No bats in the Belfry in Bruges

I first heard about Bruges when I watched the 2008 film In Bruges, starring Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson. Set in the city it is not a happy tale - betrayal and violence - but the architecture fascinated me.

Bruges, the capital of West Flanders in northwest Belgium, is distinguished by its canals, cobbled streets and medieval buildings. Its port, Zeebrugge, is an important center for fishing and European trade. 

A short history 

In the Bruges area, the first fortifications were built after Julius Caesar's conquest in the first century BC, to protect the coastal area against pirates. The Franks took over the whole region from the Gallo-Romans around the fourth century. The Viking incursions of the ninth century prompted reinforcement of the Roman fortifications.

Bruges had a strategic location at the crossroads of the northern trade. Bruges was already included in the circuit of the Flemish and French cloth fairs at the beginning of the 13th century.

With the reawakening of town life in the 12th century, a wool market, a weaving industry, and the cloth market all profited from the shelter of city walls. The Bourse opened in 1309, most likely the first ever stock exchange. Such wealth gave rise to social upheavals, which were, for the most part, harshly contained by the militia. 

The first book in English ever printed was published in Bruges by William Caxton, while Edward IV and Richard III of England were then living their exiles in the city. 

During the 17th century, the lace industry took off, and various efforts to bring back the glorious past were made. During the 1650s, the city was the base for Charles II of England (his father Charles I was beheaded) and his court in exile. The maritime infrastructure was modernised, and new connections with the sea were built, but without much success, as Antwerp became increasingly dominant. Bruges became impoverished and gradually faded in importance.

In World War I German forces occupied Bruges. However, the city suffered virtually no damage, and was liberated on 19 October 1918 by the Allies. The city was occupied by the Germans from 1940 during World War II and was again spared destruction. 

After 1965, the original medieval city experienced a "renaissance". Restorations of residential and commercial structures, historic monuments, and churches generated a surge in tourism and economic activity in the downtown area. International tourism attracts some eight million tourists annually.

The port of Zeebrugge was built in 1907. The Germans used the port of Zeebrugge for their U-boats in World War I. It was greatly expanded in the 1970s and early 1980s and has become one of Europe's most important and modern ports. 

The medieval architecture in Bruges is mostly intact, making it one of the best-preserved medieval towns in Europe. The "Historic Centre of Bruges" has been a Unesco World Heritage Site since 2000.The heart of the city seems to be Markt Square (spelling is correct). I would have loved to have taken a carriage ride around the city or a canl trip but they were beyond my resources.

The town hall is impressive and so is the Belfry. Bruges' best-known landmark is the 13th-century Belfry of Bruges which houses a municipal carillon comprising 47 bells. 

Last time I will do that! 

I must have been feeling rebellious against my aging body as I agreed to climb up the entire belfry. It is so narrow
and so steep I felt vertigo at times and it was pretty challenging to allow people to come down while we were trying to climb up and down the 366 steps. I overheard one young tourist say " I wouldn't want to do this aged 75". I chipped in and said, "well I'm 70". The reply was "you are very impressive then". 

 We stopped to watch the carillon operating just after the hour. Musical compositions are still created for it. It's very intricate and the mecanisms of metal pull wires attached to all those bells which play in a proscribed order.  Along the scarey climb you can see some exhibits on the lower sections - gates, trunks. 

Bruges is known for its lace, a textile technique using bobbins and embroidery.

 My great, great grandmother made lace with bobbins in Akaroa so I was pleased to see many examples of the differing techniques on display in a lace shop. You can see some examples in the photo. One wall was devoted to 19th century lace - the real thing. It was too expensive for me to purchase, but I loved learning and exploring within the shop. 

Most of the lace is
produced in more rural areas of Belgium and sent to Bruges to be sold.

Bus links to the centre are frequent, though the railway station is just a 10-minute walk from the main shopping streets and a 20-minute walk from Markt Square.

Free public transport is available for those who park their cars in the main railway station car park.

The city is not car free but there are cyclists everywhere and it all seems so natural there. There are acoutrements for all lifestyles; you can add special paniers on the side or in front of your bike to transport groceries or babies or tools of your trade - such a variety. It must be bone-jarring on the cobble-stone sections though. 

