Nobody cited Mass of Ages as their source of knowledge about the dance. However, I consider them £14 well-spent for announcing our presence to the wider TLM-loving community in Britain. We're here, we're dear, we're in Scotland.
Easter Saturday night's dance (7:30 PM - 11:00 PM) was "convivial" someone said, and it was certainly a lot of fun. Nobody, seeing me cut capers in a green-and-black evening dress, could have guessed I had spent the past two days miserable in bed or chair with my annual Easter viral rhinitis, reading Lucy Maud Montgomery, Robertson Davies and then Lionel Shriver like a literary review of life: childhood, adolescence, adulthood.
The dance began with the Prayer to St. Michael and an explanation of the dance cards I had handed out at the inner door as people came in. There followed 15 minutes or so of noisy conversation which was supposed to be men requesting places on the ladies' dance cards and writing the latter's names in their own. Then our expert Caller explained the figures of the Dashing White Sergeant, the young ceilidh band (playing guitar, accordion, fiddle) played their first chord, and the dance began in earnest.
The ceilidh dances were interspersed with waltzes. The Expert Caller (who was also officially in charge of the musicians) and I had decided that we would have a waltz-heavy first half and a ceilidh-heavy second half. During the intermission, our volunteer keyboardist would play jazz and anyone who liked could swing-dance. I would also not shout orders from the stage this time, trusting that the gentlemen would ask the ladies in good time without my prompting.
So naturally I ended up shouting from the stage anyway, which I probably enjoyed too much. However, it was very good fun to watch the couples drifting onto the dance floor and to call out broad hints to the gentlemen who had not yet got partners, the dance cards notwithstanding.
Dance aficionados may be interested to read that after the DWS we danced to Shostakovich's Waltz No. 2 (which I danced with a Classics professor), Kilar's Waltz from Trędowata (a choice praised by the violinist's Polish father), the Canadian Barn Dance, the St. Bernard's Waltz (a ceilidh-waltz hybrid), Waldteufel's Skaters' Waltz and Mancini's Moon River.
I believe all the ladies were on the dance floor (we had one or two more men than women) for the Skaters' Waltz, which made me supremely happy.
"Well, Our Chaps ask women to dance," I imagine myself bragging to less fortunate Susans*. "Our Chaps make it a point of honour to introduce themselves to ladies they don't know and ask them to dance. Hospitality is so important to Catholics, wouldn't you agree? Yes, Our Chaps do stand out from the crowd in that regard. They're Traditionalists. "
Many of them are also musical, and I was agreeably surprised when a singer informed me that he had been working with our jazz musician on the intermission music. Traditionally ceilidhs aren't black-tie events, but kitchen-or-barn jamborees in which everyone sings, plays and/or dances. I was even more delighted when the violinist, who was sitting across the room with her parents, suddenly joined in playing to Fly Me to the Moon. Structures should create space for spontaneity--and behold!
(Another spontaneity was the ceilidh band finally deciding on their name so that we could introduce them properly.)
As I made tea and coffee and set out the cake, wine and beer, I was delighted to see that swing-dancing, though as yet very much a minority interest, was actually going on. The intermission was 45 or 50 minutes, and then we were all back in the middle of the floor for The Flying Scotsman.
This was followed by the Eightsome Reel, the Blue Danube Waltz, and Waltz of the Flowers (I think--the dance card says just Tchaikovsky Waltz because I couldn't decide between Flowers and Sleeping Beauty and left it up to our able pianist). After the Blue Danube Waltz, I saw that we had 65 minutes left but only three more dances scheduled, so we took longer breaks and after we danced Waves of Tory, we had the Dashing White Sergeant again, and only then Strip the Willow, which currently is the last dance we dance at Scottish ceilidhs.
Of course we followed that with Auld Lang Syne, because we're in Scotland, and we ended with Regina Caeli, because we're militant Catholics. I then went back to the inner door to bid people good-bye, just like a hostess in Etiquette for Ladies. Say what you like about the Victorians and Edwardians, they knew how to make people feel acknowledged and cared for at dances.
As that particular hall doesn't offer china or glassware, the presence of proper wineglasses, china tea set, giant tablecloths and the large reproduction of Guido Reni's St. Michael were thanks to the Security Man and his little red car. The car of one Generous Donor (we had a few Generous Donors, whose names are known to heaven) broke down, so the Security Man volunteered to make extra trips to acquire, and then take home, the electric piano and its owner. This is a bittersweet acknowledgement that it is difficult to have well-appointed dance without a car---and impossible without a Committee.
I am very grateful to our Committee, for I finally followed my own management philosophy and delegated as many tasks as possible. (Take note, fellow Susans.) For example, it was a great blessing to be free to leave the dishes to the Kitchen Manager. This was one of the lessons I learned from the Michaelmas Dance. Thanks also to our first foray, I bought only 12 bottles of wine (bringing 5.5 bottles home), baked only one giant carrot cake, and solicited a donation of beer.
This dance had lessons of its own, and I think the first is to have music from the moment the guests step over the threshold. As with the Michaelmas Dance, the beginning was a little timorous and unsure. I wonder if we know any pipers?
Meanwhile, Benedict Ambrose waved aside my taxicab suggestion and decided to have a quiet night in. I now regret getting someone to rescue me from his approximation of the waltz at the Michaelmas Dance, as we suspect that it will be a long time before he is able even to attempt to dance again. However, he enjoyed hearing about the Eastertide soiree, and he wrote me a delightful poem about it in advance. In fact, this highly flattering poem gave me the energy I needed to finish the preparations, and so I am grateful to him, too.
*A Susan, in case you are wondering, denotes a Catholic woman who interests herself greatly in parish church affairs, cf Susan from the Parish Council. Not all Susans are bad, Harry. Parish councils, on the other hand... ;-)
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