Dancing with dad

Sunday evening after supper was the best time of the week for me. I was only 7, and dad taught me to dance. I was having ballet classes by then, and loved to dance anywhere and everywhere. He was an excellent ballroom dancer, very skilled and light on his feet. Talking of feet, that's how we started, me perched on the front of he shoes and holding on tight, while he slowly and steadily led me round the room showing me what to do. Then I'd hop off and try it myself.

Victor Sylvester's 'An apple for the teacher' flowed through the room as we whirled round and round and round. I mastered the foxtrot, waltz, tango, and cha cha cha in these blissful sessions.

Although he used to get ratty and sometimes yell at me when I made mistakes, these were wonderful times leaving me with good memories.

Oh Boy

In 1958 Buddy Holly and the Crickets brought out 'Oh Boy' on a seven single record and I was totally crazy about this song. We were on the farm visiting my mother's other sister, Auntie Doris, who I was definitely not that fond of. She had a little transistor radio in huge farm kitchen. Whenever 'Oh Boy' was played, I used to jump up, grab Ian and start dancing round the kitchen (I was 10, he was 9). Auntie Doris got so fed up with us, she used to 'shoo' us out of the kitchen with her apron flapping at her waist. We danced out of the door, and continued jiving till the record finished, straining to hear it on the other side of the closed door. We must have danced to that song at least 4 times a day, thus driving everone mad. Why didn't they just join in?

The Blue Danube

When I was seven, my dad taught me how to dance. I loved those Sunday evenings twirling round poised on his shoes, feeling the rhythm, and then practising it myself, without his feet under mine. Eventually we danced together every chance we got. Then the bombshell was dropped. My cousin Terence was having his Barmitzvah in Pretoria and they were celebrating with a Dinner Dance for hundreds of people. What a silly idea. But even more silly was the two sisters getting together and deciding that Terence and I would dance the first waltz together. I didn't know him well enough, and certainly didn't like him. And the six year age difference yawned between us too.
On the night, with sweaty palms and a pink frothy dress- what could be worse?- the music started. I swear it was a Strauss tune, probably 'The Blue Danube'. He kept shouting in my ear 'go faster, faster, faster,' and I kept saying' that's not right, we have to go slower'. What a nightmare. I remember that dance as if it were yesterday. It's a wonder I still love dancing.

Ballet protege

Another great scheme they cooked up was to send me to ballet classes. I started very young, probably round 5 or 6. It was the sort of thing one did to further their child's educational experiences. Being fat and round, I was not comfortable squeezing into those little pink shoes and standing in a line being ordered: first position, second position, arabesque, plie...... and on and on. Why the hell couldn't this emaciated scarecrow of a woman puffing away on her cigarette within the long sleek black holder just speak English? It was torture. Then came the exams, both practical and theoretical. I managed to pass them all, but no 'highly recommended' for me. Then there were the regular performances for the parents. I was always the fat girl in the middle, struggling to keep up. I fell in love with Margot Fonteyn and Nureyev, and swore I would grow up to be like them one day. Dream on, little fat girl! I still love the ballet, and my all time favourite is 'Swan Lake'. I ache every time I see it, with vivid memories of those years.