their girls in the towns and citieswere learning the new dances. But country dances stayed the same and that is a fact. Every person in the County knew the two-step, knew how to square dance and how to face off for a Virginia reel. Even our father danced—in the years before he became ill—and that was something, Phil’s short body being pushed around by the unsmiling Conrad Holmes, easily spotted on the dance floor because of his black patch, and rumoured to be a German spy because of his first name, even though the Conrad part did not start with a K.
The only person who did not dance was Grand Dan, although she attended and sat on a hard-backed chair at the side of the church hall. “There’s a time to dance, and a time to mourn,” she told me, with a nod that meant she was quoting from the Bible. Publicly, she neither danced nor mourned. It was simply understood that no man dared to stand before her and proffer his arm. Grand Dan’s legs had been bandaged since she’d received the War Office telegram—from the First War, not the Second—and her feet no longer danced.
She loved music, however, and listened to dance music on our big radio. We all did, especially on Saturday nights when we sat in the parlour listening to Guy Lombardo and his band, broadcast from the Roosevelt Hotel, hundreds of miles away in New York. Ally and I sprawled on the rug; Father stretched out on the sofa; Grand Dan and Phil sat in armchairs. No one said much, but there was foot tapping and occasional shoulder swaying. We glanced up at one another every now and then. Most of the time our eyes were focused on some vague spot on the rug. When I think back to this—could it have been a single moment?—I think of peace, even happiness. The picture stills; it is complete. This was the family I’d been graced with. This was where I belonged.
James Cagney, too, danced during the war years. He danced up the walls at both ends of the stage in Yankee Doodle Dandy. When the movie came out in the early forties, I saw it twice, at the Belle—the same theatre Case now owns. I was with Ally the first time. The second time, I returned alone for a matinee, just for the pleasure of sitting by myself. I wanted the moment before the velvet curtains split at centre stage; I wanted the pause before the lights went down. I wanted to watch the talented Mr. Cagney dance across the stage. No one thought of him as a dancer, but I did then and I still do now. So much energy in one small body. Such an unlikely looking man for being so light on his feet. I didn’t care so much about the Yankee Doodle story or what happened next, though the story was good enough. Even the sounds of the knitters behind me, their needles clacketing in the dark as they knitted socks for the boys overseas, could not ruin my enjoyment. I was there to see Cagney dance.
Lives had been changing since the beginning of the war, and changing quickly, everywhere we looked. Older girls Ally and I had known from school were leaving for the city to take up factory jobs, and were allowed to wear trousers to work. Older boys were enlisting. This included Wade Trick, whom Ally swore she was going to marry at the end of the war. She had known him since high school, and he’d been one of the first to sign up. After he left for overseas, he wrote to Ally every week, and told her he was learning a trade in the army. He would soon be a qualified electrician and said that when he got home it would be easy to find a job. She immediately wrote back and assigned him electrical duties in Boca, putting him in charge of dealing with power outages after hurricanes. She still had not assigned the housework duties, but she wasn’t worried. She said she’d find someone eventually.
Wash floor after dark
Bring sorrow to your heart
Who said that?
Grand Dan. I heard her voice just now. Uncle Fred believed in spirits, and so can I.
Grand Dan truly might have believed that everything turns to sorrow. She had
The only person who did not dance was Grand Dan, although she attended and sat on a hard-backed chair at the side of the church hall. “There’s a time to dance, and a time to mourn,” she told me, with a nod that meant she was quoting from the Bible. Publicly, she neither danced nor mourned. It was simply understood that no man dared to stand before her and proffer his arm. Grand Dan’s legs had been bandaged since she’d received the War Office telegram—from the First War, not the Second—and her feet no longer danced.
She loved music, however, and listened to dance music on our big radio. We all did, especially on Saturday nights when we sat in the parlour listening to Guy Lombardo and his band, broadcast from the Roosevelt Hotel, hundreds of miles away in New York. Ally and I sprawled on the rug; Father stretched out on the sofa; Grand Dan and Phil sat in armchairs. No one said much, but there was foot tapping and occasional shoulder swaying. We glanced up at one another every now and then. Most of the time our eyes were focused on some vague spot on the rug. When I think back to this—could it have been a single moment?—I think of peace, even happiness. The picture stills; it is complete. This was the family I’d been graced with. This was where I belonged.
James Cagney, too, danced during the war years. He danced up the walls at both ends of the stage in Yankee Doodle Dandy. When the movie came out in the early forties, I saw it twice, at the Belle—the same theatre Case now owns. I was with Ally the first time. The second time, I returned alone for a matinee, just for the pleasure of sitting by myself. I wanted the moment before the velvet curtains split at centre stage; I wanted the pause before the lights went down. I wanted to watch the talented Mr. Cagney dance across the stage. No one thought of him as a dancer, but I did then and I still do now. So much energy in one small body. Such an unlikely looking man for being so light on his feet. I didn’t care so much about the Yankee Doodle story or what happened next, though the story was good enough. Even the sounds of the knitters behind me, their needles clacketing in the dark as they knitted socks for the boys overseas, could not ruin my enjoyment. I was there to see Cagney dance.
Lives had been changing since the beginning of the war, and changing quickly, everywhere we looked. Older girls Ally and I had known from school were leaving for the city to take up factory jobs, and were allowed to wear trousers to work. Older boys were enlisting. This included Wade Trick, whom Ally swore she was going to marry at the end of the war. She had known him since high school, and he’d been one of the first to sign up. After he left for overseas, he wrote to Ally every week, and told her he was learning a trade in the army. He would soon be a qualified electrician and said that when he got home it would be easy to find a job. She immediately wrote back and assigned him electrical duties in Boca, putting him in charge of dealing with power outages after hurricanes. She still had not assigned the housework duties, but she wasn’t worried. She said she’d find someone eventually.
Wash floor after dark
Bring sorrow to your heart
Who said that?
Grand Dan. I heard her voice just now. Uncle Fred believed in spirits, and so can I.
Grand Dan truly might have believed that everything turns to sorrow. She had
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