The Glittering Prize

I was a competitive modern ballroom and Latin American dancer from the tender age of 10. My partner David and I spent many hours practising the routines we were taught by our coaches. Dad always advocated three hours of practise for every hour of tuition - after all he was paying for it.

Our efforts soon had an effect and during our partnership we won many trophies. The first was the West Riding of Yorkshire championship at the lovely Huddersfield town hall. This was soon followed by both the South of England and East of England championships. We won a place in an English team that toured Switzerland, took third place in the British at Blackpool Tower and fifth in the International Championships at The Royal Albert Hall. It was a very exciting time.

When I reflect on those glittering prizes, none is more important to me than one that is seemingly less important. It was totally unexpected. Before my partnership with David began, I danced with another little girl called Lynne and we were going to enter a competition at The Adelphi in Liverpool. Included in the day's events there was to be a 'Parent and Child' Cha Cha Cha competition. Although my dad was an accomplished ballroom dancer, when it came to Latin, he simply hadn't a clue.

He didn't want to disappoint me, so he booked a couple of private lessons with my dance teacher. On the competition day, we took to the floor. We danced a nice little routine but towards the end of the music, dad went wrong. I was really cross and stormed off the floor without him. For a very small child, I had a very big temper.

Imagine my surprise when the results were announced and dad and I had won first prize. He was thrilled. We were given a wonderful trophy, two golden figures dancing on top of a wooden plinth. That was 1967 and despite all other accolades, even my BA, that little trophy remains my most prized possession. It will never be surpassed.

My dad can dance a lovely waltz,
he's good at quickstep too
but when it comes to Latin dance,
he hasn't got a clue.

So dad came to my dancing school
to learn to cha cha cha,
he was a super student,
his hips were ooh la la!

We did the dance together
and won a glittering prize,
I always will remember
the pride in my dad's eyes.

Thanks for reading.  Adele 

 

Read More

Mementos

Funny thing, when I started to think about what to write on the subject of mementos, my thoughts were immediately drawn to a small black writing case, secreted away in my bottom drawer. The case is filled with letters. Letters from old boyfriends. One is especially memorable. On a holiday with my parents in 1974, at the tender age of fourteen, we landed in Lisbon during Mardi-Gras. On board I met a very handsome, young, Portuguese boy. His name was Rui Ventura and he was from Almeda Condareas near Estoril. 

Rui was cruising with his family and we were soon chatting like old pals. On returning home, he started writing to me. He invited me to spend Summer with his family, My father would never allow it, I'm afraid. In one letter, he proclaimed the he loved me adding that it was because I was 'simple'. I knew exactly what he meant of course. He meant that, unlike the rich girls who he knew in Estoril, I was uncomplicated. When I showed the letter to my friends, they were completely hysterical. The idea that he would call me simple was so funny. 

I have lots of  other treasures hidden around the house and some that are proudly displayed. On one wall is a sampler. embroidered in 1796 by my Great-Great-Great Grandmother, Sarah Coats. Her Granddaughter, my Nana, lived with us for many years and after she died my Mum was upset that she nothing to remember her by, except for few photographs. Looking for towels in mum's bedding chest one day, I came across the sampler, wrapped a bit of cloth. Soon framed and hung, it was a delight. 

On the facing wall there is usually a framed print owned by my parents, (at Christmas I substitute it for a wreath). It is an orchid corsage, dropped on a flight of stone steps, surrounded by a cigarette stub and coloured streamers, the remnants of a party or ball. It always reminds me of Cinderella's lost glass slipper. 

When I was eight, I was scheduled to complete at a ballroom dancing competition at The Adelphi in Liverpool. There was to be a 'parent and child' Cha Cha Cha comp and I asked my dad to enter with me. He didn't want to let me down but didn't know how to do the dance. He booked some private lessons with my own dance teacher and walked me onto the floor. Very near the end, he made a mistake and I was very cross and stormed off in a huff. To our surprise we won the competition and were awarded a small wooden trophy with figures of a couple dancing on the top. Of all the prizes that I ever won, it remains my most precious and has pride of place in my display cabinet, 

I have other treasures. A black and white photo of mum and dad on their wedding day sits on my fireplace. I speak to them every day. A carriage clock that was a wedding gift from my dear Godmother ( now departed} and a Coney fur cape my sister bought me to keep my shoulders warm between rounds of competitions when I was ten, still lives in wardrobe. A woollen flat cap that belonged to dad stands  guard on my coat rack. I used to wear it to bring in the New Year when I lived alone with my two young children. Somewhere upstairs is a small leather suitcase, filled with photos from childhood.

