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 

 

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Floor - get some wax on there please.

As a former competitive and more latterly professional ballroom dancer, I must confess to having a very keen interest in floors: More specifically ballroom floors.  A well waxed floor can make all the difference to glide, can affect how the choreography takes shape and more importantly in a marathon ten dance competition, whether a ballroom floor is sprung can greatly affect tiredness in the legs.

I have been privileged to dance on some of the best floors in the world, including The Tower Ballroom, The Hammersmith Palais and The Royal Albert Hall, which has an oval floor with high sides: A bit like dancing in a pit.  I have also danced on some of the most unusual floors. The floor at Matlock Bath is made of stone slabs and is merciless on the feet and legs. I was lucky when I competed there to have trained for over a year on a surface far worse. In 1968, my teacher Eric Lashbrooke, a former World Ballroom Champion, taught in an almost derelict church hall in Seacombe Ferry on The Wirral.  I complained bitterly to my father after the first lesson, that the floor had no polish, was grey in colour and was riddled with splinters. My wise Dad told me that if I learned to dance well on that floor, I would be able to dance well on Blackpool beach. He was right.

Unfortunately, unlike the fabulous sprung floor at The Tower Ballroom, the dance floor in The Empress Ballroom at Blackpool's Winter Gardens has seen better days. Constant assault by the pressure of steel heeled stilettos has pitted it badly. When the British Open Championships are hosted there in May each year, a temporary replacement floor has to be laid over the top.

In 1969 I was selected to dance in Switzerland with my partner David. In preparation for the tour, we had a weekend rehearsal at The Midland Hotel, Morecambe. The ballroom floor was probably a quarter average size. It was almost impossible for  six young couples to dance on such a small surface. We had to work hard to adjust our routines but it paid off the end.  All the floors in the casinos that we performed in had similar sized ballroom floors.

The Royal Albert Hall 

On another note, I once stayed in a London Hotel in a room on the 100th floor. It had an amazing view of course and I was perfectly happy until a large jet flew past, level with my window. I am sure that I could see the faces of the passengers on board and was relieved to be fully clothed at the time. I didn't get much sleep.

I had another interesting floor encounter at Universal Studios in Florida. The Tower of Terror is like a hotel. A lift attendant straps you in and then you are taken to the top floor. The doors slide open to show you the view and when they close, the lift drops 26 floors. It was not for the faint-hearted and I was extremely nervous because I have a serious neck condition. I remember shaking for at least half an hour and vowed never to go on a roller coaster again. Scary stuff.

What else is there to say about floors? Well - a woman went to a psychiatrist and told him that she had a fear of the floor. He laughed and said, "Why can't you be afraid of something sensible, like heights?"  She replied, "It's not the height that kills you - it's the floor."

The poem this week is from my Dance series.

Strictly Dancing

Come dance with me,
Feel the flow,
Ride the rhythm to and fro,
Draw me close,
Hold me tight,
Let our passion's fire ignite.

Twist and turn,
Lunge and soar,
Grind your hips until they're sore,
Take me up,
Drop me down,
Spin my body round and round.

Breathing deeply,
Rise and fall,
Toe to toe,
Heel and ball,
Staccato steps on parquet floor,
Quicken tempo,
More and more.

Parrup, Parrup,
Your tango beat,
Envelopes me from head to feet,
Then last crescendo,
warm and wet.
Come dance with me and make me sweat.

Thank you for reading. Adele

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Holidays - a change is as good...

I am definitely not a big holiday girl. It doesn't matter whether I get away once or twice a year to the same old, same old resort, just to drink sangria and bask in sun-shine.  Most of my childhood, my parents were too busy to take holidays for more than a few days.  We had a few, very pleasant short breaks but never more than a week. They had a pub to run, four of us to provide for and Summer was the busiest time of year, after Christmas, Easter and Spring Bank.

From being young, I had a list.  A list of places that I would like to see and things that I would like to do. It is over fifty years since I began the list and there are still things outstanding but for the most part, they have been seen, visited, attempted, mastered and ticked off.  I am very determined and hate to give up on anything, as anyone who knows me well, will confirm.

I have always achieved my goals, sometimes after a failed first attempt. Here are a few of the highlights so far.  I danced for my country in Switzerland at the age of ten and that same year danced in the Royal Albert Hall. I was the youngest Imperial Society Associate at 16 and began teaching dance the same year. I sang to a Steinway piano at the Glasgow School of Dramatic Art and Music aged 45 and won a photographic competition the same year. I swan with dolphins in Florida in 1997 and dropped 26 floors on the Terror Tower.  I have had close encounters with Red squirrels, badgers and have flown a Harris Hawk and a Barn owl.

I took my children to South Africa to see the big five and shook hands with a Zulu warrior, fulfilling a promise to my cousin made when I was 13. I took them to the Valley of The Kings, Karnack and Luxor - a promise I made to myself at eleven. I took them to Pompeii - another promise from my own school days.  I took them to see the Roman City of Ephesus - although this was really a lucky accident. I sailed round the Canaries in an ocean-going yacht, I flew over the Alps, I saw Courtney Pine perform live and I threw my own pottery. I gained a degree in English at 50, had a poem carved into a stone memorial in 2014. I performed in operetta on real theatre stage for the first time the same year.

Earlier this year I went to Crete for the first time and fulfilled one of the last biggies on the list.  The Palace at Knossos was everything that I had hoped it would be, from the description in Homer's Odyssey. The trip was the ultimate in wish-fulfilment and yet it had a depressive effect.  The list is almost completed.  There may be no more firsts to aim for.  I am not saying that there are no places left to go or things to accomplish. I have just done most of what I set out to do. The trouble is the highs are so great that the times in between seem a little low. 

Oh but then again, there is still India (a promise that I made to my father) and The Bolshoi to visit, La Scala in Milan, (not to sing - just to see) and I hope to learn to play an instrument some day, perhaps sing in a band. I might try to get a painting hung in the Royal Academy or fly a light aircraft.  I still haven't been to Cornwall or been up in helicopter - so watch this space. And like all writers there are still books I want to have published. Like I said at the beginning, I am not much of a holiday person but just, "to live would be a really big adventure". JM Barrie. Peter Pan.

I must say that though - I am sure the onset of this season is why holidays were invented...

Summer’s End  

Season of drips and sodden wetness, 

as sudden bursts cloud over

seeping down our trench coat necks
and torrents wash from
overflowing gutter pipes.

Wipers beat a frantic rhythm,
swishing to swipe clear
cascading curtains that blur
the blinded dashers,  
umbrellas turned to face the wind.

There is persistent drumming

on the hatchback roof  
but on the high street,
a beacon beckons,
selling sunshine and blue skies.

Windows offer Canarias,

or Caribbean cruises,
as super-moon high-tides
smash and swamp the promenade,
retreating with a foaming swill.

Next day the wind is gone,

the sky is clear, the soft sun shines
and switched off chlorophyl
displays deep red hues of jasmine
left clinging to the garden fence.

Ah, we are in England

now that Autumn’s here.
Conkers shine in leaf falls,
fire smokes over garden walls,
berries burst to ripe.

And before we go to sleep

we store away for Winter’s keep,
shake out the struggle rugs
and snuggle up to ear-mark
kinder shores in glossy brochures.

Happy Holiday Planning Season everyone.  Thanks for reading.  Adele

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