A Little Triangular Badge

A couple of days ago I was sorting through an old tin box which has been sitting untouched on a shelf in my sitting room for the last few years. Untouched in that it has become part of the fixtures and fittings of the room to the point I no longer notice it’s presence. Until I was searching for something to show the grandkids. I knew I had the item but couldn’t remember where I put it, so every box of keepsakes was searched; several times, just in case I’d missed it on the first search. This tin box was my last resort. I didn’t find what I was looking for but what I did find opened up a little mind-box of memories from my childhood. A simple, triangular badge. 

The story goes that my parents met at a square dance in Nottingham, a hobby they kept up until my dad was well into his eighties. Square dancing, for the uninitiated, is an American folk dancing style which became popular here in the 40’s and 50’s. It involves four couples who make the “square”  and perform a set of moves according to the instructions – patter – of the caller.  Through the square dancing clubs they belonged to they had a circle of friends who not only danced together but went on holidays and days out together. When I came along I was included in the lives of this group of like minded folk and I thank every single one of those “aunties and uncles” who gave me so many memories; from the their love of square dancing and their love of life; and who helped shape the person I am today.  

One abiding memory is that of the bi-annual square dance run by Uncle Len; who was the caller; and Aunty Elsie. These dances were held in the hall of a secondary school in Bramcote and clubs came from all over to attend, there could be up to eight or nine sets of dancers on that dance floor. I have so many memories of those nights; the huge school kitchen where Elsie set up the tea urn and laid out all the food for the buffet supper, brought by club members and guests; the patter of the caller over the Country and Western music; the bright colours of the skirts and netty pettys as the ladies whirled and twirled around the floor; spinning round to flare out the skirt of my pink party frock, a home made circular skirted affair that had a scalloped hem with an embroidered star surrounding a rhinestone in each scallop; having to walk down a long dimly lit corridor past banks of dark, looming lockers and coat pegs in the cloakroom to get to the toilets; the end of the night, with everyone calling out their farewells across the car park as the beams from car headlights cut across the darkness like searchlights; the pulsating orange glow of the street lamps as we drove home through deserted streets. 

Around this time we seemed to spend quite a bit of time with another couple, Gwen and Howard, Dad had known Gwen from before he met my mother so it was no surprise when the four of them became very close friends or that when Howard decided to start his own club my parents backed him all the way and became founder members. One evening, in the early days of the club, only Gwen and Howard, my parents and one other couple turned up. They waited a while for others to arrive but it became obvious that no-one else was coming; and this is where the badge comes in; rather than call the whole thing off the three couples decided to carry on anyway and the club became known as “The Three Cornered Squares”. Hence the triangular badge.  Over the next few years, every Wednesday we would drive through to Woollaton for the weekly dance class. Eventually I became a fully fledged member of the club with my own badge. All I remember of the venue was the shiny, marbled green lino on the floor and a bowling green behind the building. We would spend an hour dancing before having a tea break, where I was trusted to help out with the refreshments. On one famous occasion, at a bit of a do, I was entrusted to make the tea in a giant teapot. Not being used to such a huge pot I asked Gwen how much tea I should put in. Her answer? “One for each person and one for the pot.” Which is what I did. Unfortunately there were about thirty people there and I was using teabags. The black tar coming out of the spout couldn’t even be classed as builders tea it so strong!

We attended many big square dancing “dos” during those years and as my dancing improved I was able to take part, filling in as partner to my dad and others when their partners were having a well earned sit down and gossip. Oh how I hated those partners who would pump their hands up and down, always slightly out of time with the music, as we shuffled round. We always turned up in our matching outfits; dad’s shirts matching our dresses; all made by my mother. The only thing I never had and always envied were the full net underskirts the ladies wore, and I always coveted Gwen’s netty pettys, so full and always complementing her dresses. Years later I acquired these clouds of net perfection and have worn them with pride under my swing dresses at rock and roll events. 

As the years passed the popularity of square dancing waned, people moved on, had families or got older. Gwen and Howard spent longer and longer in Spain until they finally made it their permanent home, although they never gave up their love of square dancing. As for me, I also grew up, developed other interests, and square dancing fell by the wayside. But one look at that little triangular badge and in my minds eye I can still see, smell and feel those days with rose tinted fondness.