Читать книгу The Abbey Girls Go Back to School - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 7

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Breathless, excited, eager-eyed, Jen crouched in a corner of the big barn beside cook among a crowd of villagers, while out in the cleared space eight big burly colliers danced, with tramping feet and flashing steel swords. Never in her life had she dreamed of anything like this dance; the music was only that of a concertina, played by a man standing at the side, yet every nerve in Jen’s body responded to the amazing rhythm of the tramping feet.

‘In big boots, you know, father!’ she told him afterwards. ‘And great big heavy men, miners all of them, and mostly quite old. Some were gray and some were bald! But the way they did it! The—the energy and fierceness of it; and the wonderful time of their feet! I tell you, it worked me up to something I’d never felt before. I could have shrieked with excitement! And the crowd felt it too, though they see it every Christmas. You could feel the breathlessness—everybody on edge and—and tight with excitement! At the end they just yelled, and I’m afraid I yelled too! Oh, I am glad to have seen it! I didn’t know men’s dancing could be like that. They went over the swords, sometimes over one and sometimes over two; and under arches of swords; and they did a rolling kind of procession, in twos, over and under one another, rather like the second figure of “Grimstock,” or the changes of the Ribbon Dance. And they clashed the swords together; and then they fixed them somehow, all in a second almost, into a kind of star and held them up, all the eight in one man’s hand; and they never fell to bits—they were quite firmly fixed! I’d love to know how they did it!’

‘That’s the lock,’ her father commented. ‘I saw it years ago. My grandfather told me there used to be sword-dancing in our village when he was a boy, but it had died out with the passing of the team, and no younger men had been trained to take their places. I expect a great many villages would have to say the same.’

‘What a pity! But that’s what my guiser-girl said, of course—that there must have been a sword-dance, but our men had forgotten it, and now they could only play about with the swords. She said it was really a part of the mumming play; or the play was a part of it! I’m not sure which. I wish I’d told her about these men! If only somebody could see them, somebody who understands, and write the dance down, so that it shouldn’t be lost, Daddy! For some of those men won’t be able to dance much longer; they looked like grandfathers already! Will the dance have to stop when one of them dies? They say they do it every Christmas.’

‘We’ll hope they’ve been wise enough to train younger men to make up the team. Otherwise it will be forgotten and will soon die out.’

‘It would be an awful pity!’ Jen said soberly. ‘It’s rotten to think of these gorgeous old things being lost! Somebody ought to take on the job of saving them. Is it only in Yorkshire, you see sword-dances, father? Or is it all over England?’

But her father only knew of these dances as done in the villages of his own neighbourhood. Jen sighed. ‘Well, I’m glad we live near one! I shall go to see it every Christmas, and I shall ask cook if they’re training other men to have them ready. They were all dressed up, like soldiers, you know, mother! Black velvet coats with heaps of silver braid, and white cotton trousers tied on behind—so funny! And big black boots, and gaiters up to their knees, and weird little crimson caps with rosettes at the sides and ribbons down the back. They looked gorgeous!’

‘I wonder the caps kept on,’ her mother remarked.

‘They didn’t, all the time. So they had strings fastened to them, and held the ends in their mouths; yes, they did, really! And there was a clown dressed in white, and he ran round outside the dance and made jokes; and they hung the swords round his neck when they were all joined together in the star. Oh, I wish girls could learn sword-dancing!’

‘Jen dear! From your description it sounds most unsuitable!’ her mother remonstrated.

‘Sword dances are very strictly for men only, I imagine,’ her father laughed.

‘I don’t see why. We dance morris, and that’s a man’s dance. Of course, girls could never do it as those men did; I know that. But then the men have been doing it for hundreds of years; it’s been handed down——’

‘What, the same men?’ her father teased. ‘It’s about time they did have a rest, in that case! Don’t you think they’ve earned it?’

‘I mean their families, their fathers and grandfathers. It’s in their blood. I’m not a baby; I could see that! You wouldn’t make dancers like that in a year or two. And they must have practised together for months. And then they were men! Girls could never be the same. But I don’t see why they couldn’t learn the dance and do it in their own way. I’d simply love to do it!’

‘This is what comes of dancing jigs with burglars!’ her father said solemnly. ‘Now she wants to do sword-dances with men! We shall have to keep an eye on her! Your guiser-girl didn’t turn up in the barn, I suppose?’

