You’re reading Home Truths, a newsletter from me, Susy Smith. I am many things: a parent of grown-up kids, a dog owner, a gardener and a compulsive mover of vases (I worked for years as a stylist). I am also a writer/editor and former Editor-in-Chief of British Country Living Magazine, for whom I still write a monthly column.
I write here on an eclectic mix of subjects about life, and a few of the lessons I’ve learned along the way. Subscribe now for free and join the community! You can also support me and my work by upgrading to a paid subscription at any time – just tap the button below.
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When I was about to become a teenager, my mother said there were two things I must do: one, take a secretarial course and two, go to Betty Staff’s dance school to learn ballroom dancing. Both, she explained, would stand me in good stead as life skills. If I could type, the world would be my oyster and I would never be out of a job, and, if I could take to the dance-floor with confidence and poise, I would always be able to make a good account of myself in social situations and I’d never be short of a boyfriend.
This made a lot of sense. My parents were both great ballroom dancers and indeed had met at the Harehills Palais de Dance in Leeds back in the 1930s. But there were two problems here. Much as I could see it would be useful to learn to be a typist, I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe that I would take on such an ‘ordinary’ profession. I had much more elevated ideas than working in a typing pool, having decided, around this time that I wanted to work on glossy magazines.
The problem with ballroom dancing was that I had a feeling my mother was wrong about easily getting a boyfriend/partner/husband. None of the boys I knew would have been seen dead ballroom dancing. This was 1970, when teenagers were wearing loons, smoking grass and listening to prog rock. Nodding their long hair (both boys and girls) along to Led Zeppelin was as close to movement as anyone got.
So, in the end I didn’t do either. Many years later when I was living in London and writing for magazines, I rued the day I hadn’t learned to touch type. It would have made my life as a journalist so much easier.
And what do you know, I’ve also begun to regret never having learned to ballroom dance. Don’t get me wrong – it’s not that I don’t dance at all, in fact I absolutely love dancing, but by that I mean the kind of moves we adopted at university discos. Dancing on one’s own, moving freestyle in time to the music, “getting on down”, “strutting my funky stuff”, “getting into the groove” etc. etc. And most of the time, this suits me fine. Whether it’s at a party, a gig or just dancing round the kitchen on a Friday night after a few glasses of wine, I am more than happy to just do my own thing.
But there are occasions when this just will not do. It’s usually, to be fair, at a wedding. You know how it is: they’ve hired a band or a DJ and the happy couple get up for their first dance – more often than not, a slow ballady, love song. They sway along to it together looking like two limp lettuce leaves, vaguely clutching at or leaning against one another more for support rather than with any sense that they know what to do for those three and a half, long minutes.
Everyone else stands round smiling, mouthing “awwwww” or perhaps weeping with joy. Or is it that they are already becoming anxious about the end of the night when the slow, smoochy tracks come on and they know they are going to be in the same position as the newly-weds – unable to do much of anything except shuffle around the floor together, holding hands and trying to look like they have some sense of purpose. It’s at moments like this that I always wish I could be swept into a waltz and glide through the crowd with perfect poise and glamour to do the occasion some justice.
The desire to dance properly strikes me even more urgently when a rock n’ roll track is played, and my husband and I make a somewhat feeble attempt to jive, him swirling me round and underarm and then we get tangled up and have to collapse laughing, to extricate ourselves from the embarrassment of the moment.
I remember my mum telling me about when Bill Haley’s “Rock Around the Clock” first came out and all these couples who were used to doing the measured quick step or foxtrot to Big Band music, were suddenly rocking in fast and furious fashion to the amazing beat. The excitement of it, she said, was utterly intoxicating!
I adore old movies where dozens of couples are rocking around the floor, in perfect tempo, the man swirling his girl away and bringing her back to him, sliding her between his legs low on the floor, tumbling her over his shoulder all in time to the fast and furious beat. It gets the adrenaline going around my body and fills me with such exhilaration and I just want to be able to do what they do with such style and gusto.
So, the bottom line is, we (my husband and I) have started Latin and Ballroom dance lessons. The classes are in a proper dance studio with sprung floor and mirrors and bars around the walls. The teacher is our friend and neighbour Anne-Marie. She is a bundle of fun and enthusiasm and moves like a dream. And so she should: she used to run her own dance school in Hong Kong where she and her family lived for years, and before that, she was one of the original dancers on the TV programme “Come Dancing” before the “Strictly” was added. She trained with the late Peggy Spencer, the dancer, choreographer and commentator who was described in her 2016 obituary in the Telegraph as “the unchallenged doyenne of ballroom dancing”.
Anne-Marie has been trying to persuade us to give her class a go for ages and we’ve always had an excuse. The main issue was the fact that my husband reckoned he wouldn’t be any good at it. Despite this, he finally agreed to come along. There are four other couples who have all been attending for about a year and we were worried we would hold them back, but they were welcoming, gracious and encouraging. All are very modest about their achievements and still unhappy with many of their moves, but they still keep coming every week.
We had our first lesson and my husband got the steps for the waltz straight away. I kept starting on the wrong foot and stumbling. Anne-Marie calls out “Ladies, this is wonderful for you. You don’t have to do anything. The man is leading” “Ah” says my husband “that’s your issue isn’t it – you don’t like not being in charge?”. I think he’s got a point there.
It's early days and, in time we will cover a range of Latin and ballroom dances. I’m not setting myself any deadlines, but am determined to improve and hopefully, get to the point where we can jive with panache and flair and perhaps even complete an acceptable waltz. Anne Marie tells us that recent research shows that ballroom dancing can improve cognitive functions and reduce brain atrophy in older adults who are at increased risk of Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia. So if that isn’t a good enough reason to get stuck in, I don’t know what is – that, and having a lot of fun!
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Good luck Suzy. It's a brilliant idea. My husband and I tried classes years ago when we first lived together but we always ended up arguing about how was doing the steps correctly . Amazing we are still together 30 years later but never did ballroom dancing again. Have fun. x
Really enjoyed your article about ballroom dancing and your new classes… interestingly I lived in Hong Kong for over 20 years and took adult dance classes- ballet not ballroom!- with HK Ballet. Love dancing and its barre exercises as it totally gives you energy, relaxation and helps you retain some physical fitness. Not sure if my husband would want to take up ballroom but I may ask him one day!