Watch out when walking the streets. The cyclists are silent and very fast. You won't hear them coming. Many cyclists do not wear helmets. The husband of our B&B host fell off his bike and is now in a coma in hospital. I don't know why helmet-wearing is not compulsory but at least half the cyclists don't bother to wear them.

And what about the Belgian chocolate?

Err, um. Since I am (hopefully not permanently) prediabetic, chockkies were not really possible. How cruel! I did talk to one shop assistant who said she did have a few loose sugar-free chocolates so I bought 5 of them, ate 3 and gave the rest to my friends. Big purchase, eh?

There are chocolates and lollies everywhere and if you are into fresh waffles? I can't be, but you'll have no difficulty finding plain or stacked ones. 

 

 St Salvator's Cathedral

There's no getting away from churches and cathedrals while visiting european cities. This is another one. There were originally churches on this site but they evolved into what is a 101m long cathedral offically recognised as such in the nineteeth century. 

There are several organs in differing styles from the heavy wooden ones to the bright stainless steel one. It's all quite baroque inside the cathedral.

 This cathedral is unusual in the fact that it has wall hangings/tapestries hanging up along the nave. I enjoy this sort of textile.

It is handy to have more than one language here. There's Flemish and French and Dutch. Luckily I speak French and English and many folks here speak a bit of both.

 Bruges is most definitely worth a visit. Maybe a day and 2 nights is enough. Tack on a trip to Ghent and Brussels to complete the trio. The worst part of the driving was trying to nagivate past Paris - what a traffic jam horror. Pretty impossible to avoid it so take toll roads to get past it f you can. Once out of that you can take smaller roads for the scenic trip rather than motorways, your choice.

 

Fete de la musique

June 21 is known throughout France for its national celebration of music - la Fête de la Musique. In the cities, towns and villages, on this day, you can hear live music in the streets or near town halls.

This year I had the good fortune to be in France at that time and to be able to set aside some hours to experience it like a local with French friends.

To kick off we  decided to have some crêpes at a very good crêperie. Temperatures were in the serious heatwave category so staying hydrated started off with water and then I ordered a kir vin blanc which is cassis in white wine. It's refreshing and more interesting than plain white wine. 

I then ordered a savoury crêpe filled with curried diced vegetables as a base and then extras such as smoked saucisson, smoked choriso and then spinach. A green salad accompied it but beware; when you order a green salad in France all you will get is some lettuce leaves. Otherwise you have to hope you can order a salade compose.

I don't normally order a dessert but, hey, I was in France at a crêperie so I did the basic dessert crêpe with melted chocolate. Not impressive but still nice. Other crêpes were more elaborate.

 

 

 

 

 

  

Then it was time to walk it off. I really couldn't stand the dumph, dumph, dumph from the very loud DJ playing computerised house music. It's plastic and it all sounds the same with no soul to me but of course much younger people would consider that music.

 

 I went in search of real musicians who could interact with the crowd and who had real musical skills honed over years. There was rock, pop and blues. Many of the songs were French so I couldn't understand them and are of a style I enjoy less than British or US rock music. 

 

There was no Taylor Swift music but occasionally a Rolling Stones number might pop up. The crowds enjoyed the live musicians, except for one band that was truly incompetent to the point non- musicians walked away. Restaurants and bars did a lively trade, especially as night came on and the heat dialed down a bit. Generally, the bassists were very competent.

 

It was fun to walk around Chartres, turn a corner and discover a different band. My old feet didn't like too much of that in the 38 degree heat but there's something special about being able to walk around a large town with so much history, old buildings, lively night life with good behaviour. Police were present but everyone seemed well behaved. Unfortunately it wasn't like that all over France for that particular day. However in this city was so nice to be out and about and part of an event.

  

 

Is there still time for the ultimate adventure?

 I'm now at an age where I feel the need to do something significantly different if I want to spend my last remaining years feeling alive and fullfilled, engaged with my surroundings and in tune with the culture. I will have to leave New Zealand but the process will be challenging. Although born in NZ and having spent most of my life here I've just never felt I belonged or succeeded. It was just about survival. 

What I am seriously contemplating is pretty risky at my age and most people wouldn't consider it but I am needing this.

