This morning I’m contemplating three dances: one proposed to me, one at which I danced, and one I didn’t dance.

The Proposed Dance

This dance was proposed by two of teenaged members of our Traditional Latin Mass community here in Edinburgh. They requested a Masquerade Ball. They didn’t specify that it should be held at Mardi Gras, but it was clear they had dressing up in mind.

“Are you aware of the Vatican’s 19th century strictures on Masquerade Balls?” I asked.

“No, I do not,” replied one.

Frankly, I don’t remember what they were, but I am sure I just need time to find out. I seem to remember that the good people of Vienna and other riotous places were at one point warned not to commit sins under cover of masks and costumes. I wouldn’t think there is anything immoral about costumes in themselves, as long as their use is to amuse one’s fellow man and to adorn the ballroom rather than to deceive.

What concerns me more is if the good people of the wider TLM community in the UK are interested in costume parties. (Mr McLean and I once bought and wore Lion and Unicorn masks to a patriotic party [see above]. When we arrived, breathless from the stairs, we discovered we were the only ones to wear proper costumes. Others wore Union flag socks, etc.) Thus, I will take a survey of guests at the Eastertide Ball to discover if they would be interested in buying tickets to a Carnival masquerade dance.

Dance Danced

The dance danced was an hour and a half with the local branch of the Royal Scottish Country Dancing Society. This was my second excursion, and my confusion during the first was so painful, I had to talk myself into going back. I was so frightened of making a fool of myself that I mentally changed the subject of last week’s difficult lesson to the RSCDS itself and sternly told myself to give them a second chance. And upon arriving, I had one agonized moment of belief I was in for 90 minutes of horror, and then everything was fine.

The day’s dances were “Domino Five,” “Bratach Bana,” “The Bonnie Tree,” and “Farewell to Balfour Road.” Fortunately, I had written to the teacher beforehand to find out what she was likely to teach, so I had improved my grasp of the very tricky Bratach Bana and some familiarity with The Bonnie Tree.

Here is “Domino Five,” which I imagine is supposed to be easy:

And here is “The Bonnie Tree,” which, as you will see, is very beautiful when done correctly by people in matching outfits.

And here is “Farewell to Balfour Road,” which is great fun to dance:

Afterwards I was very glad that I had had the courage to come back, for it was good fun, and at least two of my tribal elders said they were wondering if I would come back, given how difficult last week was–not just for me.

I am beginning to see why keen Scottish Country Dancers are so often dismissive of “Ceilidh Dancing”: once one has done all the very hard work of mastering proper reels and strathspeys, it must be very boring to watch people stumble through the Gay Gordons. However, ceilidh dancing could be a gateway drug, as it were, and crafty members of the SCDS should go to ceilidhs to find potential converts.

Meanwhile, ceilidh dances have the advantage of being relatively well-known and easy to teach and to learn, so they ought to encouraged.

Dance Not Danced

The dance not danced was a daytime Tango Milonga. It happened on Saturday at Edinburgh’s Counting House from noon until 5 PM and featured a brunch buffet. It was a very pleasant, friendly event, with many young ladies and mostly middle-aged men. The ballroom is very beautiful (as I’ve mentioned before), and there were round tables set up on two sides. This left a big-enough space for the tango-dancing, which is conducted in close hold, the dancers turning around each other and also the room.

The organizer, a friendly man about my age, was somewhat nonplussed to discover that I had come not to dance but to babysit the infants of two dancers. All was made clear to him, however, when my friends arrived, as he had been the husband’s teacher. As the couple had met at a tango dance (in Krakรณw, however), the teacher seemed to feel that his good work had led to the existence of the infants, which is how I feel about having encouraged the now-husband in his pursuit of the now-wife. Thus, the teacher and I looked fondly down at the children (playing with plastic jigsaw pieces behind a table) with mutual self-congratulation.

Meanwhile, the parents rotated in close embrace and revolved around the room, and I don’t think the husband danced with any other woman, although I introduced him to at least one young lady I had myself met. And, to concede a little ground to critics of social dancing, I had no problem with that. Although the atmosphere was tranquil and relaxed, and the music from the 1930s, I would not have liked to have been wiggled around the room with my eyes shut, held closely by a stranger (or, indeed, my friend) with a look of manufactured ecstasy etched on his face.

I hasten to say, however, that social tango (at least as I saw it on Saturday) is nothing like performance tango, which always looks to me like a most unpleasant argument (if nothing worse) between a man and a woman conducting an adulterous affair. Social tango is (to me) more like a waltz where everyone pretends to be in love with their current partner and the man makes the dance up as they go along.

But now I am on very dangerous ground, so I will end just by saying I am happy to stick to traditional Scottish dances, the waltz, and swing-dancing although I am beginning to think it would be useful to learn the foxtrot, too.

To buy tickets for the Eastertide Dance 2025, please contact me at info@tradcathsocialdancing.co.uk.