Towards the end of 1943, things began to happen. General Eisenhower announced an armistice with Italy; the big three, Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin, met in Tehran; Marine Sam Hopkins landed at Naples and had Mussolini on the run; young Les Hopkins, accompanied by the rest of the Eighth Army, fought his way up the boot of Italy; the bombing of Manchester ceased and the Blackpool evacuees, including the incorrigible Brother Dorian - as dictatorial as ever - returned to Manchester, the funny business at the Martindale bungalow forgotten; Flo at long last got her man and married Sergeant Barry Healey; and Billy learned to dance.
‘Forward left foot - side right foot - close. Forward right foot - side left foot - close,’ recited Billy, book in hand, as he practised his steps down the lobby of their flat.
‘What is it you’re doing now, our Billy? You’re alius up to summat,’ Mam said.
‘Dancing, Mam. I’m learning the waltz from this book. Ballroom Dancing Made Easy. Forward left foot - side right foot - close. Wait a minute. I’m right up against the wall. What do I do now? This book doesn’t tell you what
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to do when you come up against a solid object.’
‘You’ll never learn how to dance from a book, you daft ha’porth. You need to be learnt properly by a teacher, you need music, and most of all, you need a partner.’
‘You’re right, Mam. Lend us a coupla bob and I’ll try Harrigan’s Dance Academy on Queen’s Road tonight.’
At seven o’clock, Billy turned up at Harrigan’s and paid over his two shillings to a little old lady in the box office.
‘Your two shillings covers the lesson and the dance afterwards,’ she explained. ‘Monday’s the waltz, Wednesday’s the slow foxtrot and Friday’s the quickstep.’
‘And Tuesdays and Thursdays?’
‘They’re for advanced only - South American dances, tango and rumba.’
Billy went through and saw several groups of men and women each being taught by different teachers.
‘Over here!’ called a giant of a man who, judging by his misshapen nose and his cauliflower ear, had once been a boxer.
Billy went over and joined a group of five other men.
‘I’m Lofty O’Malley,’ said the giant, raising both arms above his head. ‘Your dance teacher. Tonight we’re gonna learn the waltz. Get behind me and do just as I do. Ready! And - forward left - side right - close. Forward right - side left - close.’
Lofty waltzed forward gracefully and lightly like a butterfly whilst the six learners followed behind, walking stiffly like men trying out artificial legs.
‘Watch yourself in the mirrors,’ Lofty called over his shoulder, indicating the large wall mirrors which surrounded them.
Billy caught a glimpse of himself and was taken aback to see a tall, lanky boy of fifteen dancing behind Lofty.
‘Gosh - is that really me?’ he said aloud. ‘I look so skinny and my nose looks as if it’s outgrown my face/
‘That’s you all right,’ said Lofty. ‘Don’t worry about being on the thin side, though. That can only help your dancing. Look at Fred Astaire. Don’t know about your nose, though; you’ll have to wait for the rest of your face to catch up. But I’ll swap noses with you any day.’
The rest of the lesson was taken up practising. Lofty took the girl’s part, and he and Billy made a strange sight indeed as they waltzed round together - a gawky youth and a seventeen-stone bruiser.
After the lessons, old Mrs Harrigan, the lady from the box office, who looked even smaller standing up, announced through the microphone:
‘And now you will have a chance to practise all that you’ve learnt this evening with our instructors, who are waiting in the centre of the floor to welcome you. We begin with the waltz. I’ll come round and allocate the ladies and Lofty will do the same for the men.’
‘Miss Lucy!’ Lofty called, holding Billy’s arm above his head like a referee declaring the winner of a boxing match.
Soon, calls of ‘Miss Rosy!’ ‘Mr David!’ ‘Miss Joyce!’ ‘Mr Philip!’ echoed all round the maple-floored ballroom until all the instructors had a learner each. The four-piece band struck up with the ‘Fascination Waltz’ and they were off.
Lucy was a young, slim sixteen-year-old with a pretty face, light-brown hair tied back with a ribbon, and a little attractive, turned-up nose.
‘I hope I don’t stand on your toes,’ he said. ‘I’m an absolute novice - so you’ll have to be patient.’
‘That’s OK,’ she smiled. ‘That’s what we’re paid for, and I’m wearing me special steel-capped dancing shoes. First, place your right hand under me left shoulder blade.’