,

Through some pretty disastrous circumstances while living and working in Auckland in 2010, I discovered my career there had been utterly sunk by self-serving ‘supercity’ National politicians and I would be unlikely to find work but would consequently lose my home. What to do? Take drastic measures, all detailed in a memoir I published Follow my Heart in 2014, under the name of Frances Lawson (an ex-boss was threatening me). With just a suitcase (all other belongings of a lifetime had to be jettisoned) I finally stood on French ground.

I lived and worked in France for over 7 years. It was extremely difficult, not being an EU citizen and with never any reliable, stable employment, abused and caught in a media story of educational and political corruption, (yes, really!). I stuck it out, suffered the fonctionnaires and refused to give up because I discovered that France really was where I felt most ME and I was challenged, yes, but never bored. I did not want to leave. I wanted to stay but NZ had other ideas. Despite meeting all criteria for superannuation before I left and paying taxes for more than 40 years, I discovered you must be permanently living in NZ to even apply for it.

My life and relationships and work in France had to be demolished but in the meantime, my persistence had resulted in a letter from President Holland informing me I had achieved the holy grail, French citizenship. So now I had the right to stay but not the financial means to retire there.

Back to the Southern hemisphere I was obliged to go in 2017. Alone and unemployed I built a house, created a garden and tried everything I could think of to fit back into NZ. Seven and a half years later, still alone and unemployed I can say that something is very much missing in my life and I am troubled.

 At my time of life most women are in their stable bubbles with a husband or boyfriend and grandchildren providing interest. Not me, which is why I am contemplating doing something highly stressful and financially risky. Well, if life is comfortable why would you take risks?

So this year I will be going to France alone for a few weeks during a NZ winter to see how I still feel about the place and is it really feasible in practical terms for me to find a way back to a life that was important to me. France has changed and so have I. Laws and rules which control our lives change. I will be stepping into financial hardship, that is certain, but I have hope that something interesting might just come along.

A life in France would never be easy in any way but as I get older it seems that experiences matter a little more than material things. I have proved I can survive with almost nothing. As I age and health gradually breaks down I feel I have to make this fact-finding mission NOW. I need to know if I can find my niche there. I'm determined to move back to France asap. There will be much pain but a foot in two camps doesn’t work. 

I am sadly contemplating leaving my daughter back in Canterbury and the lovely house and garden I created in Rolleston. I tried to fit in and keep busy, I really did. I was badly let-down by a number of people I had thought were my friends here (far from it) and the opportunities that might have arrived just didn't. I have been bored and lonely.  I can't change my life for the better sitting around waiting for something good to happen. It hasn't, so I have to save myself and change my life entirely, again.

I will do a few wee touristy things while I'm over in France - well, it's so easy to do that in Europe. I've organised to take a couple of line-dance classes while there to see how it works and how difficult/or easy it might be to fit in. 

I will reconnect with a lovely ex-colleague and friends and the places I used to frequent, the language, and the fascination of French supermarkets. I'll investigate how I can find my new home and how to fix it up cheaply. Where do things stand in France regarding taxes and government admin, the health system for retirees? I’m a lot older this time around. Then I'll come back and prepare to sell up. I've already had real estate appraisals done and moving quotes prepared. And so, dear Reader, watch this space. There are new adventures ahead.

 

 

 

Can I heal from a lifetime of parental abuse?

 Recently I've had cause to reflect on my relationship with my mother. It was never a loving one from her side but I had no idea how much she must have detested me and the malice and spite she wanted to inflict past the end of her days. I gave a very sanitised eulogy at her funeral but have since decided that some truths need to be shared in order to start a difficult healing process because I am not the only one out there struggling from a lifetime of family abuse (not just from my mother).

 I write about events in my life and what matters to me and sometimes my posts are useful to others.

Not all mothers should be mothers and the lasting negative effect of them on some of their children should not be underestimated. I really don't know how to understand any of this and it's doing my mental health damage. I simply don't know WHY? It is worth noting that parental abuse doesn't necessarily stop when you leave home, it can last a child's lifetime, past the perpetrator's death.

