Rob Rattenbury: Tripping the light fantastic

Dancing brings people together; it is a wonderful ancient human activity, writes Rob Rattenbury. Photo / NZME

Nothing like a good ball. A chance to dress up, hire a tux with a garish cummerbund; admire the latest creation the bride has made. Getting our table together - 16 to 20 friends and colleagues - to dance the night away.

I know school balls still happen, but I'm not sure about balls for grown-ups. Back in the day, we would attend several balls per year, usually around this time of year. The Council Ball, the Hospital Ball, the Fireman's Ball, the Police Ball - they were endless. Huge colourful events, the tables laden with bottles of beer and wine. Jugs of spirits were the norm. Looking back, what a recipe for disaster, drinking spirits by the jugful. But we did it. Well, I didn't, of course - I'm more your beer kind of guy.

Remember those days with bowls of Bluff oysters, several to a table? I bet that custom has stopped.

Moving to Whanganui, we stopped attending so many balls, but religiously attended the annual Police Ball, organised by the local constabulary under the direction of Dave McEwen and his trusty team of elves for many years. They would work for weeks getting the event organised, the tickets, venue - always the Memorial Hall - catering, a band and the bar. A huge event to organise, and a lot of worry, making sure that everything came together on the night and the participants would have a night to remember.

The ball was one of the events of the year in Whanganui, with people booking tables months in advance, even after the previous year's ball. Dave would cram between 700 and 800 worthy Whanganui citizens (and a few VIPs) into the Memorial Hall for hours of dancing: waltzes, foxtrots, Gay Gordons, the Cha-Cha-Cha, and even the Twist. In those days, most people could dance, or at least would give those old dances a crack. Some people were wonderful to watch; some - later in the evening - very entertaining to watch.

We would have attended a pre-ball party, had some drinksies at someone's place, then got into taxis in all our finery and gone off to the venue, remembering to book the cab for the return trip at about 2am. Some drove - drink-driving did not then have the social stigma it now has.

The women all looked beautiful; the men like Hollywood stars. Well, we thought we did. Supper would be put on at about 11.30pm. A huge bountiful feast - oysters again, of course. Hams, beef, salads, and the desserts to die for. A huge scoff. Then back into the dancing.

I have not heard of the Police Ball for years now. The last ball we attended was some years ago in support of Whanganui Hospice; also in the Memorial Hall, and a great night we had.

Dancing was a big part of people's lives in days gone by. I mean proper dancing -ballroom dancing, dancing that you had to learn and practice. Not standing there and wiggling to the music; there's a lot more physical work involved, in step and in time.

I'm sure high school children still learn to dance. It was par for the course for the '60s generation at college. Most schools had dance classes for their senior forms. Boys' and girls' schools would unite for their annual school ball, ensuring everyone had a chance to enjoy themselves.

Going to a faith-based boys' school with a huge gymnasium, my dance classes started in what was then Fifth Form, or Year 11 in today's money. Every Friday evening during the then-middle-term we would learn the intricacies of dancing, accompanied by all our female friends from the equivalent girls' school nearby. Although we attended single-sex schools, we knew each other, as we had all started school together. For some weird reason, in the education system I was raised in, boys and girls were separated from about the age of 10. Thankfully that now, mostly, seems to be a relic of the past, except perhaps for the more traditional schools.

Jimmy James, a cross between Mantovani and Dean Martin, was our dance instructor, along with his beautiful assistant, Mrs James. He had also taught my mother to dance, so he was not a young man by the time he taught us.

There would be about 200 boys and girls sashaying around the gym. Of course, we went every year, even though by about the end of the first year we were not bad dancers. It was just a chance to catch up and mingle with each other socially.

After class, most of us would adjourn to the local coffee club, where we would drink Coca-Cola, Fanta, and horrible coffee, and dance to a disco arrangement. Not ballroom dancing, of course.

Great days, great friendships, and even a few marriages. Dancing brings people together; it is a wonderful ancient human activity.