Dancing In The Minefields- chapter three

England, Camden.

Friday, April 19Th, 1945.

3:15 p.m.

Ever since the weekend, I hadn't been anywhere. I attended my studies as usual, and returned home. My relatives had left my house, and went back to be with their "own families". My friends, Arabella and Clementine, invited me to come to the cinema with them on Wednesday, but I declined.

"That concludes our lesson today, promise me today you will practice needle working at home. I'd hate to find out that any of you have regressed." my teacher, Anita scolded.

"We promise Miss Anita," every student in the room said in unison.

Nobody ever questioned the authority of teachers, or misbehaved in their presence. God bless the soul of anyone who did, for they would receive five lashings on their hands and the scolding of a lifetime. Or even worse, get sent home and have to face the wrath of their parents. Make no mistake, teachers were kind but also highly strict.

School was tiresomes struggle of events for me, but I hadn't any option but bear it. And I was, an average pupil. I was a straight 'B' student, not up to par with an 'A', but also not as shameful as anything lower. Most of my classmates did aim for 'A's, which is partly why I didn't. I craved individuality.

"Alright, then. Class is dismissed until tomorrow," she said solemnly. We all started for the door, "Don't leave yet! Remember to recycle your share!" In class, each student was required to gather things such as rubber tires and metal junk. It was for the soldier's equipment in the war.

By this time, I'd adjusted to war-time restrictions. I could hardly even remember what a banana was anymore, I hadn't been able to have one in ages! Unluckily, I was responsible for ration shopping lately.

Everyone gathered their needles and threads, and tossed them into their satchels. We piled into two neat lines, walking out of the room. We all dressed in the same white blouse, and knee length skirt, and our hair was carefully caught in pigtails. Uniforms were mandatory at Elleswood private school.

Housewifery was the only class I enjoyed at school. It didn't require loads of thinking or adding, which made my head spin and my fingers perspire. My school was coeducational, however some classes were divided between girls and boys. The girls were taught housewifery, and the boys learned metalwork and other physical activities. The main subjects such as arithmetics and writing were taught together. Surprisingly, today my English teacher told me I was "pretentious". That means I write well, I think.

I opened the exit door releasing myself out into the fresh air. I started out torwards schoolyard tree, and nestled underneath it. I pulled out the fifth edition of Sherlock Holmes from my satchel, and began reading. A few boys were playing rollerball on the yard, paying no attention to me. My friends trailed behind me, and came at my sides.

"Imogen!" Clementine yelled at me, even though she was within a foot away.

"We're sorry about your mum!" Arabella comforted, her green eyes filled with sorrow.

That was at least the fifth time someone said that to me. I appreciated the sympathy, but it never sat well with me. The case wasn't they murdered my mother, so why apologize? There isn't anything they could have done to help, and by apologizing they were admitting responsibility in something that wasn't their faults.

"Thanks," I responded.

"We're stopping at Dean's sweet shop and going horseback riding. Would you like to come?" Clementine asked.

Arabella stomped her foot and shot Clementine a look, " Do you really think that's the most appropriate question right now?"

"Sorry, I just thought Imogen's mum wouldn't want to see her upset?" she suggested.

Typical Clementine. She sometimes reminded me of myself, and also showed me how irritating I must seem others. Her optimism was unbearable at times, but it did brighten up the mood, when needed. And she was right, deep down I knew my mother loved me more than any person ever did, but I just couldn't bring myself to be happy again. It was if I had to relearn an emotion.

"She's right. I'm coming with you both." I gulped, hoping I wasn't making a mistake.

Clementine gasped with excitement and her brown eyes sparkled with delight. She skipped along our school's walk way, her brunette hair swayed behind her. Arabella shook her head, and you can promise on your nellie, she was about to exclaim the same words she did every day!

She inhaled a long breathe, and began with her rant, "As someone from the royal blood line of King George, I declare this idea absurd. And for your information, I am his aunt's-," I interrupted her.

"We know already! His aunt's, niece's, nephew's, grandson's, uncle's, daughter!" I said.

"Let's hurry, I've only had a pint of milk today, I'm quite famished." Clementime said. We all hadn't eaten since lunch break, and milk quarter after.

"Don't blow your wig!" I mumbled

And then there was Arabella. I considered her a fuddy duddy, but she was loyal and defensive of me. Which blossomed our friendship, and increased my liking for her. I also adored her red hair, that was my favorite color. She also had a collection of Peculiar Blue Things, like my collection of yellow things.

We walked down the grass hill and proceeded to the malt shop. As we walked, one could hear the noise of our saddle shoes. My father always suggested to take the main way to places. However, that was too simple. I rathered we sneaked the long, complicated way. We traveled into the dark alley way, and slipped our legs through the small vent behind, and I crawled behind a trash can and made an entrance into the public ladies room.

