Dancing in the Old Town

I had the unusual opportunity to take a dance class in the early evening yesterday, so I took it. It was in the Old Town’s Greyfriars Charteris Centre, originally built as the Charteris Memorial Church (1912) and the old St. Ninian’s Hall. I’m unsure which ends where, but the current effect is modernized Neo-Gothic. Neo-Gothic suits the Old Town, which after all was founded in the 8th century or so, and its first cathedral built in 1124.

The dance class was in one of the Centre’s smaller rooms, which was enough for the six students: five women and one man, plus the teachers. This extreme lack of gender parity meant that the two most confident women had to be leads, and I felt sorry for them. I hope they were allowed to return to their preferred role during the later “social.”

The first known regular Assembly, or Dance Party, in Edinburgh began in the Old Town–in the West Bow, to be exact–in 1710. Elizabeth Casciani’s Oh, How We Danced: A History of Ballroom Dancing in Scotland (1994) quotes a 19th century writer’s description of the historic room:

Ascending by a narrow spiral stair we come to the second floor now occupied by a dealer in wool but presenting such appearances as to leave no doubt that it once consisted of a single lofty wainscotted room with a carved oak ceiling. Here did the fair ladies whom Allan Ramsay and William Hamilton celebrate meet for the recreation of dancing with their toupees and deep-skirted beaux.

The West Bow Assembly took place there until 1720. In 1723 it moved to what is now called Old Assembly Close, an alley running off the Royal Mile between Taste of Scotland and House of Cashmere.

The aforementioned poet Allan Ramsay (1686 – 1758) wrote a poem in 1723 extolling the Assemblies. This must have made a nice change, for naturally as soon as the gentry began to have their Assemblies (for, believe me, only the aristocrats were admitted), the Church of Scotland’s Calvinist clergy began to wail and shriek, preaching fierce sermons against poor old dancing. Early in the Assembly’s history, a mob of furious Presbyterians attacked it, poking “red-hot spits” through the closed wooden door. Presumably the servants and coachman waiting for them in the West Bow came to their employers’ rescue.

Here is what Allan Ramsay said to the ladies who organized the Assemblies. Notice that he mentions other things the Calvinists were down on: wine, beautiful women, and scholarship:

TO THE MANAGERS. 

Right Honourable Ladies, 

How much is our whole nation indebted to your Ladyships for your reasonable and laudable undertaking to introduce politeness among us, by a cheerful entertainment, which is highly for the advantage of both body and mind, in all that is becoming in the brave and beautiful; well foreseeing that a barbarous rusticity ill suits them, who, in fuller years, must act with an address superior to the common class of mankind; and it is undeniable, that nothing pleases more, nor commands more respect, than an easy, disengaged, and genteel manner. What can be more disagreeable than to see one, with a stupid impudence, saying and acting things the most shocking amongst the polite; or others (in plain Scots) blate, and not knowing how to behave. 

Warmed with these reflections, and the beautifulness of the subject, my thoughts have made their way in the following stanzas, which, with humility, I beg leave to present to your Ladyships. — It is amazing to imagine, that any are so destitute of good sense and manners as to drop the least unfavourable sentiment against the Fair Assembly. It is to be owned, with regret, that the best of things have been abused. The church has been, and in many countries is, the chief place for assignations that are not warrantable: wine, one of Heaven’s kindly blessings, may be used to one’s hurt: the beauty of the fair, which is the great preserver of harmony and society, has been the ruin of many: learning, which assists in raising the mind of man up to the class of spirits, has given many a one’s brain a wrong cast: so places, designed for healthful and mannerly dancing, have, by people of an unhappy turn, been debauched by introducing gaming, drunkenness, and indecent familiarities. But will any argue from these, that we must have no churches, no wine, no beauties, no literature, no dancing — Forbid it Heaven! Noble and worthy Ladies, whatever is under your auspicious conduct must be improving and beneficial in every respect. May all the fair daughters copy after such virtuous and delightful patterns, as you have been, and continue to be. That you may be long a blessing to the rising generation, is the sincere prayer of, 

May it please your Ladyships, 

Your most faithful and humble servant, 

Allan Ramsay

That’s very heartwarming. I should be very pleased if someone wrote a poem about our Waltzing Parties and began it with an introduction like that. And it would be perfectly appropriate for there is no gaming, drunkenness and indecent familiarities at MMWP.

From 1723 to 1733, there were 255 dance parties, Ms. Casciani informs us. In general, they were held on Thursdays from 4 PM until 11 PM, from mid-November until mid-April. Everyone had to buy tickets and also pay for the coffee, tea, chocolate and biscuits available. The tickets cost half a crown (two shillings and sixpence, or 30 pennies), and I confess that I don’t know if that was a lot. However, being able to spare half crowns was not enough for admittance: you still had to be an aristocrat to go. Calvinist criticism continued, too: one objection was that servant girls stayed up late, waiting in the Royal Mile to see the rich and famous leave the Assembly at 11 PM.

The ladies who organized the Assembly were very strict and organized. They decided how partners would be allotted and in what order they would dance, and even what dancers would wear. (Twice a year everyone had to wear clothes made entirely in Scotland.) They also gave the proceeds to charity. (The Royal Infirmary was one beneficiary.) They also wore special badges of office.

In 1736 the Assemblies moved again, this time to what is now 142 High Street (New Assembly Close). Ms. Casciani also informs us that by now the Right Honourable Company of Hunters held an annual ball at the Palace of Holyrood House, too, and that other towns in Scotland were holding their own Assemblies. Yes, these semi-private dance parties were now well-established in the nation, and before they moved from the Old Town to the New Town, they raised over £7,300 for charities, including over £3,000 for the Royal Infirmary which (as an institution) still exists today.

The lady depicted above, the Countess of Eglinton, frequently attended the Edinburgh Assembly. (Gavin Hamilton, Susanna Kennedy (1689-1780), Daughter of Sir Archibald Kennedy, 1st Bt of Culzean, 3rd Wife of Alexander Montgomery, 9th Earl of Eglinton, oil on canvas, The National Trust for Scotland, Culzean Castle, Garden & Country Park.)