Dancing the Night Away . . .
Another little nugget I came across from British Pathé:
‘There were gladioli in Aunt Izzy’s garden, they would be coming into bloom soon: she could picture the late afternoon sun falling across them, turning them a soft apricot gold, and she wanted to be transported back to it at that moment, that very second. There was a brilliant blue sky today; she decided to go back to her flat by tram, climbing deliberately to the upper deck just so she could sit away from crowds, and enjoy the trees lining the avenue. She craned her neck up and gazed at the leafy branches passing by, and for a moment imagined herself back at home. Finally all those little scraps of dreams that had been hiding away all day returned tenfold to delight her, butterfly-like, with colours and warmth – the walks, the glades, the running hare and cheeky sparrow, the slow-witted blackbirds, sunning themselves in the middle of the lanes; all the whirling memories of the past crowded into her mind and she decided she had stayed away too long. What had seemed a pretext now became necessity; London was stifling her with its relentless gaiety, misery and recklessness.’