‘No; I wish she had. It was jolly to see dancing in a barn again. We had a topping old barn at Wycombe, you know. I wonder if Cicely’s ever seen a sword-dance? The only kind I’d heard of before was the Scotch one, where the swords are on the ground and you dance across them, as in “Bacca-Pipes.” I’d never imagined a dance where the swords were in your hands and you were joined together by them!’

‘After all, it seems a natural place for the swords to be!’ her father laughed.

‘I believe even Jack would have liked folk-dancing if she’d been given a sword to dance with!’

‘Jack! She was the—er—friend you made when you first went to school, wasn’t she? Why haven’t we heard much about her lately?’ her father asked.

‘She was my husband,’ Jen said with dignity, which her laughing eyes belied. ‘We were married for quite two years. But her folks took her to live in London with them, and so the marriage had to come to an end. I was awfully fond of Jack! Maybe I’ll see her again some day. We had a family, you know; but only for three months. Then it left, and it had been such a bother that we never had another. We decided that adopted children weren’t worth the fag. I’m sure Jacky-boy would have loved to do a sword-dance!’

A few nights later, in the big back kitchen, she gave her first lesson to a dozen small children from the village; and the following night repeated it for a score of youngsters from ‘Tin Town.’ The two sets would not mix well, she was warned, and there was very little intercourse between the ‘Tin Town’ people in the valley and the original inhabitants in the gray stone hamlet on the hilltop.

Her own observation soon told her that the children were of very different natures, those from ‘Tin Town’ being more of the city type, children of mechanics and trained workers, in most cases; while the villagers were thorough-going country children, whose parents were farmers or farm-labourers, small shopkeepers, shepherds, and the like. The two sets mutually disliked and were suspicious of one another, the village looking on ‘Tin Town’ as interlopers, the more travelled inhabitants of the bungalows cordially despising the dwellers among the fields. So Jen wisely taught them on separate nights, and found great differences in their powers of understanding, but no difference at all in their delight in this new interest. The country dances made an instant appeal to both parties, and their enjoyment was obvious—pathetic, indeed, in its revelation of their need of some such outlet. They had felt it instinctively, but without understanding; had known they were dull, without knowing what to ask for; for the city was too far away to allow of frequent visits to ‘pictures’ or theatres on the part of the elder children, and there had been no one to exert himself for the sake of the little ones.

New recruits stopped Jen continually as she cycled through the lanes or along the moorland roads, begging to be allowed to join ‘the dancing’; within a week a request came from ‘Tin Town’ for a class for bigger girls, Jen’s present age-limit being twelve. She was very doubtful of this new venture, feeling her want of experience, and would have preferred to make a success of the little ones first; but the girls were so insistent, and so earnest in their promises of good behaviour, and so pathetically eager for ‘something new to do,’ that with her mother’s rather reluctant consent and her father’s eager approval she promised to give them a trial.

‘It’s good for the child,’ her father argued. ‘She’s looking brighter already. She thinks of those classes all day long; I believe she dreams of them all night too. As for the children, it’s invaluable—exactly what they’ve been needing.’

‘Some of those “Tin Town” girls are very rough,’ Mrs Robins said doubtfully. ‘I wouldn’t like Jen to have any difficulty.’

‘Let cook sit in the room, if it would ease your mind. I’m going to watch myself, one of these days. The girls are keen, and that will help. Jen has only to threaten that they shan’t come again, and they’ll do anything she wants. And it’s tremendously good for them.’

When her classes were over, Jen would go flying up to her father’s room, and dropping on the end of his bed, or at his feet as he sat by the fire, would tell her experiences.

‘It’s priceless, Daddy! We nearly hurt ourselves with laughing. The girls are the funniest; the kiddies are so serious over it, and work so hard; and really they aren’t half bad. They’re still at the stage when you run and skip naturally, you see; of course, they’ve no idea of rhythm, and just stare when I tell them to keep time to the music; but I think that will come. They aren’t stiff, and they aren’t afraid to try new things. They took to “Peascods” like ducks to water—though their clapping’s still very weird! But it’s getting better. But the girls—! They’re too gorgeous for words. They’re mostly over fourteen, and one or two are older than I am, and it’s years since they skipped about, and they can’t imagine running and skipping being real dancing steps. They want to do all kinds of fancy movements; I have to be awfully strict! They can’t believe how simple it really is; they’d turn it into something weird and difficult and—and fancy, if I’d let them.’