Let's take a chronology of what I have lived through as examples of varying forms of abuse (and similar stuff will have happened to some of my readers)

Karitane hospital

When I was born nursing staff were concerned about my safety with my mother. My father told me she was treating me like a doll, a thing to pick up and put down with no connection at all, with little interest in me. I was therefore transferred, with my mother, to Karitane Hospital in Christchurch where staff hoped my mother might start behaving like a mother. Luckily for me, less than a year later my parents moved in with my maternal grandparents so my mother's day-to-day responsiblilities could be handled by HER mother. There was no love though I was fed and clothed and looked after. Sadly my mother gave birth to my brother and he, being a male, was much preferred by both parents.  He was often a bit sickly with skin troubles so got a lot more attention than I did, even when I got measles. By the time I was four my parents had saved up enough and got a government State Advances loan and capitalised the family benefit to start building their own house. Now I was on my own with them.

The beatings 

These started around the age of 4-5. It could at times be my mother, but the older I got she started getting my father to beat me with his strong hands and belt buckles. He would do it for a 'quieter life'.  One day, he went too far and left me black from the waist down and even my mother thought she had better take me to the doctor. She told the doctor I had fallen off the jungle gym at school. There was no way for me to contradict her to the doctor. It was super painful and difficult to sit at school or walk for a month. On another occasion I saw my mother trying to impale my father with the vacumn cleaner tube.

Sent to the police 

When I was nine I was so terrified of my mother that I didn't dare to tell her I did not like peanut butter sandwiches in my school lunch so I hid them. Throwing them out at school would have been reported to my parents.  The only place she rarely went was my bedroom wardrobe. I knew it was risky but didn't know what else to do. Of course she found them and went ballistic. She said I was an awful child and she didn't want me any more, maybe the police would find a place for someone as rotten as me. My father complied and drove me several kilometers to the Papanui Police station. I felt terrified because my home was the only one I had known and I knew bad kids had bad futures and dreadful things could happen to them. I wedged myself (in my pyjamas and hugging my toy kangaroo) in the doorway of Dad's car. It was difficult to pry me loose I was so desperate, so he gave up and drove me home and told me to apologise to my mother for being such a wicked child. There she was, enjoying a lovely hot bath, not a care in the world while I apologised to a woman I now despised. I knew a decent mother would never terrorise a child in that way. for any reason.

Absent when I left home

At the age of 18 my then boyfriend realised someone had to get me out of the family home. My father was now beginning to take a lascivious interest in me and my mother controlled every minute of my time at home. On the day I was to leave, my mother decided to go on a picnic with friends. She never said a word to me that day, not even goodbye. My father was absent too. I had very few belongings, I just got into my boyfriend's car and we drove away. At least I wasn't going to get hit again but I had no money, no job, no friends, just a boyfriend kind enough to pay rent for a little flat in Hereford street for me to be safe. 

Too busy 'washing my hair' 

Years went by and I lived in various cities, Christchurch, Wellington, Auckland. My parents had limited interest in me and had separated not long after I left home. I tried to keep some communication going but too often when I came down to Christchurch I would ring my mother to suggest I visit or even stay overnight with her but she rarely said yes, Usually she said it wasn't convenient as she would be busy washing her hair that day. It hurt!

The day my daughter died

In 1989 I was due to give birth to my daughter Aimee. Things went very badly, staff at St George's Hospital made many mistakes, the obstetrician was complacent. My dear wee daughter died inside me many hours after a timely caesarian would have saved her. A mother having her third child attracted their attention, rather than my haemorhaging. When my baby's father contacted my maternal grandmother to tell her Aimee had died she told him "Knowing Frances I am not surprised!!" 

Horrific thing to say. My mother and her parents never contacted me; they didn't telephone me or send a card. They did not visit me in hospital nor come to the funeral. Years later, at each of my grandparent's funerals where, again, I came down from Auckland, neither my mother nor my brother could be bothered saying hello or letting me sit with them. I don't know why. I was left at the church while they took off for the interments.

 Abandoned at French Fest 

In 2006 my daughter and I went down to Akaroa all the way from Auckland to participate in FrenchFest celebrating the French landing there in 1840. My mother was there. I saw her and she looked at me and turned away quite deliberately to get lost in the crowd on the beach. I searched for her but never found her the entire weekend. She had been on our French family committee. Members of the Libeau family to which I belong were very surprised to discover I existed. "We knew about the son but had no idea there was a daughter". It was humiliating and sad that she did not want to see me nor her only grandchild. I had spoken to her by phone a couple of days earlier to let her know we would be down.

