Sybil goes to London…..

Every evening we asked ourselves the same question, shall we? And we always did, we always had our Tertulia at Sybil Silva’s house. Did I do my homework, probably not, however I am sure my sister did hers. At the Silva’s; we, Sybil, Pamela and Savita had plenty to chat about, clothes, boys, books. Talk we did, we could go on for hours, but a hot topic of discussion was dancing, how we loved to dance, we did not care if the person was black, white, tall or short, all we wanted was that he should dance well. Sometimes, we in the village would get hold of a Cassette player, beg some kind-hearted soul who had a large enough living room, dressed very nicely indeed and dance to our heart’s content. We called these dance-till-you-drop-unconscious sessions- Hops. Of course the next few weeks were spent dissecting the Hop with a very sharp scalpel.

Although we five girls discussed everything worth talking about at great length, of course a very good marriage was foremost on our minds. But do I remember Sybil mentioning that all she wanted to do was to leave our village and dash off to London? No! Try as I might I just cannot remember, maybe she did, maybe she did not fearing our derision, but oh yes Sybil just wanted to be in London. Now who can we blame or laud for this passionate wish?

Our parents who had returned from East Africa, Kenya a British Colony. ..

or could you blame those Agatha Christie’s novels with Paddington or Piccadilly which we thought were wonderful…

could you blame Enid Blyton and her root beer which we were sure was delicious. ..

could you blame Beano and Dandy, those naughty Bash Street Kids…

of course there was fish and chips just waiting to be tasted.

Truth be told, we were neither awed nor enamored by the British Royal Family, we did not fancy Prince Charles, we found Princess Anne horse-faced and the Queen oh-so-badly-dressed. Give us Caroline of Monaco any day.

But I do think it was the Beatles who incited a vigorous passion in Sybil, ‘let me just get out of here, let me just get to London.’

All Sybil had was grit and determination, nothing more. Going to London in one go was totally impossible, it had to be done in stages, a tiny jump to Bombay, hard work, saving every available penny, but despite hardships, Sybil brought her brothers to Bombay, shared her tiny living space with them so that they too could have a start.

Then like Vasco da Gama rounding the Cape of Good Hope, an opportunity to teach in Nairobi, once again hard work, poor living quarters, a box-room much like Harry Potter.

Mombasa a long period of waiting, hoping, working and most of all saving and skimping and then the most important document in her life……A British Passport….. London here I come!!  

Life in London was not at all that easy, it was not all fish and chips, but Sybil was not giving up. A job, then a series of temporary jobs, ‘temping’ which is amazing if you want to make money a tad quicker.

It is at this time that Sybil decided to pursue her other passion, dancing. What better place then the Goan dances held on important occasions, a saint’s feast, Christmas, or New Year. So here was our little belle togged in her best, on pins and needles, itching to have a go at the convoluted jive, a hearty rock-and-roll or even a sedate waltz. Sadly, the men from Goa had carried along with their, sorpotel, caju feni and bebimca, their prejudices. Under the watchful eyes of their well-corseted, nylon stockinged Mamas, they were very careful only to dance with fair-of-face ladies.

Oh, darling did you have to dance with that Silva girl?

But Mummy she jives beautifully!

Darling you are here to… Dance with the Gama Pinto girl

But Mummy she is so heavy, she cannot, twirl or twist!

Louie my boy…. enough of this.

This was more of a marriage market, not something our twinkle toed belle had envisaged. After a couple of attempts at these prestigious occasions where the elite from Goa, now in London, congregated, Sybil yawning her way through  a Coke,  bored to tears, with just a dance thrown in by the one Goa swain, who actually loved to dance, she  decided that such social occasions were just not for her. She wanted to Dance, nothing more.  So without a backward glance at the prancing Mama’s boys she quit the Goa expat scenario completely. Hung her dancing pumps in her cupboard. This was one time she gave up.

And then George came to the rescue, pssst you will have to ask Sybil who George is, I have been sworn to secrecy. Anyway, on a bright and sunny afternoon, George insisted she dress up well, no jeans, no shorts and absolutely no T’s. Agog with excitement Sybil just followed, at the end of the journey at Chorleywood Memorial Hall, Sybil could not believe her eyes and ears, there was Mr Wonderful the resident DJ playing the tunes. Everyone was dancing a very hectic jive. Oh yes, she pinched herself but she pinched George harder.