‘But you don’t let them?’ her father laughed.

‘Goodness, no! Joan’s hair would stand on end, and Cicely would have a fit, if they saw those girls trying to point their toes and hold up their skirts—quite short skirts, you know!—as if they were ballet dancers! Oh, I’m fearfully strict! But I’d no idea our dances were so funny! Does it seem frightfully funny to you to run forward four steps, holding your partner’s hand?’

‘I’ve heard funnier jokes,’ her father said gravely.

‘Those girls giggled no end when I made them try. As for running back four steps, that was simply too funny for words. They all went at different speeds, and banged into one another, and roared with laughing till I nearly fell into the gramophone, and was almost too sore to go on. I don’t know when I’ve laughed so much. They simply can’t run in small neat steps; either they fly all over the place or they stand still and giggle. I had no idea running was so difficult; I don’t remember finding it so hard! I simply took Joan’s hand, that first day on the cloister garth, and we ran forward and back, and that was all there was about it. But it’s an absolute mystery to these girls! As for skipping—well, the first week I sent them home to practise, and to get the little ones to show them how to do it. This week I made them do “Brighton Camp,” and led it myself—without any music, unfortunately. But they could skip by the time they were done with it; they were nearly dead, too, between tiredness and laughing. They won’t be able to move for stiffness to-morrow. You see, they work so frightfully hard!—far harder than they need. They skip like horses, pulling their knees right up, for one thing. They don’t seem able to do it easily.’

‘Did all last week’s girls turn up?’ her mother asked.

‘Rather! They wouldn’t miss for anything. And six more came, and they say still more want to. I had eighteen to-night.’

‘You mustn’t take too many, my dear.’

‘Oh, it’s easier with a lot! They all laugh at one another! But sometimes I could throw the records at them,’ and Jen grew grave. ‘A joke’s all very well, and apparently country dancing’s very funny when you’ve never done it before. I didn’t know it was, but it seems to be! I don’t mind them laughing; classes must be jolly! But sometimes they giggle in a silly way that makes me want to shake them all. Why do they do it, mother? We never used to! They can’t forget about themselves; they’re thinking all the time how funny they must look. They do look funny, but I dare say we did when we began, but we never used to think about it. We just enjoyed it. I remember my first dance-evening,’ she said thoughtfully, nursing her knees and gazing into the fire. ‘It was in the big hall in Joy’s house, during the dip. time, when the whole school went to the Abbey for the summer term—just after Joan had found the abbey treasures, the church plate, and the books and manuscripts, but before we’d discovered the hermit’s church, and the well, and the jewels. We had a practice dance, everybody in gym tunics, no dressing-up, and Joan took me all down the line and up again in “The Mary and Dorothy,” and I danced “Hey, Boys” and “Rufty” and “Bonnets” and “Galopede” and “We Won’t Go Home Till Morning”! I dare say my steps were frightful and I looked awfully funny; but I don’t remember ever thinking about it. I enjoyed every minute of it. If I’d been one of these girls I’d have been giggling at myself all the evening. Why are they like that, mother?’

‘You were younger, only thirteen. They are in the very self-conscious stage,’ her mother suggested.

‘They are, of course. It’s awful! But none of our girls were like that?’

‘Don’t you think that may be because they had got out of it before your day, and you unconsciously adopted the attitude of all the rest, and were as natural about it as they were?’ her father remarked. ‘You had the help of all the others, who had been at it for some time; you copied them, without thinking about it.’

Jen nodded gravely. ‘I see. They made the—the proper feeling, of enjoying it and forgetting oneself, and I just dropped into it. Yes, I think that’s right. I wonder if they were giggly when they started? That would depend on Cicely, I suppose; she set them all dancing, and it would depend whether she was natural about it or not. But she would be, of course; she’s never anything else. Seems to me we all owe a jolly lot to her; not only the definite dances, but the—the jolly easy feeling——’

‘The natural atmosphere,’ her father suggested.

‘Yes, she gave us that. Then—then I suppose I’—she paused suddenly and flushed. ‘I say, it’s rather cheek of me, Daddy!’