After the earthquakes hit

In 2011, while I was trying to build a new life from nothing in France, the second of some brutal earthquakes destroyed most of my birth city, Christchurch, NZ. 185 people died. I never heard from my brother or mother though they had my contact details. In desperation to find them I asked a former boss for help. He contacted the police who informed him my mother was alive but wouldn't give any more details. Without landlines these days it is difficult to find mobile phone numbers. Eventually I found an old number for my brother and called it. He replied but was completely nonchalant and didn't seem to care I had been worried for FOUR months. He had put my mother in a home as she wasn't safe to leave in her own home with her developing dementia.

As time went by there was never any reply to letters or phone calls or presents that I sent to my mother. I felt completely cut off, isolated and unwanted. I sent her books (one I published myself) and gifts from France. and I continued to call her regularly from France.

In 2016 my brother contacted me to say my mother had had a major stroke. She ended up going into a nursing home  Between the stroke that robbed her of movement and speech and the dementia which made her forget things minute by minute it was hard going but I persisted in trying to communicate. She lived another 8 years like that. Long enough for me to be able to visit her regularly from 2017 when NZ retirement rules forced me back to NZ.

 The will. 

My mother died 5 days before her 95th birthday and I thought that at least now I might be able to put my history with her at rest but that was not to be. Whatever my mother's reasons for persistent cruelty towards her eldest child in preference for her youngest and male child I would never know but my mother had one more hand to play that affects me financially for the rest of my life.

 She willed all her personal effects to my brother (he was her executor) and to top it off gave him a considerable sum of money for 'services rendered'? He was willed 90%. Just 10% for me, nothing for my daughter Laura, her only grandchild, and the will had been written two weeks before the earthquakes so I have no idea what was going through the minds of my mother and brother in 2011. Legal notes were destroyed in the earthquakes. The will was designed in such  a way that it could not reasonably be contested. It was cruel and premeditated and the last straw for me, emotionally. My brother lacks any empathy on the issue. Well, he is now very comfortably off. I am scarcely able to pay my bills on the mediocre pension. It is not something I could forget nor understand - the vindictiveness and hate that must have resided for almost 70 years in her, against me my whole life. I suppose it is not something that can be understood.

My mother told me I would never amount to anything. That if I got pregnant I would be out on the street permanently. She taught me to always be afraid of everything because nowhere was safe. I still suffer from this belief today. She showed me I would never be good enough for her. I had no role model of how to be a good mother but I knew exactly how I did NOT want to be - like her. And so, what could I do after a lifetime of violence, manipulation, hate?

The bonfire

I  decided that since I have never been able to talk to her about shared experiences in the past, nor ask her why she has deliberately abused me in multiple ways I had to eliminate as much of her negative energy in my life as possible. I've burned a lot of documents. I have given away a lot of photos to sympathetic members of the family. 

There were hundreds of photos that remained of my mother and her parents. I recently was told by a family member that my mother's father (my grandfather) deliberately disinherited me. Just me and not the other grandchildren. I don't know why, but learning that was cruel. The content, not the messenger. 

Therefore my daughter Laura and I held a private bonfire to eliminate the physical reminders of Mum and her parents from my life. Eliminating the emotional bits might not be possible. 

 I burnt those hundreds of photos and old photo albums with NO regrets. There are still enough images digitised on my computer to satisfy any future needs to relook at certain aspects of my past. I never had a mother, just a bitter woman who deliberately abused me emotionally, physically and finally financially.  

I hope such a spiritual and symbolic cleansing might enable me to move on with my life, forgetting as much of the past as I can and building a new future. I probably need therapy but I can't afford it so the bonfire had to suffice. I want to create a new life with few reminders of the past.

Photos: Me, Laura and Mum, Mum and Me, Aimee's funeral, Mum, Laura and Me, Mum and me a month before she died (she still doesn't look pleased to see me) . Bonfire photos,

Self-Care Tips on Overcoming Abuse-Related Trauma

1. Recognize the Effects of Trauma. Many effects of trauma stem from abuse. ...
2. Understand the Importance of Healing. It's important to know that healing is key to overcoming trauma. ...
3. Embrace Positive Affirmations. ...
4. Exercise. ...
5. Embrace Creativity. ...
6. Don't Be Afraid to Seek Help from a therapist - very important

