The Green Years, Day Three

“Johnny Hart knew his stuff and pretty soon everyone was on the dance floor...

The girls went to check their coats into the cloakroom and it was only then that Chrissie saw Maisie’s bust. Chrissie clamped her hand over her mouth to stop her from squealing at the sight. “Over there,” she instructed Chrissie in panic, before anymore eyes could turn in Maisie’s direction, “upstairs to the balcony.”

By the time the girls had reached the balcony, which ran above the dance floor and held seating and the bar, Maisie had regained her composure.

She flounced into one of the chairs and Chrissie sat opposite. She couldn’t take her eyes of Maisie’s cleavage. “Shoulder pads,” she whispered in awe, “well, who’d have thought.”

“Ssssshhhh,” Maisie hissed, “I don’t want everybody to know.”“sorry,” Chrissie said, “it’s just they’re so BIG!”

Muscle

From nowhere, Shug Reilly appeared at the girls’ table, leaning forward and gazing at Maisie’s upper body. Shug worked in the Transport Department, loading boxes packed with jars of butterscotch sweeties on to the delivery vans and carrying out all the heavy work that required “muscle”.

“Get you lassies a drink?” he asked, his eyes never leaving Maisie’s frontage. “Are you speaking to me,” Maisie asked, derisively, “or just chewing a wasp?” Shug eventually met her eyes.

“No need to be like that,” he said, feigning hurt at the dismissal of his offer.

“I’ll have a Pink Lady,” piped up Chrissie, boldly, “and Maisie likes a Babycham,” hoping nobody would notice they were ‘underage’.

He turned his attention to Chrissie. “Now that’s more like it,” he said, “an’ we’ll maybe have a wee dance later,” he smiled, “that’s if your pal doesn’t mind.”

Maisie shrugged, “no skin off my nose,” she countered, “and the next time you speak to me, speak to my face and not my chest.”

“Don’t flatter yourself Maisie Green,” he tossed back, “plenty more where you’ve come from. Wintry Fintry, isn’t it?” he added, grinning, “a bit like yourself.”

Shug returned to the bar and the nudges of half a dozen of his mates, but the drinks duly arrived.

Maisie looked round the balcony. Where was Kenny, she fretted, taking in the flat wooden boards packed with Keiller’s pies ready for heating for the buffet later and leaned over the rail as the Johnny Hart Combo started their set. “C’mon,” she said, “we’ll not get any dances sitting up here and it doesn’t look like Shug’s going to send over any more drinks.”

Downstairs in the main ballroom the atmosphere was electric. Dancers were pairing up and men’s jackets and ties were being shrugged off as the atmosphere heated up. Johnny Hart knew his stuff and pretty soon everyone was on the dance floor, with Maisie and Chrissie jiving with the best of them. But there was still no sign of Kenny or for that matter, Rab Skelly.

Disappointment was beginning to settle on to the shoulders of the girls when Johnny Hart grabbed the microphone and, with a roll of the drums, announced that the next dance would be a “ladies selection dance”.

The girls looked bemused. Johnny Hart continued. “During this next dance, the departmental managers will be choosing their bestlooking girls to go forward to be Miss Keiller’s 1962.” Everyone cheered. “And,” he finished with a bow, “as we couldn’t get Tommy Steele, I will be your judge.” With that the music struck up and all the girls rushed onto the floor to jive to Rock Around the Clock.

Maisie feigned disinterest as the office secretaries and typists were tapped on the shoulders by their bosses, until suddenly, the packing department manager, Willie Pratt, tapped her shoulder. “You’re lookin’ lovely as usual,” he leered, his eyes never leaving Maisie’s bustline, “time to show these girls from the offices a thing or two,” and with a knowing wink, he strolled back to the side of the dance floor.

Chrissie tried to hide her disappointment at not being selected but soon brightened up when she spotted Kenny and Rab watching the ‘action’ from the sidelines, each with a pint of beer in their hands.

“They’re here,” she shouted to Maisie above the racket of the Combo’s drummer, subtly indicating with a tilt of her head the spot by the entrance where the lads stood.

The music stopped with a clash of symbols and everyone cheered as the unlucky girls left the floor and the “chosen ones” lined up in front of the stage.

Maisie felt uncomfortably conspicuous as the eyes of Johnny Hart roamed over her and the other girls, occasionally involving the audience with a wide grin and a thumbs up, until all the contestants had been given the once over.

The girls were whittled down to the last 10 and with a further roll of the drums Johnny made his announcement. “In third place,” he drawled, “we have the clerkess from the wages department, Miss Lillian Beatty.”

There was a polite ripple of applause as the crowd waited for the winner to be announced. “In second place,” he continued, building the suspense, “we have the voluptuous chocolate packer, Miss Maisie Green.”

Roar

There was suddenly a tremendous roar and whistles from the watching lads, including Kenny Wilson, who couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed Maisie Green before. He’d have to correct that and soon.

Maisie couldn’t believe it. She was runner up to Miss Keiller and smiled shyly as she was presented with a small bouquet of flowers and a box of Keiller’s Continental Chocolates.

“And the winner of Miss Keiller 1962, the secretary to Mr Keiller himself...” another roll of drums, “is Miss Catriona Mcphee.”

Catriona donned her sash and crown and was immediately whisked away to be photographed for the Works Magazine, while Maisie and Lillian Beatty faded into the background.

Chrissie rushed over to her. “You should’ve won,” she said stoutly, “you’re far better looking than Catriona Mcphee.”

But Maisie was quite happy with her second place. Kenny Wilson had been there to see her in all her glory. Surely now, he’d notice her.

The excitement of the Miss Keiller Beauty Competition calmed down as the dancers were treated to a few slow numbers courtesy of Johnny Hart and his boys.

The ballroom lights were dimmed and a blue spotlight flickered over the dancers, as the band struck up the soulful strains of Blue Moon.

Kenny and Rab didn’t waste any more time as they moved, as one, through the crowd, Rab taking the arm of Chrissie and Kenny circling Maisie’s shoulder with his left arm as he removed the chocolates and flowers and placed them on a nearby table with his right.

“I believe this is my dance,” he told Maisie rather than asked her.

More tomorrow