I have lovingly kept mementos of my babies. First shoes, christening gifts and outfits, early paintings and school made Christmas cards. Swimming and gymnastic certificates, school reports. There is so much, I wonder how I manage to live amongst it all.  These things I have loved, although many of those they once belonged them have long gone but are never forgotten. 

Poems can be mementos too, capturing particular moments in time.  When I lost mum at the ripe old age of ninety-seven,  I wrote this and read it during her send off at St Mark's, Layton. 

 Villanelle for Mum

 
This day begins our mourning, now at last we cry.
Laid in a simple casket, you take your last repose.
Daffodils will bow their heads as your cortege goes by.
 
Tonight there’ll be another star to light up heaven’s sky
the angels caught your gentle spirit as it rose.
This day begins our mourning, now at last we cry
 
A loving mother leaves us, though we feel her ever nigh,
We’ll catch her scent in summer’s sweetest rose.
Daffodils will bow their heads as your cortege goes by.
 
Adrift without our anchor, we are caught up in a sigh
of anguish for the family bonds you chose
This day begins our mourning, now at last we cry.
 
Geography will part us and as the years pass by,
no lynch pin now can hold us close
Daffodils will bow their heads as your cortege goes by.
 
Our mother, friend, our councillor, for you, I know we’ll try.
The Carleton garden will bear your sweetest prose,
Today begins our mourning, now at last we cry
And daffodils will bow their heads as your cortege goes by. 

Thanks for reading and a very merry Christmas to you all.  Adele

Read More

Death: It's behind you.

You will have to forgive the glib header today.  I realise that the pantomime season is coming to a close but I just couldn't resist. You see I am a product of my father's attitude to death and life after death. Some folk live their whole lives preparing for it: Others don't. Best thing is not to live in fear of death, just accept the inevitability of it and make sure that where possible, others do not suffer from yours.

Beyond adequate life insurance to provide for your family in the event of your untimely death and a policy that provides for funeral expenses that don't burden others, living an active and enjoyable life is more important. For some people, it takes a near death experience before they actually begin to take risks and really get the most out of life.

Dad used to say that sometimes you have to take life and shake it by the tail. He loved a party, he enjoyed competing, played golf, snooker, music and loved a bet on a horse. He danced, he travelled, went fishing, he loved gardening, he sang and he laughed. At 83 he was still having lessons on a piano keyboard but finally gave up because he realised that he was having the same lesson every week. He knew that death was closing in on him but he was still in love with life. He wasn't giving up the ghost willingly.

My happiest memories are of the times he danced with me. In a parent and child cha cha competition at The Adelphi in Liverpool, we won first prize, even though he went wrong at the end of the routine and I stormed off the dance floor, (I was seven - I still have the trophy). At my eighteenth birthday party when all my disco maniac friends watched us foxtrot with their mouths open. With Mum at their Golden Wedding anniversary party, two years after he was brought back from the brink by paramedics, who injected adrenaline directly into his heart after a massive coronary.

Death is always there, somewhere, stalking us. One day it will tap us on the shoulder. If we are lucky we will recognise it and change our lifestyle to keep it at arms length. Perhaps by the time it claims us, we will welcome it as a we would a trusted friend. When we die, what follows? Reincarnation? Heaven? Limbo? A journey down the River Styx to pay the ferryman? Who can say for sure?

On the Wednesday before my father died, I visited him in hospital. He told me to take good care of my children.  I kissed him on the forehead and left. I didn't see him alive again: He died on the Friday. Monday was May Day bank holiday and his body would not be released until Tuesday. On the Friday evening I was at home, sitting on the patio wall when a hand brushed my hair. On the Saturday afternoon, I was at my parent's house and as I opened the door to a florist, something walked right through me and I felt euphoric. On the Sunday afternoon, I was with a friend in my kitchen.  I suddenly felt that something was wrong with one of my children who were playing with her two children at her house. 

The friend tried to reassure me that they were with her husband and were perfectly safe. Despite this, I grabbed my bottle of Rescue Remedy, ran through the house, down the driveway and as I turned towards her house, my children were running towards me.  Katie, the youngest was on the outside and fell off the kerb. Before she could even cry, I had lifted her onto my hip and put a drop of Rescue onto her tongue. The friend had followed me out and was flabbergasted.  She said she had never witnessed anything like that in her life. As we walked back into my house, I saw my father standing close to the hedge on my driveway. I instantly realised that he was there to chastise me because I was not looking after the children myself.  

As for what happens after we die. I am not sure. I only saw him once. His body was cremated soon afterwards and perhaps his soul went then. It did leave me with a lasting impression. I saw Dad on the third day after his death. It just gives me enough space to wonder... In the end, only three things matter, how much you loved, how gently you lived and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.



Joe Black 

Enjoy your lives.  Thanks for reading.  Adele

Read More