‘You have to play Cicely for these “Tin Town” girls. You have to create their atmosphere. There’s no doubt of that, Jen; they’ll take their cue from you.’

‘It’s rather a big thing!’ Jen contemplated the fire again. ‘I thought it was just going to be a case of jolly evenings to cheer us all up. But seems to me there’s more in it than that. Seems to me it may make them quite different kind of girls. I say, don’t you think perhaps it is rather cheek of me?’

‘If you don’t want to go on with it, the sooner you stop the better,’ suggested the practical mother.

Jen’s father eyed her gravely. ‘Do you want to go on with it, Jen?’

Jen, staring into the fire, was seeing visions. ‘Oh, I do!’ she cried softly. ‘It might help them not to be so silly—to get outside themselves—to think bigger things altogether! Don’t you think it might help them, really?’

‘Of course I do. There’s education in it, in the sense of development; and character; and art. Give them all those, with your music and beautiful movements, and give them a common interest that will hold them together and take them outside their everyday lives; and you won’t have done such a little thing, my dear.’

‘It rather frightens me, though!’ and Jen turned anxious eyes on him. ‘I’m only a kid! Perhaps I oughtn’t to try. I hadn’t thought folk-dancing was such a big thing. If I give it to them wrongly, then I may do harm. Perhaps I’d better not go on.’

‘You’re worrying the child, father!’ Mrs Robins said indignantly.

‘I don’t think so. I should forget all about this now, Jen; or nearly forget it. Let it lie at the back of your mind; it will help you to keep on the right lines; but don’t let it worry you. You won’t give the girls anything wrong; you love it too much—just as, I’ve no doubt, your Cicely did. You must teach them as she taught you, that’s all. But it won’t hurt your work for you to have a high ideal of it. Don’t feel you’re doing a little thing!’

Jen nodded soberly. ‘I see what you mean. But I must enjoy it, Daddy, or the girls won’t.’

‘Of course not. Everything depends on you. They’ll copy you without knowing it. If you’re going to teach them to be natural and unselfconscious, you must be absolutely so yourself. If they are to enjoy the music and the dancing, they must see that you enjoy them most of all.’

After a long thoughtful silence, Jen summed up the situation as she saw it. ‘Yes! All that about it doing them real good is interesting and rather wonderful, and I’m glad to have thought about it. But it seems to me what I’ve got to do is just to have as good a time as I can, and make them enjoy the classes; and see if I can make them love it all as I do.’

‘Exactly! You won’t go wrong along those lines. And the very first night I think it would be safe I’m coming along to watch.’

‘Oh, not yet!’ Jen pleaded laughing. ‘They’d simply die! At Wycombe we used rather to like having people to watch, because we felt they were enjoying it so. But these girls haven’t nearly got to that stage yet! They’d hurt themselves with giggling! But some day, perhaps in the summer, or next winter, when they’ve learnt to be sensible, I’m going to have an open evening and invite their friends—and you two, of course!—and each class will do two or three dances. It would be good for them; don’t you think so?’

‘Better have the hall in “Tin Town,” and give a real show,’ her father laughed.

‘We’ll see!’ Jen’s eyes sparkled. ‘Perhaps we could have it when Joan comes here in the summer! That would be topping!’ and she forgot possible responsibilities in the glorious prospect.

Her father saw it with relief, for he feared lest he had said too much. ‘What dances did you do to-night?’ he asked.

‘Besides “Brighton Camp”!’ and Jen laughed again at the memory of that exciting episode. ‘Oh, “Peascods,” of course; and they all sat on the floor—they thought even that was rather funny! Everything’s funny to them!—and I told them they’d been worshipping the sacred tree on the village green; and their eyes were the size of saucers. Then we did the first figure of “The Black Nag,” for practice in slipping step; and the couples all banged into one another, and they simply shrieked with laughing. As for turning single on the spot, that was too funny for words! And I tried “Butterfly” and taught them to swing and change; and if you’d seen the muddles with the arches! They tried to behead one another, and nearly hurt themselves with laughing. And women get into the men’s ring in “Peascods,” and men get left out, and then try to fight their way in when it’s too late. Oh, it’s a priceless time! But I do enjoy it. And so do they!’