The usual after school routine began.

We switched from our school skirts to poodle skirts, we rolled our socks down to ankle level, and tucked in our blouses. And we wore matching pink, autographed saddle shoes. You see, the trend of the time was school girls autographing each other's saddle shoes!

To be honest, we were aiming for the bobby soxer look. Arabella said she was searching through her father's bedroom cabinet, and found a newspaper with girls who dressed in the same thing we did. I was skeptical, but it felt more serious than playing with dolls in Clementine's backyard.

We all wondered what it might be like to be a lady. My mother always worry about being a young girl before a lady. But it's hard not be curious, especially being me.

Although, I never told anyone this I spent loads of my days dreaming absentmindedly about love, and what it feels to be loved. Actual romantic love. I saw a couple holding hands and embracing each other outside there front door, clearly in love. I wonder what they feel like?

Dean's Sweet shop appeared right in front of us displaying all the delicious goodness it had to offer. Clementine opened the door, and ran in. Arabella and I did the same. The store was filled with kids, some were at the counter dining on milkshakes, and others stayed at the sides munching on candy. I could say I knew about every child there, either from school or in the neighborhood.

The walls were painted with candy cane stripes, and decorated with prints of varieties of sweets. The counter was stacked with packages of chocolate biscuits, and scones. Every milkshake flavor possibly imagined resided behind the and in each corner of the shop, there was a gumball machine.

Clementine and Arabella went off in two different directions and greeted people they recognized. I sauntered over to the milkshake counter and started a conversation with an acquaintance. My mood still felt gloomy and indifferent, but I had nothing more useful to do.

"And since when aren't you styling your hair as if you were Veronica Lake?" my friend Mary asked.

I placed my elbow on top of the counter, "As of today. And since when are you a suicide blond?" I asked.

"This is a wig!" she pointed towards her head.

"Murder!" I exclaimed. I made my voice sound gleeful, but there was an obvious undertone of sadness. I pressed my palm against the countertops, subconsciously trying to break it so I could release my emotions.

Clementine marched over to the counter, "We would like two bubblegum cigars, four Chowards's Lemon mints, and oh! One bag of licorice twists! They're the cat's meow! I'm quite sure that adds up to three ounces for us three, somehow. " Clementine ordered.

The shop owner, Dean, calculated the total of our spendings, " Eight pennies, please."

Arabella and I searched deep into our skirt pockets, "I've got only three pennies!"

"I've got only two pennies.... we're sorry sir. Maybe we should take some of it off?" I said.

And then Henry entered from the back of the shop and tossed us two pennies, "It's on me ladies! The prices should be lower anyhow..."

"You're a real wise guy, aren't you?" Dean said. Dean was Henry's mother. It actually was quite common for women to be shop owners at the time, since not very many were around due to most men being at the war.

Henry worked as a soda jerk. I also quite fancied him. I could feel my cheeks blush cherry red, and my eyes lifted up to see his face. I counted every single freckle that dotted his cheeks, and made a mental picture of me grazing my hands through his strawberry blond hair. I really liked red hair, and I was very keen on him.

"Thanks, Henry." I said.

"Not a big deal." he smirked, walking behind the cash register.

Although Henry and went to the same school, we only spoke to each other outisde. I watched him from a far, and I noticed he had many friends. Although, they were all boys. Henry was very outspoken, and I knew him to be the kid who didn't care if he would get in trouble. All that mattered was defending what he cared about. Henry father's was at the war.

All three of us walked out the store extremely pleased, and Clementine didn't waste a moment of not eating candy "Do you know what kind of team we are?" Arabella gushed.

"The three musketeers!" Clementine cheered.

"No. We are criminals! Except you never get caught. Arabella and I, are ones that have to clean up the mess you make! I just can't believe you made me spend my whole entire sweet ration..." I answered.

"You should be thanking me, Imogene. Don't pretend like not every part of you aches to be doing the jitterbug in your swing skirt with Henry!" she teased. She was referring to the occasions when we went out for swing dancing.

I whipped a lock of hair behind my ears. "I do not!"

"Be careful. You wouldn't want the reputation of a share crop!" Arabella warned. I sighed at her. But, I did love to dance. In fact, when I was younger I studied in ballet.

My mum's and my grandmother's eyes danced excitedly as we waited inside the ballet school's hallway. I was of age seven, and It would be my first day of class. The ballerina uniform made me uncomfortable, the black leotard pulled at my waist and the tights irritated my knees. Although, I did enjoy the pink tutu.The pouring rain echoed outside, and the room was crowded with people. The place was quite small, with only a dancing room, dressing room and lobby. Loads of young girls stood impatiently with their arms folded, but always with perfect posture. While probably hoping their daughters would accomplish the same thing, the mothers gawked at the photographs of proffessional dancers who attended the same school.

