A Story
A 1950s dance at Springvale Hall.
The Springvale Hall committee has posted a flyer announcing a dance in three weeks time. It’s a biannual event that brings the young country folk into town for a night of music and dancing. For anyone living out on a property, it’s a genuine occasion. The isolation of farm life doesn’t leave much room for spontaneity, and a community like this one runs on its social events.
For Mary, it means time away from the usual routine, the chance to catch up with friends, maybe even meet someone new.
She phones Joanne the moment she sees it. They gossip and plan and gossip some more. What to wear, who might be there, who they hope won’t be.
Mary mentions the floral polished cotton she spotted in the draper’s window last week. She already has a pattern that will suit it perfectly. The sewing machine comes out and in two days she has made herself a dress with a boatneck neckline, cinched at the waist with a belt and flared in gathers to just below the knee. She has the shoes to match, black patent with a kitten heel, and her mother’s pearls that sit just at her collarbone.
On the day of the dance, she washes and sets her hair. The rollers make her dark hair bounce each time she moves. She pins one side back behind her ear to show off her clip-on earrings, the ones that don’t pinch, kept in their special hiding place for occasions exactly like this.
She has a new pair of nylon stockings with a seam at the back. As she dresses, she checks that the seam runs perfectly straight. Her suspender belt is the good one, kept for special occasions too.
Her handbag is chosen to match perfectly with the dress. It needs to hold her lace-edged handkerchief and her lipstick for touch-ups during the night. Red is quite bold, but tonight is special.
Joanne’s brother Michael has a car. He and Joanne collect Mary at six on the dot. The girls giggle and gossip the whole way, running through who might be there and what the night might bring. Michael keeps his eyes on the road.
They arrive at the hall and try their best to look composed, as though they do this sort of thing all the time. They find a glass of punch and take their places on the bench seats along the walls, waiting for the music to start and hoping quietly that the boy with the sweaty palms doesn’t make his way over first.
Though better that than no one coming at all.
As the music starts and couples make it to the dance floor, Mary sighs with relief and takes a deep breath to calm the flutter in her chest. There is a boy she likes, standing across the hall, and he is looking directly at her. He starts wandering over.
Michael.
The women I write about in The ‘Dear Viv’ Letters knew nights like this one. Lil’s story is set in 1950s coastal Queensland, among women making the most of what each day offered. If that sounds like your kind of story, the prequel is free to download.
Love those gloves!