by Mary Easson
Chapter 10
Minn
I spent nearly every waking minute of the week before the Gala Day dance looking for signs that I was going to find love in the arms of my chosen one. In my mind, I listed every superstition I had ever heard. The weather was fair apart from an evening thunderstorm – and everybody saw fine weather as a good sign. I looked around for bird mess on windows, stared upward in the hope that a passing bird might bless me as I moved about the farmyard and the fields. Regardless of the large numbers of swallows swooping around the yard, I was out of luck. But it didn’t mean bad luck either, I reckoned. I warned the bothy lads to take their boots off the table when I saw them scraping off the mud from the fields at the end of a day’s work because that was bad luck. And shut my ears to the talk of a fox being seen in the stackyard. A fox was the worst possible sign according to Annie. It was a sign of..... d-e-a-t-h. I prayed that a black cat lay in wait around every corner, ready to walk across my path and bestow lasting good fortune on me, simply because I was there, in the right place at the right time. All week I hoped and prayed that the black stray with the white socks would put in an appearance. But I was sorely disappointed. Dochie claimed to have seen her in the wood by the burn the day before, said she was running wild with the ginger tom and probably wouldn’t come back until she needed a place to have her kittens.
What a silly, silly, innocent girl I was back then. Naive and hopeful, and so unprepared for the real world outside the romantic notions of my childish dreams.
On the night of the dance, I sat in the back room at home wearing Jean’s clothes, skilfully altered to accommodate my tall, slender figure, with a trim of lace around the collar of the blouse. Sarah brushed out my hair and told me about the awful life Miss Fraser had with the tyrannical minister in the manse. She related the story of an argument between them earlier in the week and how they were going nineteen to the dozen until Mr Black had appeared on the scene. Mr Fraser always calmed down in company. We agreed that Miss Fraser deserved to find a beau, someone she could truly love and who would love her in return. Then she would be shot of her horrible brother who didn’t seem to like women in the slightest. We reckoned he was lucky to have his sister to look after him but he would probably only realise how fortunate he’d been when she was married to somebody and living elsewhere. And that would serve him right.
Sarah pinned up my hair then I stood up and twirled around, waiting for her verdict. I looked grand, she told me, elegant and feminine for a change, but it was a pity about the boots. I stuck out one foot and looked down, hands on hips. It was a shame about the boots right enough, sticking out below the skirt, but there was no alternative. I’d always worn boots, ever since I’d learned to walk. But at least they were clean and polished and laced up the front to just above the ankle, so they didn’t look too bad. Not as bad as the tacketie boots I wore on the farm. Sarah howled with laughter and had to hold her sides at the thought of me in my workboots, covered in mud and dung from the fields, clod-hopping around the public hall at the Gala Day dance.
Our shenanigans drew Jean through from the other room, wondering how things were progressing. Her eyes lit up and she smiled at the sight of me.
‘Yer quite the lady,’ she began. ‘Turn roon till I see the back.’
I turned round and waited.
‘Ye’ll turn a few heids at the dancin’, so ye will,’ she said. ‘Shame aboot the boots.’
‘They’re fine.’ I was starting to think that my footwear might spoil the entire evening.
‘It’s the style o’ the skirt,’ said Jean with a loud tut. ‘Ye can see yer feet and ankles ablow it.’
‘Longer an’ it would look auld-fashioned,’ I argued. ‘I’m happy wi’ the skirt the wey it is.’
Jean shook her head.
‘They’re fine!’ I was afraid Jean was about to perform major surgery on the skirt and make me late for the dance and a possible meeting with Rob. ‘The boots are fine, the skirt’s fine, the blouse is fine an’ I’m fine tae.’
A smile crept over Jean’s face and I wondered if she’d been teasing me.
‘Aye, yer fine,’ agreed Jean. ‘But there’s somethin’ here ye might like.’ She reached under the boys’ bed, drew out a box which she handed over.
I looked at it in amazement, hardly able to speak. It was a shoe box.
‘Open it up then,’ she ordered. ‘Let’s see whit they look like.’