"Why, must I be a ballerina?" I stared up at my grandmother.

She pointed a bony finger at me, "Because I danced when I was a girl, as well as your mum. You will too."

My mother softened. "You''ll enjoy it... I promise." My mother could easily say that, she enjoyed anything proper and elegant. Mum was literally effortless with her beauty.

Out came another class of girls, but much older. They ran to the dressing room behind us mumbling about class, and untying their slippers. A woman with dark brown hair and a mole on her upper lip marched out the door, with a binder in hand. She observed us all with her critical eyes, and invited us in. My grandmother shoved me torwards the door and my mother blew a kiss at me. I, along with many other reluctant girls sauntered into the room. The woman shut the door behind her, and welcomed us to gather at the ballet barre.

"Good evening darlinks, I am Misses Svetlana Dubnikov and I am ze ballet trainer and owner. I was once a little girl just like yourselves, ambitious and cheerful. But to be..... a proffessional ballerina, you must be much more. " she said, everyone gulped. "For placements, I am just going observe your body alignement. May I ask for you to presume first position?" I'm glad that mum had given me a pre-training lesson before arriving there. My heels clasped together neatly, and my toes pointed in the opposite direction of each other. The other girls shared clueless glances and hurried to copy me. I held in my stomach as my lungs throbbed for air. Misses Svetlana walked across the bar, and judged each flaw.

"You have bad feet, you have horrible posture, you're eh, fine but chubby. I won't even mention you!" She snarked at them while they lowered their heads in shame. I gave all four of them sad looks. She stopped once she reached me, and rubbed her chin. She raised both of my arms up at a time, and closely examined my feet. "But you, are interesting indeed...vat is your name?"

"Imogen," I murmured to the floor. She immidiately pulled me to up close to the mirror on the front wall, and smiled.

"Imogen, I can already tell I will like you." That was the start of something great. Misses Svetlana always put me in the center of dances, and showered me with compliments. And finally after three years, I would finally be a soloist with the older girls. I mastered that piece until it was my second nature, and during the performance I was doing well, until the bad happened. I was doing the beginning part with everyone else, and right before my solo began, I started doing my own choreography. Instead of a solid pirouette, I sprinted out and did three grand jetes. Then I ended the catastrophe with a chaine turn, and an ungraceful bow. The audience and my classmates were in shock, and my mum and grandmother winced in horror. I don't know what compelled me to do such a rash action, it just seemed right at the moment. I decided to discontinue lessons and they all accepted it. Ballet was to systematic for me. So instead, I grew to enjoy my own type of dancing. Which was complete self expression.

Later on that day, we were horseback riding at Mchenry's stable home, "You mentioned your mom left you a diary and a photo album a few days before?" Clementine asked

We galloped steadily on our horses through the trail, "Yes. But I haven't gotten it yet. If my father has anything to do with it, I won't!" I confessed.

There was an oasis of green grass surrounding us. The trees glistenened and swayed back and forth to the steady beat of the wind. Our horses trotted softly over ground, and continued to guide us through the course. My rented horse was chestnut colored, and his maine was a calm white. He was called Marama. I stroked my fingers through his fur, and rested my head on top of his, letting a salty tear fall into his fur. Arabella's horse was called Garabina, and she was entirely black colored. Clementine's was called Walker, and he looked like zebra.

"Why wouldn't your father want you having it?" Arabella said.

"You tell me. He's acting even stranger than usual." I moaned.

Clementime's horse leaped over a rock."Hm.. mm, do you ever wonder what it would be like if your father went out to the war? I do all the time."

"Me too," Clementime said.

"But your brother is serving at the war?" I said. I knew Arabella's brother quite well, he was very kind. And he was formerly a paper boy, and I would rise early in the morning to greet him. I was attracted to him, but I knew he was much too old for me.

"That's much different!" Arabella corrected.

"True, I suppose," I reasoned.

There was an air of excitement among the children due to the war, and I couldn't deny I shared the same feelings. But I thought about this often, and I came to accept the fact that it wouldn't be any different. My father and I never spoke with each other, maybe he'd ask me how school went, and occasionally I would ask how was his office. But nothing more, nothing less. It wasn't any secret that many children were left without fathers these days. Either your father was dead, or he was never really home. Only very few were fortunate enough to have an actual relationship.

"I hope all the pieces fit together, Imogen." Clementine said.

I nodded back at her, I did too. And I was supposed to retrieve the diary tomorrow, maybe I would finally find out why everyone wanted me far away from it.