The
Mucky Ducks Dance
Sometimes music is the last anchor holding our souls in
safe harbour.
Should that anchor fail, we are forever lost.
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Although we spent a lot of time together in
bars, it was not really about drinking. No doubt it played
a part but for us they were more our traditional ‘being
together’ places. Some people have churches; we had bars.
At the conclusion of assignments we just needed to celebrate
that we were all there, alive - and that things were back
to normal. I don’t know any other way of describing
it. Plus, I am not sure what ‘normal’ is.
You have to understand that it was only when we were together
that we felt part of something. The outside world, although
needing people like the Ducks, didn’t want or need
to know that we existed and Max was good at keeping us in
the wings. If people knew what we did, we knew that we would
be, not too politely, treated as outcasts and in all probability,
arrested. You know - the people you speak to but never invite
to dinner; people that you keep your children away from.
Now dancing was something that even social lepers could
do. The younger Ducks liked to dance, the rest of us
would watch. Red loved to dance and she was pretty good
at it. Needless to say Chris and the rest were always
most eager to oblige. As for me, well Taff once described
my attempts as somebody experiencing a prolonged electric
shock, so I gave up trying. |
It was during one of Chris’s attempts to stir up Red that
we did, in a way, discover our own little dance. He had selected
a tune from the 'tape selection' ‘I let The Music Speak’ and
Morbid, having a Greek wife, thus knowledgeable about these
things, pointed out that it almost had a Zorba sound. I didn’t
know about that but there again I had no ear for this type
of music.
Anyway, Red and all the others linked shoulders on the miniscule
dance floor and went through the motions of the Zorba the
Greek dance. Now even I could tell that, at times the music
was too slow and others too ‘not Zorba’ but they persevered
and as the night wore on they got pretty good. It ended
up being a combination of Greek dance and a rather energetic
waltz. Time, plus a few gallons of alcohol did wonders for
their coordination. Finally Red did get me onto the floor
and I did, almost, pick up the steps.
I
think we played that song about a hundred times that night
while the dance lessons progressed. If any of the other
patrons had any objections that wisely kept them to themselves.
I suppose the fact that we had come straight from the launch
to the bar, still in our Mucky Duck overalls and jackets
might have influenced them in some way. I knew the lads
were pussycats but they could look a bit ‘intimidating’.
As it was many of the other patrons ended up dancing with
us, which was good as we were short of females, so we ‘borrowed’
a few.
Eventually the alcohol consumption finally had us all screaming
with laughter on the floor after falling over each other’s
feet. All in all it was a good night.
For
years afterwards as soon as we got to a bar we would check
the jukebox to see if it had our ‘Zorba’ song.
There were problems, as it evidently wasn’t released
as a single, so it had to be bars with dubious tapes.
If it didn’t we would find another bar. Later we carried
it with us, just to be on the safe side.
One
other outcome was that Red got inspired to teach me to dance.
I think she just wanted a partner for when she was in the
mood.
The first attempts were pretty grim, the next lot even worse,
I just always ended up stepping on her toes ... ‘a
lot’.
Finally she said we were going out, just the two of us,
to a nice restaurant with a dance floor. I was even ordered
to wear a dinner suit. Naturally I was dressed and ready
to go long before Red, so I went down to the lobby bar to
wait. Half an hour later the lift doors opened and there
she was, looking like a goddess.
Hair piled high; one of those low cut long black dresses
that make a woman look tall and slim - and construction
workers safety boots.
************************************
Then, at the end of the book, Sylvia Ross has
this to say
After sitting down and analyzing the whole wonderful year
we were together, there is now no doubt in my mind that
Harry was dying. I don’t mean figuratively, I mean
literally dying. I have seen many people in the same frame
of mind, they just ‘stop’. In most it could
be regarded as a sign of weakness, these are the people
who are running away; but that is not the case here. Life
gave him one hell of a pounding and each time he got up
and shook it off. But there comes a time when even the strongest
of us just can’t get up again. I think that’s
what he was trying to tell me when I asked him to marry
me. The major problem was that Harry had/has a personality
that is founded on laughter; it’s the core of what
he is. Then the day arrived when he simply couldn’t
laugh anymore and on that day he started to die.
Although the thought breaks my heart, perhaps it is for
the best, he doesn’t belong here. As the ‘Dreaded
Norwegian Woman’ sang in their ‘Zorba’
song: -
Let me see the joy of each new sunrise
Or the moment when the day dies
Harry
had seen countless sunrises and I believe he was now sufficiently
tired to welcome the time ‘when the day dies’.
I think he will then, at last, find the home he always yearned
for and I think Red will be waiting for him, I hope so.
(C)
2007 THE MUCKY DUCKS FAN CLUB |
