Behind the Big Red Nose
Reflections of a World-Travelling Buffoon
Reflections of a World-Travelling Buffoon
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The Buffoon’s Craft
A Buffoon’s craft transcends the ordinary, stretching as vast as a Cathedral's embrace, yet as fleetingly gentle as a Moth's flight.
It is a choreography of calculated chaos, a symphony where each note of subtlety, wit, and surprise is a thread weaving the grand tapestry of human folly.
Each movement carries profound weight; too many pirouettes may send it spiralling into obscurity, and too few may rob it of its thunderous brilliance.
In this delicate balance, the Buffoon channels the duality of existence—the play between light and shadow, silence and laughter—and within this eternal dance, the essence of genius resides.
LANCASHIRE COTTON MILL WORKERS WHEN EDDIE WAS A LAD
We All Laugh in the Same Language
by Eddie Haworth FRSA
Today, a visitor to the Museum of Buffoonery inquired about what motivated me to pursue the path of a 7-ball juggler, musician, and high unicycle rider. I began by explaining that my journey stemmed from necessity. After a serious road accident in the 1970s left me disabled and cost me my job, my house and eventually my wife, who ran off with the children to live with a well-salaried alternative to me, her then, disabled husband. In short, I needed to find a way to make a living.
When the visitor followed up by asking whether I was professionally trained or self-taught, I paused to reflect before answering. I told her that my skills are largely self-taught. The technical aspects of my art were honed through years of practice, while the nuances of performance, timing, emotional depth, and audience engagement were developed through trial and error during my time as a street entertainer.
As a street performer, the stakes were high. If I failed to gather, then captivate an audience, I didn’t earn enough to eat. This reality pushed me to constantly analyse and refine every movement, gesture, and expression. My journey took me across cities in the whole of Europe, Istanbul, Scandinavia, the UAE and even Manhattan, USA, where I performed for diverse audiences and worked alongside some of the world’s finest, yet little-known artists and entertainers. These experiences shaped my craft and taught me the resilience required to endure challenges like sleeping rough, going hungry and sharing my occasional wealth with other struggling artistic escapees from the rapidly developing world of electronic so-called entertainment industry.
Despite the hardships and occasional periods of prosperity, my motivation extended beyond mere survival or achieving wealth and fame; a deeper sense of purpose drove it. I sought to earn respect for my artistic development and to create moments of joy and happiness for my audiences. Seeing the genuine delight on people’s faces, especially when I could bring laughter to those who often appeared burdened by the stresses of daily life, was profoundly rewarding. It reaffirmed and still does so for me: my purpose and the impact of my work.
Performing in countries where English is not the first language, I learned to master the art of a character-mime buffoon in the style of Mr Bean, Jacques Tati and Buster Keaton, all of whom influenced me and made me realise that; “We All Laugh in The Same Language”.
In the mid-1990s, I was noticed by some of Britain’s well-known comedians and variety entertainers, who honoured me with great respect and offered me opportunities to share my hard-earned skills with much larger audiences on stages and TV. This, in turn, led me to receive invitations to perform in countries such as India, China, and most of Southeast Asia. In 1999, I was invited to perform at a major annual expatriate event held in the colonial gardens of the British Embassy in Bangkok. Within the next year, I found myself becoming a well-known comedy entertainer, known as the Clown Prince of Thailand.
But I digress from answering the question of what motivated me...
As a child, I occasionally caught glimpses inside one of the Lancashire Cotton Mills, where my mother and hundreds of other women toiled for 12 exhausting hours a day. The relentless noise was so overwhelming that the workers developed their own sign language to communicate amid the deafening roar of machinery. The work demanded extraordinary skill and vigilance. Mistakes could be catastrophic. A single misstep might cost a hand or even a life in an instant.
Reflecting on this as an adult budding buffoon, I often measured those dire consequences against my own, far safer pursuits. When I fumbled a juggling ball or tumbled from my unicycle, I simply picked myself up and carried on, grateful that my challenges carried no such life-threatening stakes. The comparison still reminds me just how remarkable the skill and determination of those women were, as they faced such peril day after day merely to return home safely.
Their resilience and strength have always inspired me, and it has been natural for me to dedicate myself wholeheartedly to mastering my craft. Fuelled by the example of my mother and her workmates, as well as years of practice, I became able to confidently share my art and offer moments of light-heartedness to others whenever and wherever I performed during the last four decades.
Now in my 70s, I cherish the privilege of continuing my safe and joyful artistry, a pursuit that brings me those warm, fuzzy feelings from watching the spark of joy in my audience's eyes. Best of all, I sometimes get a crinkly lip while taking immense pride in being one of Britain’s rare old-school slapstick comedians still spreading simple, honest-to-goodness happiness through my buffoonery.
In short, I’m driven to press those elusive giggle buttons tucked behind the often-hard-earned frowns of city dwellers in the Western world, the slums of Bangkok, and the remote hill tribe communities of the Far East. After all, someone must sprinkle a little happiness on this planet as it careers toward an ethereal, greed-infested black hole.