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‘Like this?’ he said.
‘That’s it. No need to be shy about it. We’re only dancing - you’re not making love to me or anything like that. Now, take my right hand in your other hand and lift your arm to shoulder height. Does that feel comfortable?’
‘Strange but OK.’
‘Now, we move. Ready. . . in time to the music . . . And - one - two - three. Forward right - side - close. That’s it.’
Together they began to move around the ballroom - Billy somewhat awkwardly, Lucy easily and gracefully.
‘There’s a big difference between dancing with you and dancing with Lofty,’ he said.
‘About ten stone difference,’ she said. ‘You know, you move quite well for a novice. You’re quite light on your feet.’
‘Well, like you, I’m not exactly a heavyweight. I used to do boxing and that teaches you to be light on your feet.’
‘I think you could make a very good dancer if you put your mind to it. You never know, you might be another Fred Astaire.’
‘Funny you should say that. Lofty just said I looked like him - a regular bag o’bones.’
‘Well, that’s a start anyroad.’
‘You dance beautifully,’ he told her. ‘How long have you been at it?’
‘I started just after leaving school. So it must be about two years now.’
‘I wish I could reach your standard.’
‘Nowt to stop you if you work hard enough at it.’
When the waltz had finished, Billy returned to his place and spent the rest of the evening simply observing.
‘Now we have a demonstration of the slow foxtrot by Miss Lucy and Mr Lofty,’ Mrs Harrigan informed
everyone through her microphone.
Admiringly, Billy watched the couple glide across the floor so elegantly and so effortlessly to the tune ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’. As they floated by, Lucy gave Billy a broad smile which he returned with a surreptitious wink.
One day, he vowed to himself, I’ll be the one doing that demonstration.
At the end of the evening, he met Lucy as she was about to leave.
‘Which way do you go?’ he asked, politely.
‘I live in the flats.’
‘So do I! Not Gardenia Court?’
‘No, Hazlewood House.’
‘Is it OK if we walk back together?’
‘All right, I don’t mind.’
‘I’d love to be able to dance like you,’ he said as they made their way along Queen’s Road. ‘You must have had private lessons, surely?’
‘No, I didn’t. I learned all me dancing in my spare time at Harrigan’s.’
‘I don’t think I can afford to go to Harrigan’s three or four times a week.’
‘It is a bit dear, though not as dear as having private lessons with the top professionals like Frank Rogers or Archie Lamont. Don’t you have a job?’
‘No. I’m still studying at school. But I could look for a part-time job, I suppose.’
‘Still studying at your age? I’m surprised anyone stays on after fourteen. Me, I hated school. Just seemed like a waste o’ time. I could hardly wait to leave.’
‘What do you do now, Lucy?’
‘I work at the biscuit factory; it’s a bit boring packing biscuits all day - that’s why I took up dancing. At least I have summat interesting in my life. And the money I earn
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is good - it’s helped me to pay for my lessons at Harrigan’s.’
Tve got another year before I leave school.’
‘You’re lucky, if you’re good at schoolwork. Not like me, a bit thick.’
‘I’m sure you’re not thick, but why do you say I’m lucky?’
‘Well, if you go on to college, you’ll end up in an * interesting, well-paid job. Not like me - a skivvy in a biscuit factory.’
‘But sometimes, school and all the studying I have to do seem like a waste of time. I’m always desperately short of cash and it’s then I’m tempted to leave and take a job.’
‘Don’t talk daft. If you’ve got the opportunity to do summat useful with your life, don’t throw it away. You could end up in a really boring job like mine.’
‘It’s just. . . well. . . when I see you dancing . . . like I did tonight, I’m tempted to jack it all in and start enjoying life a bit.’
‘Look, dancing is the one and only thing I’ve got in my life. It’s what helps me to get by. At work, we’re like a bit of the machinery, having to keep up with it all the time. But at night, after I’ve got away. . . well, it’s then I come to life. Dancing gives me a chance to express meself... to be me and not just part of a conveyor belt.’
‘Still, I wish I could dance half as good as you.’
‘Look,’ she said suddenly, ‘if you’re really serious about wanting to learn, I could teach you at weekends.’
