Dancing in the Post Office
It was the time of my life.
Dancing on the parquet floor we can still see beneath our feet. Right here in the post office - where you buy all your sweets and chocolate, where you post your letters, or buy your travel insurance. Look down. This was, not so long ago, a ballroom.
Music flowing through the air. The handsome voice of Louis Gladwell, singing "You are My Heart's Delight", better than Richard Tauber ever did. Dancers hopping around the room enjoying themselves.
I feel my partner's hand, we are having fun.
As if part of the music, we can hear the sound of our shoes on the wooden floor, scritching and scuffing. You never hear that on a gramophone, but it's the same on any dance floor, I suppose.
Except these shoes we made them ourselves, right here at Bata.
We sit for a while, and have a drink that is really refreshing. The crowd claps the band. A breeze flies in through an open window. We talk about our partners, and how we met, and how far our shoes might take us all together. We pull faces and burst into laughter.
We start dancing again, and don't stop for a long while.
From stories told by Louis Gladwell and Mike Ostler, and writing by students of East Tilbury Primary School
Dancing on the parquet floor we can still see beneath our feet. Right here in the post office - where you buy all your sweets and chocolate, where you post your letters, or buy your travel insurance. Look down. This was, not so long ago, a ballroom.
Music flowing through the air. The handsome voice of Louis Gladwell, singing "You are My Heart's Delight", better than Richard Tauber ever did. Dancers hopping around the room enjoying themselves.
I feel my partner's hand, we are having fun.
As if part of the music, we can hear the sound of our shoes on the wooden floor, scritching and scuffing. You never hear that on a gramophone, but it's the same on any dance floor, I suppose.
Except these shoes we made them ourselves, right here at Bata.
We sit for a while, and have a drink that is really refreshing. The crowd claps the band. A breeze flies in through an open window. We talk about our partners, and how we met, and how far our shoes might take us all together. We pull faces and burst into laughter.
We start dancing again, and don't stop for a long while.
From stories told by Louis Gladwell and Mike Ostler, and writing by students of East Tilbury Primary School