I took off the lid and carefully parted the tissue paper inside. Slowly, I removed a black shoe marvelling at the suppleness of the leather and the perfect, tiny button that secured a single strap across the front. I held it up, examining the small heel and the slightly pointed toe, so feminine compared to anything I had worn on my feet in the past.
‘Dae ye like them, then?’
I nodded, lost for words. ‘A…. a… are they for me?’
‘Aye! They’re yours. Let’s see them oan.’
‘They’re braw so they are. Jist... braw.’
‘Can ye walk in them?’ asked Sarah.
I took a step. ‘They’re a wee bit big.’ My heart missed a beat at the thought that I might have to wear my boots after all.
‘That’s nae bother,’ said Jean. ‘I thocht they micht be on the big side. But ye’ll grow a bit yet, at yer age. They’ll last ye for years.’
She reached into the box and tore off a piece of tissue paper, scrunching it up into a ball. I knew exactly what to do, taking each shoe off in turn and wedging a wad in the toes before putting them back on. I walked a few paces back and forward.
‘The very dab!’ I declared. ‘Cinders can go to the ball!’
Sarah clapped her hands in delight and dashed off to answer a knock at the door. It was probably Jenny. She would let her know that I was ready.
I gave Jean a hug and was about to tell her how grateful I was for the clothes and the shoes, and for being so good to me. I was suddenly sorry that I’d taken so long to warm to my father’s new wife and, when I thought about it, I hadn’t been as welcoming as I could have been. And here Jean was, spending some of the family’s limited income on a pair of shoes, a frivolous pair of shoes just for me.
But before I could say a word, Jean grabbed my wrist hard and looked me straight in the eye.
I was taken aback.
‘Afore ye go, Minn Graham. Sit doon a meenit,’ she said, suddenly serious.
I waited. What was coming? I looked upward at Jean, towering over me.
‘I hope sincerely that ye have a guid time at the dance, young lady.’
I nodded. She didn’t sound as if she meant it. Her voice was gruff and her eyes were piercing.
‘But mind this!’ Her finger was pointing straight at my face. ‘Ye mak yer bed ye hiv tae lie in it!’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Ye ken whit I’m talkin’ aboot, Minn Graham.’
I must have blushed a brighter shade of crimson. Could Jean possibly be talking about what I thought she was talking about?
‘If ye mak yer bed ye’ve got tae lie in it, Minn,’ she repeated, a wee bit softer this time.
‘Aye, Jean. I’ll mind.’ I nodded, my heart thumping in my chest. Suddenly there was great responsibility attached to my attendance at the Gala Day dance.
‘Ye need tae think aboot these kinna things,’ she explained, guessing that nothing of the sort had occurred to me before. That was exactly why she’d had to bring the subject up. ‘Itherwise, ye can get caught unawares. Ye need tae be prepared, in yer mind... ‘specially... a guid lass like yersel.’
I gave her a smile as best I could. I knew Jean meant well and, although she wasn’t my real mother, she was doing her best to give advice before I went off to my first dance. One day I would come to realise how important that advice had been. I gave her a cuddle and assured her I would be careful.
‘Guid, lass,’ Jean said. �
�Noo, oan yer wey and enjoy yersel, the ither lassies are waitin’. Peter’s gaun tae the dance tae. He’s awa’ tae meet his pairtner and he’ll meet ye alang at the steadin’.’
‘Peter? Is Uncle Peter gaun tae the dance?’
‘Aye, an’ I’ve telt him tae look oot for ye an’ mak sure ye dinna come tae onie herm.’
‘Oh, thanks… thanks very much.’
The bairns watched open-mouthed as I made my way through the front room to join my friends who were waiting with Sarah by the door. My father had a richt dour look about him, kept his head down as I passed. He wasn’t too happy that I was going out to the dance with the other girls at such a young age. He thought I should wait to be asked by a young man but Jean had persuaded him to let me go.
Jean had said there was no shame in it and I was a guid lass.
And I had assured him, I’d be fine.