Signs of unhealed childhood trauma may include anxiety, depression, difficulty forming relationships, emotional dysregulation, low self-esteem, intrusive memories, trust issues, self-destructive behavior, chronic stress, substance abuse, dissociation, sleep disturbances, somatic symptoms, difficulty with boundaries, hypervigilance. Check out these useful links below.

https://www.brooklyn.edu/dosa/health-and-wellness/personal-counseling/loss/child-abuse/ 

https://www.calm.com/blog/childhood-trauma-in-adults

https://counselingcentergroup.com/signs-of-childhood-trauma-in-adulthood/

 

 

 

In through the out door with Led Zeppelin

Experiencing the movie documentary Becoming Led Zeppelin  - entering a world that timed out a long time ago

I was a young teenager when Led Zeppelin were just getting started. For a few years until my life got pretty challenging, I enjoyed listening to their super-group music and wishing I would be allowed to buy one of their LPs. (I wasn't allowed, too decadent and raw. Bee Gees were OK). High school kept me busy with academic and performing arts pursuits. I did not have a boyfriend at that time.

As a much older person now and also a musician (I'm a bassist), I really appreciate the absolute talent of each member of this group and how, like the Beatles, the combination of musicians just clicked together to create something extraordinary during an era that fit them like a glove and, dare I say it, was so musically creative that we'll never see the like again, because the world and the music industry has changed so much and not for the better.

With a happy heart I sat with my daughter in Academy Gold, a very intimate cinema in Christchurch, hoping such a small room would have a good sound system and wondering if I might need to take my hearing aids out OUT. Led Zeppelin were always loud in a wonderful sense and we were about to watch the documentary Becoming Led Zeppelin. There had been much Facebook marketing and hype about it promising unseen footage and interviews. The sound system was adequate but not impressive. I wanted to feel the bass thumping through me as it would have done at a LZ concert. Nope.

I already knew a lot about the group having lived the era and I've read Jimmy Page's heavy coffee table book on the guitars and costumes used throughout his extraordinary career but  seeing and hearing it all was a thrill.

The film starts with blues and skiffle musical influences and family backgrounds on each of the four members: Jimmy Page (guitar and production), Robert Plant (vocals and harmonica), John Paul Jones( bass, keyboards and arrangements) and John Bonham (drums). Cute and interesting.

And then the wonder starts as we are introduced to the early careers of these super-talented musicians who found each other, clicked and worked really hard in a professional and focused way to create music that has lasted decades and changed the music scene. Living in New Zealand is a huge disadvantage when it comes to access to international entertainment but back then we could at least be guided by AM and then FM radio which exposed us to the best in each genre.

World events intersected with what the band was working on: First Moon Landing, Nixon, Vietnam for example. Robert Plant remembers being on stage performing in Britain and looking up at the Moon in 1969 knowing that right at that moment there was a man on it. Surreal.  And then there's the nod to Tolkien in Ramble On.

What stood in my mind: the talent and dedication of each band member, the creative and magnificent basslines delivered with such focused nonchalance by bassist John Paul Jones, the blissful absence of cellphones at concerts, how fashion back then was so much more than the cheap and nasty stuff we import from Asia these days. Young people made a sartorial effort and in Jimmy Page's case his costumes became statements and works of art as Elvis's had been.

The film abruptly stops, following the release of Led Zeppelin II in 1970. I cast my mind back to what else was happening in the music scene then - The Beatles had already done their rooftop performance the previous year but were in the legal process of breaking up and releasing Let it Be, their final album. Over the movie's same time frame Deep Purple, another British rock band were forming and developing into an amazing heavy rock group, but they would never achieve quite the heights of Led Zeppelin.

And myself at the time? I was playing violin (doing exams), acting, studying classical ballet (more exams), singing, and a member of the school photography group while trying to pass School Certificate.

I think it would be fair to say that most of the audience would have been disappointed that the movie stopped after only two years of Led Zeppelin and I wonder if there will be a part two. That would be more difficult. This movie didn't need to be sanitised as much as a movie covering the drug-addled performances (especially Jimmy on heroin), under-aged sex with girls (especially Jimmy), the alcoholism (especially John Bonham) and over-all debauchery and classic rock-God existences that each member lead would need. It would have to cover Robert's serious car accident and the later death of his son while Robert was on tour and John Bonham's pointless death. So, I'm not convinced the remaining band members will be interested in exposing all that again. 

