ON WITH THE DANCE!

New Zealand Listener, Volume 23, Issue 583, 25 August 1950, Page 10

ON WITH THE DANCE!

Home truths from abroad by

BETTY B.

ALLUM

LIKE the company of New Zealand men. (I’m not suggesting I do not like that of New Zealand women, but tonight my thoughts are with men.) I met New Zealand men in England before the war. They were highly in-telligent-some of this country’s exported brains. In spite of that they were gay, friendly, witty and thoroughly good company; and in England they danced. During the war I met hundreds more New Zealand servicemen. They were perhaps not quite such _ intellectual giants, but were just as gay and friendly and witty and good company for women. And in England they danced. Six years ago I came to this land and

found the men alli I expected. I found cups of tea in bed, help with the dishes, help with the wash-

ing, help with the ~- : shopping, help with the children. This is the place to live. ‘THE telephone rings; it is an invitation to dance. I accept with alacrity. I love dancing. The evening arrives and a flower spray is bought for me. We have a feliable all-night sitter from the University Hostel who knows the children. My mind is at ease, my hair is set. I look better than usual; a happy time awaits me-we are going to dance. But, no, I had forgotten this is New Zealand! The rest of the party arrive for a drink before we go. We arrive lete and have half a dance and the one following. The party saunters back to its seat. One of the men says, "Exctise me, dear-just a breath of fresh air." Two minutes later I look around. We are five women sitting. One of us murmurs that it is too bad of men "spotting" in cars. We sit out three dances and I feel the English are not the only people in the world making understatements. The men return in happy mood and we dance two whole dances right | through. "Let’s go to the’ car for a drink-Sh!" Now we are three women. sitting out two dances. I get a little irritated and slightly embarrassed so go and stand by the door, a wallflower. It is something to do. A stranger asks me to dance and I accept, wondering where his partner is sitting alone. At 11.30 p.m. our men return in time for supper; we eat crayfish, chicken in aspic, savouries and fruit salad for three quarters of an hour. We have eaten so much we must drink more. The rain tuins my hair and soaks my evening shoes and stockings as we make a dash for the car. There are too many for all inside so some of the men drink surreptitiously, getting very wet. We miss three dances; the evening is almost over but we make the last waltz, The men say, "Wasn't it a wonderful dance." T is quite a long drive home. I have time to think that this behaviour towards its womenfolk would not be tolerated in any other country I know. The men behaving like a pack of adol-

escent schoolboys smoking in school lavatories. They would be told they lacked social training, they had been

dragged up in a wood, that their behaviour was immature and downright tude YT murmur mv

BS Spiiiaitin neem a thoughts half apologetically but, no, J am wrong. Those men in other countries were hen-pecked, effeminate, higher intellectual types; they played cricket and had never spoken to an All Black. What can you expect? I snuggle deeper into my evening cloak and remember,.I am living with the virile men of the age, men of independent spirit.

We drive on home and I am soon asleep to be awakened with a cup of piping hot tea in no time at all. I think this and the dance are not reconciled. Perhaps I dreamed the dance; yet I remember other dances, many dances. The days go by and I meet the same men again. They are fine. We discuss the government, the Sydney Conference, the lessening dollar gap, the indignity for husbands and wives having to sign permission for each other’s New Zealand passport, the high price of ~wool, the Hospital Board and the Red Dean. New Zealand men, I like their com-pany-it will be different at the next dance.