That Russian Dancing Girl

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Durham Clayport Library on behalf of Rose and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

“What can we wear for the fancy dress, Mam?” Joan and I chorused together.

“Don’t worry, I will rig ye both out. Now go out and play” she shouted amidst the steamy washing.

The just by chance — and lucky for Joan — we had a visitor the very next day. It was Nellie, one of our Harry’s girlfriends (or friends/girls) who often popped in for a cup of tea. Even though he was still away in the RAF finishing off the war, these girls still called to see Mam.

Anyway Nellie said she had just the outfit for our Joan — no mention of anything for little Rosie (me). That was my first stab of jealousy. The next day the outfit arrived and our Joan looked a real Bobby Dazzler in a Russian Girl’s dancing costume. It had a black embroidered bolero, a white cotton long-sleeved blouse, flowered garland on her head, plus a tambourine.

“Eee, isn’t she a picture!” they all chorused “By, mind, yes she’ll do very nicely”

“What about me?” I whinged, pulling at Mam’s pinny.

“Alright, hinny, Aa’ll fix ye up timmorrow”

And so she did. My rig-out had to be seen to be believed. It consisted of a three-sizes-too-big orange bridesmaid’s frock from the 1930’s, rucked at the waist with a piece of elastic, a straw bonnet with a cascade of forget-me-nots on the brim tied with a wide ribbon under my chin. Granda’s walking stick painted silver festooned with matching ribbons and bows, sandshoes painted silver to match the stick representing a crook, oh and a dog on wheels impersonating a sheep with matching ribbons around its neck and on its ears.

Complaining about the squeak when pulling the thing, Mam said to drag it behind, like Little Bo Peep in the nursery rhyme. I argued that it was the lambs who dragged their tails behind them - to no avail.

I was not pleased at all with this rig out and rebelled at my pig tails, ‘cos Joan was allowed to have her hair loose to go with thecostume whereas I would “be sure to catch dickies”. It was then that I absolutely refused to wear my National Health spectacles.

“Shepherdesses,” I complained “do not wear glasses”

So now I was a boss-eyed Little Bo Peep and couldn’t see straight, but it was a slight improvement. Party Day arrived — it was to be held in the Trade Union Hall behind Station Road. After seeing some of the other rigouts from other contestants, when we assembled for the parade, I didn’t feel so bad, apart from some of the lads kicking my dog-lamb about.

But guess who won First Prize? Yes, our Joan stole the show, prancing around like a peacock in that Russian outfit with the skirt bobbing up and down when she walked; banging on her tambourine. I wished that someone would ask her to do a Russian Dance ‘cos I knew she couldn’t do any.

Joan received a nice book, I think, and when the rest of us got a penny and a bag of sweets, it wasn’t so bad. Mam and Dad were so proud of her and …by now… so was I and still am.

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