The three surviving members still have very successful careers. Robert seems to have given up smoking and looked after his voice and although his range is reduced it's still impressive. John Paul Jones continues to be an allround nice and super-talented guy, Jimmy keeps busy with his girlfriend who is MUCH younger than his daughter, and John Bonham's son is a talented drummer, like his Dad.

I told my daughter I had invited her to the screening to maybe experience a bit of that 68-70 era like a time machine and to hear combined talent we would probably never see again. As the film credits scrolled I knew I had been right.

Photos: My first LZ album obtained mid 70s and myself in 1970 wearing my first pair of Wrangler jeans and first T Shirt I bought by myself from my summer holiday job at Woolworths Department store on High St, Christchurch.

 

Get in LINE for fun and fitness

 

When I was younger I pooh-poohed Line Dancing as something for old folks who couldn't mange other forms of dance. Now that I'm not so young I must admit to being wrong. There's currently a resurgence of this western/rodeo/cowboy style of dance where you don't need a partner. Tik Tok is presenting it to much younger and very enthusiastic generations. I'm really into it after 11 months and can see that there are so many sub-genres of line dancing that there's a style for everyone on the internet.

 What is it?

A line dance is a choreographed dance in which a group of people dance along to a repeating sequence of steps while arranged in one or more lines or rows. The sequence is usually 32, 48 or 64 counts repeated during the song. Counts are beats in the music. There are also partner line dances though this doesn't seem to be very available in NZ. Kiwi guys don't seem keen on dancing, for the most part.

Line dance choreographers put in “tags” and “restarts” to make sure dances match up well with the music. A tag is a different set of moves than what you’re repeating (e.g. you may do the same 32 counts to four walls then do this different bit of choreography once then go back to the normal moves). A restart is where you start over from the beginning before finishing the normal counts (e.g. you may do the set of 32 counts 3 times facing different walls then on the 4th repeat you might do the first 16 counts of the normal moves and go back to count 1). That stuff is confusing, but a lot of the time someone will yell tag or restart so you know something weird is about to happen and you get the hang of it.  

Line dancing really works your brain,  like learning to play a musical instrument. Learning the step choreographies will feel like homework, but it doesn't stay that way if you can work on them in the comfort of your home via YouTube videos (be sure to choose the ones with the correct choreography and music for your group). Dancers with slightly more experience in your class can be friendly and helpful. Each time you turn to face a 'wall' just watch the more advanced dancers in front of you. Beginners should position themselves in the front/middle of the room so no matter what wall you face you will have someone to follow.

Each dance is said to consist of a number of walls. A wall is the direction in which the dancers face at any given time: the front (the direction faced at the beginning of the dance), the back, or one of the sides. Dancers may change direction many times during a sequence, and may even, at any given point, face in a direction halfway between two walls. At the end of the sequence, they will face the original wall or any of the other three. Whichever wall that is, the next iteration of the sequence uses that wall as the new frame of reference.^[2]

• In a one-wall dance, the dancers face the same direction at the end of the sequence as at the beginning (either no turn or a full turn, 360 degrees).
• In a two-wall dance, repetitions of the sequence end alternately at the back and front walls. In other words, the dancers have effectively turned through 180 degrees during one set (half turn).
  
• In a four-wall dance, the direction faced at the end of the sequence is 90 degrees to the right or left from the direction in which they faced at the beginning (quarter turn). As a result, the dancers face each of the four walls in turn at the end of four consecutive repetitions of the sequence, before returning to the original wall.  In some dances, they turn 270 degrees, a "three-quarter turn," to face the new wall

Costuming: 

This is a source of frustration for me.  Most classes I have turned up for in NZ rarely have anyone looking other than having walked in off the street. It spoils the atmosphere for me. You wouldn't do this for other dance genres. Imagine a ballet dancer who can't be bothered changing into her gear, or a latin dancer who couldn't be bothered getting the right shoes. These days it's a small investment in minimal gear that you can later add to. I myself tend to go Cowboy/Rodeo - well remember where it comes from. I do not wear baggy track pants and sneakers. What do I like to wear? For me, this is the really fun part...

