The potential for misunderstandings and frustrations inherent in extended family relationships are comically and dramatically brought to life in the wonderful American sitcom ‘Modern Family’. However, when I was growing up as a teenager on the east coast of Ireland in the mid sixties I was fully aware of such ‘relative’ complications which did not always manifest themselves in a comic way if seen from my perspective on that time.
I was part of a family of six people, comprising the usual mother and father, but also including an older sister, a twin (but non identical) brother and another younger brother. However, we lived a few short houses away from a married aunt’s family which also included a grandmother and a maiden aunt. Suffice it to say here that as teenagers, my twin brother and I were not short of advice or ‘moral guidance’, not just from our parents but also from my maiden aunt and even sometimes from my older sister.
During these ‘formative years’ growing up in an Ireland of very restrictive religious policy and practice, my brother and I often took refuge in ‘Rock & Roll music. Thus in my mind at the time, I was enjoying a ‘Whole Lotta Love’ with Led Zeppelin; I was consuming a ‘Strange Brew’ with Eric Clapton & Cream while I was wearing Blue Suede Shoes when checking in at the Heartbreak Hotel with Elvis Presley. However, because of the moral imperatives employed to justify the imposition of restricted access to social gatherings of our young peers, when it came to actual romantic fare, we personified the title of the Rolling Stones album of the time, in that we were indeed at a ‘Beggars Banquet’. This latter Pop group was of particular concern to my Aunt who riled against them and warned against the moral corruption inherent not only in their songs but also in their appearance. For her at least a warning to beware the ‘Ides of March’ was not enough, as she felt that this foreboding should be extended to include the ‘Ides of January to December’ of each year. In response, we would turn up the volume of the Stones track, 'The Last Time' with the sentiments ‘I told you once, I told you twice, but you won't take my advice,--this could be the last time’
The only real opportunity to make a romantic conquest to realise our teenager fantasies lay in the annual ‘Freedom from Hunger Dance’ at the local Ballroom which was sponsored by the Town schools with the funds collected going to Charity. Our parents saw this as a worthwhile ‘cause’ in supporting the alleviation of hunger abroad but we saw it as a more immediate opportunity to satisfy our need to alleviate a more pressing ‘hunger’ being experienced at home. Thus when I listened to Marty Robbins singing ‘Devil Woman’ on the transistor radio at night in bed on Radio Luxemburg, I longed to meet my own ‘devil woman’ and hoped that I would fulfil my desire at our own local ‘Ballroom of Romance’.
Dancing in Ireland at that time was concentrated on ‘ballrooms’ where so called ‘Showbands’ would play everything from fast jive music to slow foxtrots usually by employing only three chords on their instruments. Thus, the beat of the music often seems vaguely familiar whether being applied to a song by Elvis or the Beatles. The attendance at such dances ranged from hundreds to even thousands at each venue and stars such as Joe Dolan, Dickie Rock and Brendan Bowyer were household names throughout the country. Brendan Bower’s Hucklebuck Dance was a special craze at that time. Indeed such was the adulation afforded such stars that some females were reputed to throw items of their underwear at them during the ‘show’ and I myself in later years witnessed a distraught fan imploring Dickie Rock to ‘spit on her’ as a manifestation of his affection for her. Such a demonstration of fan frenzy may seem somewhat surprising especially as most of these venues were forbidden to serve alcohol. Of course, the Irish were not major players in the Bootleg years of Prohibition in the USA for nothing, so alcohol in some form usually found its ‘merry’ way into these dance halls.
Thus, when my brother and I decided to attend our own particular ‘Hunger Dance’, we had the unfortunate prospect looming of a ‘dry’ night. If seems a daunting prospect at our young age to approach our selected devil woman without recourse some illicit sustenance to give us some Dutch courage in our romantic pursuits. However, my mother did not allow ‘drink’ in the house except for a bottle of ‘Blue Nun’ wine (for visitors) and a small bottle of Powers Whiskey which was to be served by a spoon as a relief from flu. (Old wives tales of guaranteed remedies died hard in those days). Thus, my brother and I concocted a ‘strange brew’ of Blue Nun wine, Powers Whiskey and lemonade in an orange ‘crush’ bottle to bring to our date with destiny.