I was mightily relieved when I saw my friends blethering excitedly in the street but any brightening of my mood soon dulled as we got near the steading where Uncle Peter was waiting. Beside him stood his dancing partner, Bessie Morrison, who worked in the Cooperative store. She half-smiled as we approached then led Peter off to the dance at a fair lick, leaving us to follow in their wake.
The hall was already busy when we took our seats, arranged in double rows around three sides of the hall to fit in as many people as possible and still give a good view of the dance floor. As the seats filled up, groups of revellers congregated at both ends of the hall: at the main entrance from the street and beside another door in the top corner by the small stage where the band was setting up.
Jenny said I was looking braw in my outfit but I was being very quiet. Was everything alright? I said I was fine, just a bit nervous to be dressed up for a change. It made me feel conspicuous, especially wearing new shoes which would take a bit of getting used to. In truth, I was weighed down by Jean’s words of warning. Doubly so knowing that my father had had to be persuaded to let his seventeen-year-old daughter go to the dance with friends of the same age, rather than with a young man who could have been entrusted with my care and instructed to return me to the family home by a particular time, in the same condition as I’d left the house. I glanced along at Uncle Peter, there as my chaperone. The signs weren’t good, I thought, and hoped things would improve.
The band started up. We watched the dancers take to the floor, including Peter and Bessie who stood ready for a waltz. He glanced over in my direction to let me know he still had his eye on me. Meanwhile, we chatted about what the women were wearing and tried to name the young men we were less familiar with. It was thrilling to hear the music and to see who was dancing with who. But several dances later, we were still sitting. At the start of every new dance, when the band played a chord to signal for attention and the caller told everybody to take their partners, we sat up straight in hopeful expectation of being asked up but each time we were disappointed. The excitement of the event, anticipated for such a long time, was beginning to wane. I wondered if my father had been right. Maybe young women should only attend dances when they’re accompanied by a young man.
Just as the dancers were leaving the floor, breathing hard after a vigorous reel, an argument erupted on the other side of the hall from where we sat. Two of the organisers had confronted a small group of men. Unlike everybody else, they still wore their bunnets and had brought attention to themselves. Jenny said they probably didn’t have tickets and had sneaked in by the back door. I asked if anybody recognised who they were. It was hard to make out their faces under their caps but wasn’t the smaller one Davy Birse, elder brother of John and Jim who had been in our class at school? The men were moving away towards the exit by the stage so it was hard to see them clearly. We agreed it wasn’t right that people got in without a ticket. It hadn’t been easy to get one and if people were able just to walk in then that wasn’t fair.
A loud chord from the accordion drew our attention back to the caller. It was a barn dance, he said, for those who still had some puff left after the reel. Bessie dragged Peter from his seat. She seemed to have plenty of energy and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Jenny elbowed me in the side at the sight of them, and we laughed. Poor Uncle Peter wouldn’t be able to get out of his bed in the morning, not after Bessie Morrison was finished with him. Our laughter was interrupted by a voice from behind asking me if I would like to dance. I turned round to see who it was. Where had he come from? He was hunkered down behind me, almost hiding. I had no time to reply, never mind recover from the shock of seeing Rob’s serious face over my shoulder. He whisked me out of my seat and onto the dance floor, telling me to hurry up, the dance was about to begin.
I stood facing him, hardly able to believe it was true, unable to speak. Butterflies fluttered inside me – not just my stomach but my chest, my throat, my head, and other places I shouldn’t mention. It was a feeling I liked. He was the only person in the room as far as I was concerned. I placed my hand gently on his shoulder as if too much pressure might break the spell and have him disappear in a puff of smoke. He took my other hand in his and I felt the strength of him, for the first time. A quick glance at the other couples to see what to do next and he placed his right hand on my back, pulling me towards him. I closed my eyes and prayed I wouldn’t faint.