Jeans, cowboy hat (for socials), cowboy boots (ankle or better still mid-calf with a cuban heel for stomping), a fringe shirt or embroidered yokes western shirt, western belt with  an ostentatious western buckle, short denim shorts, short fringe shirt, bolo western tie, western-themed T shirt/ earrings/necklace. 

Some dancers buy a club T-shirt to wear. I may do that for classes this year but dressing up in my cowboy gear is what I will continue to do for socials.

Once you are serious you can inexpensively add in a boot bag, more hats, boot bling, hat bands. Yes, Temu has a lot to answer for. Amazon freight charges preclude me using them much.

Benefits: 

Gets you out of the house and connecting with other enthusiasts during classes and socials, maybe make a friend? You can choose to wear cowboy gear, which is a lot of fun. The really cheap hats are nothing more than toys and aren't a long term solution as they don't fit as well and don't look realistic. Quality leather cowboy boots with a cuban heel and a quality full-size wrangler-style hat will set you back a lot so they are things to save for later.

Socials:

These are where dancers from an assortment of clubs all come together for a few hours or much of a weekend to learn new dances at a workshop or just dance together. The challenge here is that each club learns different dances and versions so it pays to check out the dance list ahead of time. Eventually you will automatically know most of the dances on offer. I'm still pretty new to it all. I've learned a lot and the only thing holding me back is not knowing enough of the more challenging choreographies. Last year I was lucky enough to attend workshops run by international choreographers Josh Talbot, Nigel Mooney, Simon Ward.

Health benefits:

Many folks are elderly so LD gets them out of the house and shuffling to music (country/pop). They also get to do something social. Those of us who refuse to be 'elderly' can just push on through, actually dance the dances, progress from Beginner to Improver to Intermediate (Advanced is rare), work up a sweat (necessary to get fitter). And folks, it works. I already feel fitter ad stronger after 10 months of line dancing classes and socials. Don't underestimate the power of those small repetitive movements (so long as you push yourself a bit). I can attest to improved balance and muscle tone, increased strength, a good work-out for my memory, stress reduction.

After a disappointing start to line dancing with a teacher I quickly outgrew, I went in search of classes in Canterbury where I could extend my repertoire into more advanced dances and also improve my dancing style. There are very few teachers capable of offering this for me but I've found one. His classes attract many dancers of all ages and occasionally with men turning up (normally missing in action in NZ). My goals are to get fitter so I can keep up for 3 solid hours, maybe do competitions when they start up and also try my hand at choreographing interesting dances above Beginner level.

For my first choreography I plan to use just two walls.  I'm putting together a dance where the combinations are particular to certain parts of the song. In this way there are more clues as to what you should be doing in certain parts of the music, rather than mentally trying to start a sequence part way through the dance just because you have done all the other walls. It's challenging for me to do this as I don't have access to a mirrored wall but with patience I should be able to put it together.  

Above photo taken with choreographer Simon Ward from Australia who was running our workshop in November 2024.

And for the future? Maybe I can find a class running on my next European holiday and how cool would it be to attend a Line Dance competition and convention in the USA? I can dream.

How to get started:

• Find a convenient beginners class
• Position yourself near the front of the class so you can see.
• Don't be afraid to ask questions; line dancers are friendly and helpful
• Bring water to class and shoes/boots that have smooth soles (sneakers are no good - too grippy)
• Give yourself at least 6 weeks to see if you enjoy it because it takes time to learn
• Step sheets are available online from Copperknob    https://www.copperknob.co.uk/
  
• YouTube have many demos and tutorials of dances you may be learning but make sure you are studying the correct music and choreography (there can be many versions)
• Copy more experienced dancers as you change walls.

Origins of Line dancing:

 It is said to have originated in the US in the 1970s and was initially popular with disco music (remember Footloose?) and country music. Billy Ray Cyrus's Achy Breaky Heart really shot this dance genre into mainstream dance. These days pop, rock and country styles of music are used but look out for samba and cha-cha and even latin style with some contemporary dance tendancies.

Basic steps for beginners:

Grapevine, jazz box, kick ball change, hitch, rocking chair, lock step, pivot turn, heel strut, chasse or shuffle, rumba box, hip bumps, waltz step, K-step, V-step, coaster, charlston, slide, fan, brush, mambo.

Want to find a class near you? Want to see what events are coming up? Check out the links below.

https://www.linedance.nz/ 

https://www.facebook.com/groups/376358892414301/