THE OLD DANCE HALL
Posted: Wed Aug 26, 2015 2:07 pm
It was after reading Ross’s recent poem about the good old days, that I remembered this.
How many of you remember the old out of town, or Bush Dances.
As a young bloke I grew up mostly in Albany; a town in those days of several thousand.
There were several outlying halls that had once been part of a small town, but apart from the odd farm house the old halls were all that was left.
Not everybody had cars back then, so there was a bus to take us to and from the Friday or Saturday night dances, and not only young people went to them, I might add.
Everybody would dress up in their best gear with many of us looking for romance.
Although I was away a lot from the age of about 17/18, whenever I was back in town, it was off to the dances.
It was during a break from Coober Pedy (after being away for years) that I met my wife Valma at one of those dances – they were great times.
Terry
The Old Dance Hall
Where the cattle are seen grazing on the lush feed growing tall
and the gravel track is winding on towards the old bush hall.
There’s a whiff of eucalyptus in the air along the way,
as my thoughts’ now shuffle down the path, of memory today.
I can hear once more the music as I heard it long ago;
see the old hall bathed in moonlight, while inside a golden glow.
Through the open doorway dancers glide across the old halls floor
and the years now melt away to happy youthful days before.
Through the misty haze of time, again I look around the hall,
seeing women in their finery on chairs along the wall.
While the men dressed in their Sunday best and looking for romance,
try to somehow find the courage here to ask a girl to dance.
Sweet now is the music as it drifts throughout the crowded hall
and the swaying dancers move as one there at the old Bush Ball.
Anxiously I’m searching hoping for a glimpse of her again,
for she must be here somewhere, although so far I’ve looked in vain.
Then among the sea of faces I can see her there once more,
it was in the ‘Pride of Erin,’ changing partners like before.
Then there comes that magic moment when at last she reaches me;
once again that special smile of hers I’ve waited long to see.
Time stands still a moment while I try to think of words to say;
inspirations lacking, and my mind is blank again today.
Precious moments pass by quickly as the dance moves ever on,
time to barely say hello, a brush of hands, and she was gone.
*****
© T.E. Piggott
How many of you remember the old out of town, or Bush Dances.
As a young bloke I grew up mostly in Albany; a town in those days of several thousand.
There were several outlying halls that had once been part of a small town, but apart from the odd farm house the old halls were all that was left.
Not everybody had cars back then, so there was a bus to take us to and from the Friday or Saturday night dances, and not only young people went to them, I might add.
Everybody would dress up in their best gear with many of us looking for romance.
Although I was away a lot from the age of about 17/18, whenever I was back in town, it was off to the dances.
It was during a break from Coober Pedy (after being away for years) that I met my wife Valma at one of those dances – they were great times.
Terry
The Old Dance Hall
Where the cattle are seen grazing on the lush feed growing tall
and the gravel track is winding on towards the old bush hall.
There’s a whiff of eucalyptus in the air along the way,
as my thoughts’ now shuffle down the path, of memory today.
I can hear once more the music as I heard it long ago;
see the old hall bathed in moonlight, while inside a golden glow.
Through the open doorway dancers glide across the old halls floor
and the years now melt away to happy youthful days before.
Through the misty haze of time, again I look around the hall,
seeing women in their finery on chairs along the wall.
While the men dressed in their Sunday best and looking for romance,
try to somehow find the courage here to ask a girl to dance.
Sweet now is the music as it drifts throughout the crowded hall
and the swaying dancers move as one there at the old Bush Ball.
Anxiously I’m searching hoping for a glimpse of her again,
for she must be here somewhere, although so far I’ve looked in vain.
Then among the sea of faces I can see her there once more,
it was in the ‘Pride of Erin,’ changing partners like before.
Then there comes that magic moment when at last she reaches me;
once again that special smile of hers I’ve waited long to see.
Time stands still a moment while I try to think of words to say;
inspirations lacking, and my mind is blank again today.
Precious moments pass by quickly as the dance moves ever on,
time to barely say hello, a brush of hands, and she was gone.
*****
© T.E. Piggott
