Learning to Dance

Chele Crawley

There once was a young wading bird called Bingo the Flamingo, who lived on the lakes of Africa’s Great Rift Valley. It was no ordinary valley – it was one of the animal world’s biggest dance floors and every male flamingo on the continent would strut his stuff there in the hopes of making a fine marriage.

Bingo too aspired to find himself a leggy crimson friend with a graceful neck and well-endowed plumage, but in a crowd of one million, catching the eye of a genteel match would call for dance moves of epic proportions and there was one substantial problem – Bingo couldn’t dance!

He neither possessed a natural rhythm nor co-ordination and his stilt-like legs were much too rigid to bend in accordance with the exacting choreography of the flamboyance. As a chick it mattered little, but having reached maturation, it seemed having the moves was the only social capital worth having.

‘Ballet will never want to marry me,’ he despaired, sinking himself head-first into an expanse of algal blooms.

‘Of course she will,’ soothed his friends Ringo and Lingo. ‘Don’t get into a flap’.

‘That is easy for you to say. One plumb neck and well-timed head bobbing on your debut ruffled Cerise’s feathers and the rest is history! I’m six years old. I’m already like a grandpa compared to all these agile young nippers!’

‘All you have to do is copy the moves,’ interrupted Lingo.

‘It’s no use. I can’t do it’, moaned Bingo.

‘Yes, you can!’ cheered Ringo.

‘Do you really think so?’

‘I do, and furthermore we are going to teach you,’ replied Ringo. ‘No frivolous footwork is going to get the better of our Bingo. Ballet will be your bride!’

Ringo explained that dancing was similar to filter-feeding. It’s all about timing and he knew Bingo to be a precise counter. One, two, three… step, step, step to the left,

One, two, three … step, step, step to the right. Repeat.

Once he had mastered the poised outstretched leg, Ringo and Lingo moved to the posture.

‘It’s all about eradicating the S bend’.

‘S bend?’ Bingo questioned.

‘Your neck is naturally a S’ bend but those flaming birds want it erect!

‘And another thing’, added Lingo. ‘The head must tilt in the same direction you are dancing.

It took weeks of practice but the day soon came for Bingo the Flamingo to take to the stage on the Great Rift Valley. Coloured scarlet as he watched Ballet join the colony of rose-coloured beauties congregating at the lake edge, Bingo took his place among the other nimble suitors.

He dunked his head and slurped a swig of algae down his gullet for courage.

He blushed as he eyed Ballet, now taking a keen interest in the season’s latest offering.

‘Angle the feet.’

‘Elongate the legs.’

‘Puff out the plumage.’

‘Straighten the neck. No S bend in sight!’

‘Incline the head.’

‘And count… One, two, three to the left.’

‘Head tilt’.

‘One, two, three to the right.’

‘Head tilt.’

‘Repeat.’

Bingo and his rivals strode forward with their heads sweeping over and back in perfect synchronisation. Bingo might have been the oldest wader, but Ballet and all her friends couldn’t help notice his impeccable march.

All her friends fluttered their eyelashes in the hopes he would choose them but his eyes were firmly on Ballet.

‘Would you care to dance?’ he asked.

Ballet nodded demurely and they danced for the first time and all the days of their lives.

Chele Crawley is a member of Inklings Writing Group, who meet on Tuesday mornings at Annebrook house Hotel.