A LITTLE DAB'LL DO YA!

The ballroom (yes that ballroom, that yours truly French chalks) is the joy of many dancers feet every Wednesday and Saturday evening.

Wednesday’s would-be lounge suits and very what we might call today, blue and white-collar. Saturday’s would be black tie and fancy suits. (Think Italian and the Rat Pack). So hopefully you get the idea.

Oh, lest it be forgotten, military dress was more than acceptable too.

Not omitting the ladies, who would put on the most wonderful fashion show — be it a slim cocktail dress, a classic black or simple polka dot dress.

This cavernous domain from floor to 20-foot ceiling, was looked over by Slick — the bandleader and drummer. Slick because of his Brylcreemed hair. The ad jingle for this hair tonic went something like this: “Brylcreem—A Little Dab'll Do Ya! Brylcreem—You'll look so debonair. Brylcreem—The gals'll all pursue ya; they'll love to run their fingers through your hair!”

To this young mind, it would be more like running “their fingers” — through an “oil slick”.

On one particular Wednesday evening, a Quickstep was in progress, with many couples and wallflowers dancing in an anti-clockwise direction — at a brisk pace. Suddenly with the equivalent of a car breaking sharply, couples are crazily attempting to keep their balance as they deftly dance-hop around the kerfuffle, now ensuing in the middle of the ballroom floor.

Slick, very perturbed decides to investigate. Leaving his drum kit, with the remainder of his band (clarinet, piano, double bass, and accordion player) attempting to play on. Losing focus, they are totally off tempo. The resulting, out of tune music adds a strange slow-motion fiasco to the proceedings. Slick with my good-self running behind — plunge into the mass of dancers.

As the dancers part, as if floating backward on water, the following scene unfolds in front of Slick, and these confused young eyes too. A woman half-sitting forlornly on the dance floor. A man (we’ll call him Stan) half-standing ranting at her. Stan’s dance partner trying to calm him. Another man, dance partner of the woman forlorn, is mouth agape and mumbling incoherently.

Well, dear reader, let’s try and make sense of this kerfuffle, and what had just played out. Ranting Stan was actually the husband of the woman he wrestled apart from her dance partner, in doing so she had tripped and like a rag doll flopped to the floor, landing somewhat exasperated on her bottom. The woman trying to calm Stan was his dance partner and in no way related. Mouth agape man was Stans wife’s dance partner. Still with me? Good.

Stan had taken objection to his wife dancing with another man, even though it transpired he was dancing with the wife of someone else. Stan was also seemingly worse for wear, with one too many bottles of stout. The root of many men's evil.

If you’re wondering where Mother is in all of this, she is just about to arrive on the scene. It's a moment no hotel manager has control over when unwanted physical behavior of any nature presents itself. As Father once told me it needs to “snuffed out instantly”. Think domino effect. (Think old cowboy movies, but not quite).

On this occasion, this “instant snuffing” is provided by Mother in the shape of big George. A former Commando in the Real Marines, 6’ 4” and probably close to 22 stones (308 lbs). His black tie suit — struggling not to break apart like the Incredible Hulk.

Now standing with a sense of vengeance, our forlorn woman goes after husband Stan. As she gets within eye scratching distance, big George in one stride sweeps Stans wife up under one arm and Stan under the other. This provides a somewhat needed comic relief moment, as both flap and squawk like wild geese, the dance floor inhabitants instantly applauding, grateful for Big George and his gorilla-like arms.

Slick under orders from Mother has returned to the bandstand and starts up a “Hokey Cokey” dance routine. A magical distraction invoking the following moves — “Your left leg in, your left leg out, including shake it all about” and so on. If confused kindly Google it, dear reader. This particular use of our every British limb is well known in many English speaking countries. A little something we exported — in the days of Empire.

Let’s segue to earlier in the day. Be it a Wednesday or a Saturday Mother always required that I indulge in dance evening preparations. Saturdays were always a double whammy, two to three weddings in addition to the dance. Which always necessitated cleaning and French chalking the ballroom floor, as described in vignette #1. Mr. Grey. We will say no more on that subject.

There was one somewhat awkward chore — that this young man had to encounter on these two specific days. Mother, I think thought of it as “a growing up phase” and fully embracing life. Father totally ignoring the situation whenever possible, I’m sure had many a wry smile break out on his face, thinking about it. It goes without saying that my school pals never got to hear of this particular chore.

Imagine if you will, being 11 or 12. Being summoned to the storeroom, and being handed a large white box with a small silver key. So far — all is full of innocence. Nothing scary or strange here. Until you find yourself heading to the Ladies Powder Room with Bodo the boxer bounding along too. Heaven help us, that this boys best friend, be omitted from this vignette.

As the Powder Room door comes into view, I’m reminded a certain protocol needs to be put into effect. A checklist if you will. Wait, for few moments (this to include Bodo) to see if anyone enters. If not, knock on the door three times. Loudly but never noisily. (What dear reader do you make of that?) Wait, if no response is forthcoming. Repeat once more. If again no response, enter cautiously, without Bodo.

Let’s take a pause here and consider for a moment, Bodo not being allowed in anywhere, without his young master. Inconceivable you may care to agree. Also, take into account his young master trying to get through the Powder Room door with a large box too. Whilst at the same time attempting to hold back his young boxer friend. Here is a case in point.

Kindly don’t ask me why, but on one occasion a lady was still occupying the Powder Room, totally not announcing herself. Leaving a cubicle, then seeing Bodo who could not be made to wait outside and myself the aforementioned lady lets out the most appalling blood-curdling scream. Sending Bodo into a frenzy that imitated a dog chasing his tail and barking as if he had just encountered Barrel the cellar cat — at close quarters.

Spilling the large white box of tampons onto the floor (yes, wondered when you’d care to ask?) master and boxer unceremoniously high tail it out of there, almost tripping over, cascading even into Mother, a maid and Moneypenny the receptionist. Collectively on their way to investigate this Hammer House of Horrors wailing. And woe betide the small silver key being lost, in the commotion too.

Yes dear reader, unlocking and filling the tampon machine was one of this young schoolboys chores, along with the aspirin dispensing machine too. Maybe here you feel somewhat disposed to dispensing from your caring soul — a small amount of sympathy for yours truly. Can you honestly imagine having this, on any British schoolboy’s to-do list?

Mother requesting some smelling salts of Moneypenny headed into said Ladies Powder Room. Concerned about the overpowering silence, wanted to be fully armed to arouse consciousness in our faint-hearted guest.

Bodo in the meantime was up at the other end of the corridor, head snuck around the corner, observing any movement of a negative variety — that might head his way. As ever this young gallant guard dog keeping a safe distance from his now in very deep — do-do — master.

With smelling salts ever at the ready, we can close the door on this Powder Room escapade and look ahead. A preview might go something like this: Someone looking through a keyhole. Mrs. Graham, a lingerie store owner. The Egyptian linen pillowcase and this boys bottom. Ouch! 

But I digress. Does our forlorn lady make a good recovery with a possible divorce thrown in too? Yes. Does the tampon machine get refilled in time, and the small silver key recovered? Yes. Does Bodo end up in the dog house? No. Do I? What do you think dear reader?

© Peter Wood 2024