with high heels. I also threw darts at his back. The throwing was okay, although I had to avoid the spine, but it felt horrible taking the darts out of his body, so we stopped that act...”
Her world fell apart two years ago when her soul mate died unexpectedly in the couple’s Kempton Park home.
“I cancelled everything. We were always together, but suddenly I was alone.”
Her extended circus family attended the funeral and four months later circus owner David McLaren finally lured her back into the ring.
“When I first performed I was crying, but I felt alive again. I still feel like he is in our caravan and I sleep with his photograph next to me.
“I kept the condensed milk tin he once drank from and I kiss it. I can’t let him go. I don’t even want to go home to Kempton Park.
“I don’t want a break. I’d rather just work.”
Besides heartbreak, Laszig had also endured many broken bones thanks to her death-defying acts which she insists are done minus safety nets.
She has had a sword pierce her chest, and she has plummeted from ceiling height to the floor during an aerial act, smashing her wrist and elbow.
“Once in Mossel Bay, I fell into the gallery. My head landed on a man’s shoulder and I tore my thigh open. But I don’t want a net. It has to be dangerous.”
Also dangerous is Mademoiselle Francisca’s current balancing act involving a dagger, a pole and teetering household items.
She is able to balance the long rod, topped with a tray bearing four wine glasses and a five-candle chandelier on the dagger’s tip she holds with her mouth.
She then climbs up a seven-rung ladder and down the other side. The eye-popping act appears to defy physics and gravity, but for this seasoned artist it’s just an everyday routine.
Such big top routines are interspersed with household ones like sewing all her own stage costumes. Sequins, spangles, glittering top hats and dazzling leotards litter her tiny living space where Manfred’s mounted photo reigns supreme.
Her beloved fluffy black and white cat stares inscrutably at circus lions in an enclosure just metres from her caravan.
“His name is Liefie and he sleeps with me on my bed. He is my comfort.” — barbarah@ dispatchlive.co.za/
Francisca thrives with glamour of circus life
Outside her grassy stand at East London’s Police Park, the legendary circus performer has strung a washing line from a floodlight pole and alongside her little front door a large mirror ball creates an incongruous still-life next to a kitty litter tray.
Observations about the grit and glamour of life in the big top have been made before, but Francisca Laszig lives them out in the most poignant way.
She found love and lost it in the circus and her heavily made up eyes fill with tears when she talks about her late husband; fellow performer and soul mate Manfred Laszig who died suddenly two years ago, leaving her to smile tragically through her astonishing balancing acts at McLaren Circus solo.
Like the stereotype of star-struck young people who run away to join the circus, Laszig, who says she is 53, left her Witbank home after Standard 9 (Grade 7).
“My mom was upset.
“She was crying, but I said I had to go and so she let me. I travelled all over South Africa and the world. My brother, Theo Kruger, also joined the circus.”
Laszig felt the first stirrings of circus fever when she was eight and accompanied her father to a Boswell-Wilkie show.
“I saw the glitter and glamour and music and lights of the acts and I knew I wanted to join the circus, so when I was about nine I put up my own slack wire in the garden and tried to walk on it.”
She and her brother also set up a home trapeze and put on little shows for family and friends.
When the diminutive performer, with her Liza Minnelli-esque megawatt smile and ability to walk a tight-rope in stilettos, fell instantly in love with a German trapeze artist who went by the name of Prince Manfred, her life felt complete.
“He was so handsome and sexy and we became a duo called Manfred and Francisca.
We did a trapeze act together. He would lie on broken glass and I would walk on top of him with high heels. I also threw darts at his back. The throwing was okay, although I had to avoid the spine, but it felt horrible taking the darts out of his body, so we stopped that act...”
Her world fell apart two years ago when her soul mate died unexpectedly in the couple’s Kempton Park home.
“I cancelled everything. We were always together, but suddenly I was alone.”
Her extended circus family attended the funeral and four months later circus owner David McLaren finally lured her back into the ring.
“When I first performed I was crying, but I felt alive again. I still feel like he is in our caravan and I sleep with his photograph next to me.
“I kept the condensed milk tin he once drank from and I kiss it. I can’t let him go. I don’t even want to go home to Kempton Park.
“I don’t want a break. I’d rather just work.”
Besides heartbreak, Laszig had also endured many broken bones thanks to her death-defying acts which she insists are done minus safety nets.
She has had a sword pierce her chest, and she has plummeted from ceiling height to the floor during an aerial act, smashing her wrist and elbow.
“Once in Mossel Bay, I fell into the gallery. My head landed on a man’s shoulder and I tore my thigh open. But I don’t want a net. It has to be dangerous.”
Also dangerous is Mademoiselle Francisca’s current balancing act involving a dagger, a pole and teetering household items.
She is able to balance the long rod, topped with a tray bearing four wine glasses and a five-candle chandelier on the dagger’s tip she holds with her mouth.
She then climbs up a seven-rung ladder and down the other side. The eye-popping act appears to defy physics and gravity, but for this seasoned artist it’s just an everyday routine.
Such big top routines are interspersed with household ones like sewing all her own stage costumes. Sequins, spangles, glittering top hats and dazzling leotards litter her tiny living space where Manfred’s mounted photo reigns supreme.
Her beloved fluffy black and white cat stares inscrutably at circus lions in an enclosure just metres from her caravan.
“His name is Liefie and he sleeps with me on my bed. He is my comfort.” — barbarah@ dispatchlive.co.za/
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