It was Paradise, it was a London concept called a Tea Dance. No more stuck up elite, Sybil now jives, rock-and-rolls, rumbas practically every day of the week, sometimes goes out of London on weekend Tea Dances; her suede soled shoes are always tucked in her large bag, her spangly, strappy black dress too.

 Sybil my dear you have well and truly arrived!

Tracing the history of a Tea Dance

A tea dance, thé dansant which is French and literally means ‘dancing tea’ is a summer or autumn afternoon an early-evening dance from four to seven, when everything is languid. It could be said that the function evolved from the concept of the afternoon tea. J. Pettigrew traces its origin to the French in Morocco. Books on Victorian Era etiquette such as Party-giving on Every Scale (London, n.d. [1880]) include detailed instructions for hosting such gatherings.

The usual refreshments in 1880 were tea and coffee, ices, champagne-cup and claret-cup, fruit, sandwiches, cake and biscuits.  Another writer on etiquette, Mrs. Armstrong, told her readers that "refreshments are going on all the afternoon, and gentlemen take the ladies to the tearoom during the intervals between the dances. The lady's maid pours out the tea ... the edibles consist of bread-and-butter and cakes, though some hostesses add sandwiches, ices and fruit."

Even after the introduction of the phonograph the expected feature was a live orchestra – often referred to as a palm court orchestra – or a small band playing light classical music. Dancing at tea-time was an elegant part of afternoon tea parties into the first decade of the 20th century. And then a new dance took London by storm and triggered a totally new approach to afternoon dances. The Argentine Tango, having first driven Parisian society into frenzy, arrived in London in 1910.

Tea dances were taking place all over the capital and in the provincial towns. Social columns reported that 'private 'Thés Dansants' are very much the rage just now in London houses and the Tango is the principal dance on the programme..' Beatrice Crozier in her book ‘The Tango and How to Dance it’ explained that for tea events at the Waldorf Hotel in London, tickets were available at the door and cost five shillings for tea and dancing, and three shillings for tea only. Once in the white and gold ballroom, ‘little parties of from two to six can sit and enjoy a most excellent tea between the dances, or remain throughout the afternoon watching the others dance.’ The craze for tea dances continued into the 1920's, but for the fashionable young set, cocktails and the Charleston were the next trend and took over from refined tango teas.

The Waldorf continued its tea dances until 1939 when a German bomb caused the glass roof of the Palm Court to shatter and frivolities such as tea dances were cancelled.

It was not until 1982 that the hotel once again became the venue for London's best known tea dances. Today, every Saturday and Sunday afternoon, the foot-tapping music of The Waldorfians tempts colourful couples away from their scones and clotted cream onto the marble dance floor and into the whirling steps of the Waltz, tango, quickstep and the 'Tea For Two' cha cha cha.

Tea Dances, cater to every type of person, quoting from 

http://www.timeout.com/london/alternative-nightlife/tea-dances-in-london

Lindy hopping to Metallica: not as easy as this lot make it look (© L Sauma)

‘I did a quick vox pop at our last tea dance,’ says Art of the Dog’s Vic, ‘and someone was born in 1932! Having that sort of age mix is superb.’
It’s not without its dangers, though. ‘The etiquette can seem a bit funny, like making sure you dance in the same direction as everyone else, but crashing into an 80-year-old is only going to end up in a broken hip.’
Since her first tea dance at the gorgeous Old Finsbury Town Hall last October, Vic – ‘just Vic’ – has been actively recruiting locals who remember the current trend for tea dances the first time around. Happily, they’ve been coming in droves.
‘I love Vera,’ she says, ‘she always comes in a pair of sparkly shoes, and there’s one guy who’s known in the Duke of Denmark pub as Dancing Dave. Yes, he really can dance.’
Afternoon tea dances like Vic’s are far more serene, romantic affairs and are chock full of elderly folk whizzing around the floor. Leave your looks of pity at the door and expect to be wiped off the dance floor by participants 50 years your elder.
‘The older people know what they’re doing at a tea dance,’ says Vic. ‘It’s their thing.’
City workers won’t be left out for, for they can – ahem – swing by Spitalfields Markets on the last Friday of every month for the Covent Garden Dance Orchestra’s free afternoon tea dance. 

Thank you ever so much for the inputs

http://www.timeout.com/london/alternative-nightlife/tea-dances-in-london

http://www.teamuse.com/article_010702.html