On the night of the actual dance, it turns out that we needed all the help we could muster from human stamina and illicit potions to bravely go where no teenager from our house had ever gone before. At such Ballroom jamborees, all the girls lined up along once side of the hall while the boys lined up along the opposite side. They then eyed each other suspiciously like two warring armies before a momentous battle. As soon as the Showband struck up a tune from their three chord repertoire, the boys would advance across ‘no man’s land’ to ask some selected girl to dance. However, this process of selection, while always invariably initiated by the boy, was not without hazard as some ‘haughty women’ were inclined to reject such requests while announcing in a high pitched voice that they were still drinking their lemonade and hence could not be expected to agree to dance at that time. There was a further complication during the slow set as if a girl extended her arms downwards in front of her, if signified that she did not ‘fancy’ you and wished to return to her friends as soon as possible.
Thus, the trick was to use the fast numbers to illustrate your facility with the jive, a dance which my older sister had taught to us, by way of impressing the fickle female. Then during a slow set one could press home ones advantage. However, any actual ‘pressing home’ against the bosom of the dancing partner was severely frowned upon by the supervising parents although a slight touching of the cheeks was considered an adequate expression of affection for all concerned. Suffice it to say that at the last slow set of the evening my partner Mary leaned over and gave me an almost imperceptible peck on the cheek. I have never before experienced such an electric fusion of sudden shock and sexual charge. Gee whiz! I had found my devil woman and I was on a high when I returned home in jubilation to tell my sister of my new conquest. However, my sense of personal fulfilment was soon shattered by my sister when my brother told her I was now doing a ‘line’ with Mary. “Jesus”, she said, quoting the nursery rhythm, “Mary had a little lamb, God, she must be hard up indeed.” I reacted with anger and stormed off professing by undying love and loyalty to her forever. You see for me at least after all months of internal anguish, like my true friend, Marty Robbins, I had at last found my ‘Devil Woman’.
So my advice to those reading this blog who are still searching for true romance is to go dancing and to be inspired by these words from the ‘Hucklebuck’ song:
‘Wriggle like a Snake and Wobble like a Duck’
That’s what you do when you think you’re out of Luck’
I was part of a family of six people, comprising the usual mother and father, but also including an older sister, a twin (but non identical) brother and another younger brother. However, we lived a few short houses away from a married aunt’s family which also included a grandmother and a maiden aunt. Suffice it to say here that as teenagers, my twin brother and I were not short of advice or ‘moral guidance’, not just from our parents but also from my maiden aunt and even sometimes from my older sister.
During these ‘formative years’ growing up in an Ireland of very restrictive religious policy and practice, my brother and I often took refuge in ‘Rock & Roll music. Thus in my mind at the time, I was enjoying a ‘Whole Lotta Love’ with Led Zeppelin; I was consuming a ‘Strange Brew’ with Eric Clapton & Cream while I was wearing Blue Suede Shoes when checking in at the Heartbreak Hotel with Elvis Presley. However, because of the moral imperatives employed to justify the imposition of restricted access to social gatherings of our young peers, when it came to actual romantic fare, we personified the title of the Rolling Stones album of the time, in that we were indeed at a ‘Beggars Banquet’. This latter Pop group was of particular concern to my Aunt who riled against them and warned against the moral corruption inherent not only in their songs but also in their appearance. For her at least a warning to beware the ‘Ides of March’ was not enough, as she felt that this foreboding should be extended to include the ‘Ides of January to December’ of each year. In response, we would turn up the volume of the Stones track, 'The Last Time' with the sentiments ‘I told you once, I told you twice, but you won't take my advice,--this could be the last time’
The only real opportunity to make a romantic conquest to realise our teenager fantasies lay in the annual ‘Freedom from Hunger Dance’ at the local Ballroom which was sponsored by the Town schools with the funds collected going to Charity. Our parents saw this as a worthwhile ‘cause’ in supporting the alleviation of hunger abroad but we saw it as a more immediate opportunity to satisfy our need to alleviate a more pressing ‘hunger’ being experienced at home. Thus when I listened to Marty Robbins singing ‘Devil Woman’ on the transistor radio at night in bed on Radio Luxemburg, I longed to meet my own ‘devil woman’ and hoped that I would fulfil my desire at our own local ‘Ballroom of Romance’.