The music started up and the caller shouted out the instructions till the dancers got used to the steps. Most had done it before but me and Rob were beginners. I had to guide him round for the jig at the end of each refrain but he got the hang of it eventually. We faltered now and again but he remained serious, staring deep into my eyes without saying a word. He spun me round and I floated somewhere between here and the moon, wishing it would go on forever. The music soon stopped and I lingered. There was always a second set. He returned my gaze for a moment. Then his eyes darted round, back and forth across the hall and to the exit by the stage, near where we stood. The band started up for the second phase of the barn dance but Rob didn’t respond. Instead, he yanked at my hand and quickly pulled me out of the back door. I gave a small yelp but I went with him.
In the dappled shade of the tree-lined lane that ran down to the road, Rob pressed me up against the wall of the public hall. I felt his body against mine when he put his arm around my waist and drew me to him. He looked deep into my eyes and said not a thing. Then he bent his head and kissed me full on the mouth. He looked along the lane, back and forth, and kissed me again, quicker and harder this time, before running off towards the road. I was left quivering like a jelly.
‘Get awa’ wi’ ye, ye tike!’ called a voice.
I steadied myself, looking in the direction he had taken off in. He was gone. A strong hand grabbed my arm, marched me back into the hall where the dance was carrying on as if nothing whatsoever had happened out in the lane.
‘Whit dae ye think ye’re up tae?’ asked Uncle Peter. ‘Yer faither’ll gie me whit for if he hears aboot this. Get in here an’ content yersel.’
I was speechless as he led me back to my seat and told me to stay put, OR ELSE. He was going back to Bessie, to finish the dance, but he would have his eye on me. I could be sure of that.
I came to, slowly, out of the dream-like state brought on by Rob Duncan’s kisses. Jenny was all ears but I wasn’t making sense. What was it like to dance with Rob? And why was my uncle so angry with me? Where was Rob, by the way? Where had he gone?
‘Jenny,’ I said eventually, swallowing hard. ‘It was a barn dance, a CANADIAN barn dance!’
Jenny waited for more information but nothing else was forthcoming.
‘A CANADIAN barn dance,’ was all I could say. It was a sign. I was convinced of it. But I couldn’t explain it to Jenny. Nobody but me – and maybe Annie – could understand its significance.
The tea interval didn’t come a moment too soon for the dancers. The hall was hot, despite every window being open, and the number of fast and furious reels greatly outnu
mbered the slower, more sedate waltzes. We lined up to collect a cup of tea, lamenting the lack of partners fighting over themselves to ask us to dance. The younger men seemed to prefer staring at the goings on, sizing up the single girls on the opposite side of the hall from where they sat, hunched up with long faces. Perhaps they were too shy to come and ask, one of my friends suggested. Another said it was a waste of a good dance, and good money, if we were just going to sit there all night. Jenny said that the men would soon find their nerve and there would be a queue of lads asking us to dance in the second half.
‘Dinna fash, quines,’ she whispered. ‘Yince the penny draps they micht be gaun hame b’ theirsels, they’ll be ower, as ma mother would say, like bees roon a honeypot!’
Peter gave her a stare – he was beside us in the queue – and I reckoned if Jenny had been his daughter, he would have given her a clout round the ear into the bargain. He seemed to have taken upon himself the welfare of, not only me, but that of my friends as well. With Uncle Peter riding shotgun like he was, it was probably just as well Rob had disappeared. I scanned the hall and the queues of people but he was nowhere to be seen.
Bessie led the way outside and we followed with our own cup of tea, and a plate of buttered pancakes between us. A big gathering of revellers had collected under the chestnut trees and along the walls on either side of the main entrance to the hall. Merry chatter and raucous laughter rang out in the evening air. We watched the comings and goings of couples and bigger groups of friends and relations, who were enjoying good company and tall tales out in the open air. There was still plenty of light around but the shadows lengthened as the sun sank lower in the west. The night of the Gala Day dance was one of the few nights of the year when such revelry was allowed to disturb the peace and quiet of Blackrigg life well into the wee sma’ ‘oors. We took it all in. Glad to be part of it, we looked forward excitedly to the second half. We looked forward to many more Gala Day dances in the future, imagining the dresses we’d wear and the young men we might meet there. Little did we realise, and nobody could have told us, that it would be several long years before Blackrigg public hall saw another Gala Day dance.