In this post, Val Chapman is sharing her thoughts on the changing world of school and aspects of life the young encounter now. Things that passed us by when we were of that age. A lovely thoughtful piece thank you, Val.
I was looking at a photograph of my neighbours’ grandson dressed up ready to go to his ‘School Prom’.
When did this become a ‘thing’?
We were lucky to get the occasional disco. It was always in the school hall though, no fancy hotel or stately home for us. I dare say the idea was the same, dressing ‘up to the nines’, one or two of us having a sneaky drink or cigarette before the teachers found out. Not me obviously, I was a real goody goody. Well, mostly…….
It felt quite anarchic, dancing in the school hall without it being ‘The Gay Gordons’, or ‘Dashing White Sergeant’!
I was born in 1957, so by the time my school discos came along, platform shoes and miniskirts were the order of the day.
That suited me fine though, I was a size 10-12, about 5’8″, and most of my height was in my legs!
Oh, how the mighty have fallen……….., and no, I’m not just talking about boobs here, my bum is definitely nearer the ground than it used to be.
See, that’s the thing though, isn’t it? ‘You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone,’ to quote Joni Mitchel, a favourite from back in the day. I was a bit of a hippy, so she was right up my street.
Then again, my musical tastes varied hugely. I would happily dance around to Mott the Hoople, Cream, Bread, T. Rex, Free, Stevie Wonder. Diversity doesn’t come close. Maybe I was just trying to find “my” band, but the truth is I just enjoyed being with my friends and didn’t have any particular favourite.
Anyway, back to the Prom.
It seems to me, that this idea has spread here from ‘over the pond’. It appears that we do pick up on more than a few American ideas.
Take Halloween for example.
Have you seen the stuff in the shops for Halloween from about August?
It will be taking over from Christmas soon! And as for the ‘trick or treat’ idea.
To my mind, it’s just getting money, or sweets by extortion. ‘Give me the goodies, or else’. I may be a killjoy, but I don’t want my children or grandchildren thinking this is a respectable way to behave.
Oh dear, I’m sounding more and more like my parents.
If you need me I’ll be in the kitchen, doing ‘the funky chicken’ to something ridiculous.
Whittlesey Wordsmiths 
I remember those school dances. I was of an earlier era whose school dances gave employment o local groups and we’d follow our favourites around the local schools’ end-of-year bashes. There were no discos in my school days. They came a bit later.
I had something of a reprise last night. I’m in New Zealand visiting my daughter and she had organised a farewell evening for one of her work colleagues. We went for a meal and then some of us continued on to a club nearby. (In Wellington, everything is nearby.) This one called itself The Cavern. It had a large model of Elvis at the bottom of the stairs, which gave me an idea what to expect. The disco played an eclectic selection of old numbers – not the best ones for dancing to in my opinion, but nostalgic enough if suitably primed with wine. The assembled dancers clearly had their favourites and were keen to boogie anyway.
Although a couple of our party were of maturer years than most of the club’s patrons, I was definitely the oldest on the dance floor.
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Well done Cathy, even as a young lad my dancing was of the Dad type. I could manage a slow cuddle around the dance floor to the slower numbers but I couldn’t do my favourite songs any justice at all, regrettably.
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