Dancing in Ireland at that time was concentrated on ‘ballrooms’ where so called ‘Showbands’ would play everything from fast jive music to slow foxtrots usually by employing only three chords on their instruments. Thus, the beat of the music often seems vaguely familiar whether being applied to a song by Elvis or the Beatles. The attendance at such dances ranged from hundreds to even thousands at each venue and stars such as Joe Dolan, Dickie Rock and Brendan Bowyer were household names throughout the country. Brendan Bower’s Hucklebuck Dance was a special craze at that time. Indeed such was the adulation afforded such stars that some females were reputed to throw items of their underwear at them during the ‘show’ and I myself in later years witnessed a distraught fan imploring Dickie Rock to ‘spit on her’ as a manifestation of his affection for her. Such a demonstration of fan frenzy may seem somewhat surprising especially as most of these venues were forbidden to serve alcohol. Of course, the Irish were not major players in the Bootleg years of Prohibition in the USA for nothing, so alcohol in some form usually found its ‘merry’ way into these dance halls.
Thus, when my brother and I decided to attend our own particular ‘Hunger Dance’, we had the unfortunate prospect looming of a ‘dry’ night. If seems a daunting prospect at our young age to approach our selected devil woman without recourse some illicit sustenance to give us some Dutch courage in our romantic pursuits. However, my mother did not allow ‘drink’ in the house except for a bottle of ‘Blue Nun’ wine (for visitors) and a small bottle of Powers Whiskey which was to be served by a spoon as a relief from flu. (Old wives tales of guaranteed remedies died hard in those days). Thus, my brother and I concocted a ‘strange brew’ of Blue Nun wine, Powers Whiskey and lemonade in an orange ‘crush’ bottle to bring to our date with destiny.
On the night of the actual dance, it turns out that we needed all the help we could muster from human stamina and illicit potions to bravely go where no teenager from our house had ever gone before. At such Ballroom jamborees, all the girls lined up along once side of the hall while the boys lined up along the opposite side. They then eyed each other suspiciously like two warring armies before a momentous battle. As soon as the Showband struck up a tune from their three chord repertoire, the boys would advance across ‘no man’s land’ to ask some selected girl to dance. However, this process of selection, while always invariably initiated by the boy, was not without hazard as some ‘haughty women’ were inclined to reject such requests while announcing in a high pitched voice that they were still drinking their lemonade and hence could not be expected to agree to dance at that time. There was a further complication during the slow set as if a girl extended her arms downwards in front of her, if signified that she did not ‘fancy’ you and wished to return to her friends as soon as possible.
Thus, the trick was to use the fast numbers to illustrate your facility with the jive, a dance which my older sister had taught to us, by way of impressing the fickle female. Then during a slow set one could press home ones advantage. However, any actual ‘pressing home’ against the bosom of the dancing partner was severely frowned upon by the supervising parents although a slight touching of the cheeks was considered an adequate expression of affection for all concerned. Suffice it to say that at the last slow set of the evening my partner Mary leaned over and gave me an almost imperceptible peck on the cheek. I have never before experienced such an electric fusion of sudden shock and sexual charge. Gee whiz! I had found my devil woman and I was on a high when I returned home in jubilation to tell my sister of my new conquest. However, my sense of personal fulfilment was soon shattered by my sister when my brother told her I was now doing a ‘line’ with Mary. “Jesus”, she said, quoting the nursery rhythm, “Mary had a little lamb, God, she must be hard up indeed.” I reacted with anger and stormed off professing by undying love and loyalty to her forever. You see for me at least after all months of internal anguish, like my true friend, Marty Robbins, I had at last found my ‘Devil Woman’.
So my advice to those reading this blog who are still searching for true romance is to go dancing and to be inspired by these words from the ‘Hucklebuck’ song:
‘Wriggle like a Snake and Wobble like a Duck’
That’s what you do when you think you’re out of Luck’
I suppose in retrospect folks, like the Beatles, 'I should have known better' but like many aspects of Life itself, I can still echo the Stones when I say that 'it's only rock and roll, but I like it'!
Note: This is a ‘faction’ blog for amusement only in that it is comprised of real memories and some wistful thinking and should be read with a glass of lemonade or at least some POP in hand while listening to Marty Robbins sing 'Devil Woman' on U tube!
Note: This is a ‘faction’ blog for amusement only in that it is comprised of real memories and some wistful thinking and should be read with a glass of lemonade or at least some POP in hand while listening to Marty Robbins sing 'Devil Woman' on U tube!
The statue in the accompanying photo is of Joe Dolan in Mullingar, Ireland.
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