The Spring Gully Dance.

THE SPRING GULLY DANCE

The hall rides upon the verge

A powder blue ship of state.

Nearby the General Store is closed and barred,

For the hour approaches eight.

Inside the hall upon the stage,

The “Treble Clefs” tune and trill,

Wearing silver lame waistcoats

Adorned with tuck and frill.

A California Poppied Keith or Jack

All belly, boots and tie,

Casts damp sawdust here and there,

To ensure the dust will lie.

St Joseph’s P and F are “front of house”

To sell admission chits,

Which cover the raffle and supper for the throng

The paper piece admits.

Gradually the dancers arrive, as darkness

Falls without.

The ladies daintily step across the park,

Their menfolk stride about.

As the frogs and moon and stars come out

To croak and gleam and shine,

The breeze sighs gently on the native grass

Through the strand of sugar pine.

The menfolk have a ruddy well fed look,

The “girls” have dancing pumps close to hand.

With a bright birdlike glance,

They finger “hello” to the band.

Some huddle in small familial groups

Some step and test the floor.

Some sit to fit their dancing shoes,

With one eye on the door.

Beryl, on pianoforte, notes the hour, by the watch upon her wrist,

And gives a rolling, thumping left hand down

With a right hand finger twist.

Wally riffs and taps a roll, upon the aged snare,

Les lifts up the saxophone, glinting brassy in the glare.

Wally announces “Evening Two Step”

And they play the dancers in,

From where they sit around the walls.

And gently, they begin.

The first, more ebullient couples, promenade with precision militaire,

They slide, and skip, and dip and turn,

With a graceful, insouciant air.

With nods, and smiles of recognition,

 Though their numbers still are few.

The Goornong mob is still to come,

And the Eaglehawk bus is due.

Alf, (in his Quiberon blazer) ingratiates himself

With a couple he just met,

Muriel wears her cardy like a cloak, while stepping briskly through the set.

Soon the hall is full of folThey dance and chatter bright.

They “Dorothea” and “Pride of Erin”.

 The moon sails through the night.

As if by giant magnet draws,

All eyes to the door.

And fix on beauteous Esmeralda and her beau,

Does someone whisper “Whore?”

Her beau is Jason, callow youth

All muscle slim and taut.

A lanky looselimbed rawboned frame

She the tutor, he the minstrel at her court.

With pursed lips and eyebrows arched

A waspish answer sought

Who sees what in whom?

What is sold and what is bought?

She is a local single mum,

Who rents a farm house near

She has a grown up strapping son

Whose chiefest love is beer.

He moved away to Melbourne

He said in search of work

But the local horny handed men of toil

Said he was a lazy Turk.

Now Esmeralda teaches Jason

Each step, and turn, and pause.

She knows the tongues are wagging,

And she knows she gives them cause.

She flaunts his angled beauty,

He parades his virile youth.

In the fluorescent rest room glow

Some dancers confront their truth.

“Sweet Little Alice Blue Gown” is played,

“Lily of Laguna” and “China Doll”

“Red Red Robin” bobs along

“My Silver Bell” has taken toll

“I Get the Blues When It Rains”

They dance and sing along.

The Committee repair to the kitchen,

Which means supper won’t be long.

Wally announces that refreshment will be served

At the end of the next set.

And invites the followers of Terpsichore

To take partners for “Tangoette”

As the Latin staccato strains begin, the dancers stamp and wheel

Alf notices with thin lipped satisfaction

The boy in Esmeralda’s grip

Is decidedly down at heel.

With a flourish then and some relief,

The band played to a break

As is their wont, they end the set

“Everybody Ask For-TruBake”

The kitchen doors are now thrown wide as dancers become melee,

For fish paste sandwiches and lamingtons,

Washed down with cups of tea,

“It was all over my Jealousy”

Seems somehow apt this night,

As Esmeralda and muscled pretty boy

Parade beneath the mirrored light.

It is as though the room grows silent

 In some breasts the knowledge grows

 The sap has long since risen

 The bloom is off the rose.

Others, more content in love

Are happy with their lot

Scarce give a thought to this little scene,

Or whatever Jason’s got.

They fit each other comfortably

Like suits of well worn clothes,

 Warm and aptly fitted,

New sap and fresh bloom grows.

                         

 So the evening sails along,

“Monte Carlo” “Barn Dance” Then door prize won.

“Gypsy Tap”, now “Goodnight Sweetheart”

Ends the fun.

Home to bed in married bliss,

Or spinsters chilly cot,

Car and Ute and bus depart,

Leaving Alf to count his lot.

Upon the sunny Sunday morning,

At her farmhouse, on her hill,

Esmeralda wanders from her bed,

Where her love is sleeping still.

She meanders though the dewy meadow,

And turns to retrace her way,

In her hands she holds a violet rose,

For a childish game to play.

She remembers it from childhood,

As she loiters on the trip,

She plucks each velvet petal,

From the purple bloom to strip.

As the petals flutter, she speaks the childish rhyme,

 As Jason snores a peaceful sleep

In ignorance sublime.

Afraid of what the future holds, she does it all the time.

Her grip on youth is weakening, for time is on the trot.

The last two petals voice her fear.

 He loves me,

 Loves me not.