‘Honestly? That’d be great. But where?’
‘Why not on the rooftop of the flats?’ she said, warming to the idea. ‘I used to go up there sometimes in the nice weather - sunbathing. There’s plenty of room for dancing - it’s even bigger than Harrigan’s dance floor. I could
bring my portable gramophone and some Victor Sylvester records. 5
‘Lucy, you’re marvellous. But why’re you doing it? What do you get out of it? 5
‘I like teaching, that’s all. And you never know, I might get Fred Astaire as a partner. 5
‘Thanks a lot, Lucy. 5
‘There’s just one thing, though, 5 she said, turning serious. ‘I mean dancing only, and no trying it on with me or anything like that. 5
‘Sorry, I’m not with you. 5
‘You know what I mean. Getting fresh and that. 5
‘Promise, Lucy. Cross my heart. 5
They reached Hazlewood House.
‘This is where I live. What’s your name, by the way? 5
‘Billy or William - take your pick. 5
‘Billy’s a nice name. I’ll take that. See you on Sunday afternoon. Call round at two o’clock. I live at number ten. 5
‘It’s a date, 5 he said. ‘Good night, Lucy. 5
‘Good night, Billy. Be seeing you. Remember, though - just dancing and no messing about. No hanky-panky. 5
‘Hanky-panky? Never crossed my mind. 5
‘Not even once? 5
‘No, not even once. 5
‘Well, then I feel slighted and insulted, 5 she said, laughing.
‘I’ll never understand girls. Good night again, Lucy. 5
Billy went home that night with a light step, a song in his heart and a whistle on his lips.
‘How did you get on at Harrigan’s, son? 5 Mam asked.
‘It was great, Mam. I danced with a seventeen-stone boxer and a girl called Lucy. And I think I’m in love. 5
‘Oh, aye, 5 she said. ‘Who with? The boxer or the girl? 5
‘Don’t be funny, Mam. I think I know now what I want to do with my life.’
‘You keep changing your mind every five minutes. One minute it’s a boxer, then a writer, then a teacher, then a navigator. What is it today?’
‘Professional ballroom dancer.’
‘What next! Don’t be so daft, you’d never earn a living as one o’ them fellas wearing tights and prancing about the stage showing all they’ve got.’
‘That’s ballet, Mam. This is ballroom, and I’ll tell you summat - it’s a lot more interesting than all that boring stuff we’re doing at school.’
‘If you’re going to be a teacher or a writer like you say, you’ll have to stick it out at school and pass your exams. If you like dancing, keep it as your hobby. Anyroad, where are you going to get the money to keep going to Harrigan’s?’
‘Well, for a start, Lucy’s going to teach me for nothing on Sunday afternoons. But you know, Mam, I get really fed up always being short of money. I think I’d be better leaving school, finding myself a job and getting a bob or two in my pocket.’
‘You do talk barmy sometimes, our Billy. What was the point in us making all them sacrifices, pawning Granny’s teapot and all that, if you’re going to throw it all away just when you’re nearly finished and the end is in sight?’
‘Do you realise, Mam, that just at this moment I haven’t got two ha’pennies to rub together?’
‘I know. I know. I can’t afford to give you any more. It’s hard enough finding your bus fare every day. I know you don’t like being without money in your pocket, but you could stop smoking for a start.’
‘I smoke three Park Drive a day. That costs about tuppence ha’penny. I haven’t even got that for tomorrow
unless I walk the six miles to school.’
‘There’s a few empty mineral bottles in the cupboard. You could take them back. That’d give you tuppence ha’penny.’
‘Right, thanks, Mam. That’ll give me a smoke tomorrow, at least.’
‘Why don’t you look for a part-time job?’
‘I could start chopping wood again, or deliver papers, I suppose.’
‘No, I don’t mean that. You could help your dad in the market on Sat’days. That’d give you a coupla bob.’
‘But don’t you see, Mam? It’s just scrimping and scraping all the time. Cadging a penny here and a penny there just to keep going.’
‘Well, no matter what you say, our Billy, you’re not leaving school and that’s that. Why don’t you ask that pal you’re alius going on about - Robin what’s-his-name - if you can help him and his dad delivering tea on Sat’days?’
‘You know, Mam, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all week. I’ll ask him at school tomorrow.’