I Could Have Danced With a Dame

I COULD HAVE DANCED WITH A DAME

It occurred to me within the last month that I once could have danced with a dame.  Not a dame in the sense of “there is nothing like a dame,” although, that too, applies.  No, I mean Dame of the British Empire.  At the time that I (theoretically) might have danced with her, she was not a dame.

In the summer of 1976, I was in graduate school at the University of Massachusetts, on a summer program at Trinity College, Oxford University.  It was a six-week term, from the end of June through mid-August, and I was studying modern British drama.  There were a number of other courses in English literature offered, all taught by British tutors, of whom one was Hermione Lee, whose seminar was (I think) on the Bloomsbury Group.

She caught my eye for several reasons, mainly being she was quite attractive:  young, tall, five-foot-nine or –ten, pretty in a very English sort of way—dark hair, fair skin—and trendily dressed.  I distinctly recall her wearing a long dark summery skirt with multi-colored striped knee socks.  But I was a married man, and my wife was back in the USA, so I was a good boy.  Looking, yes; nothing more.  I did my share of looking that summer.

After the final banquet that ended our program, there was a party with music and dancing in the beer cellar below Trinity College, and between the pre-banquet reception in the President’s Garden (sherry punch), the banquet (different wines with each course) and the party (beer on tap and champagne at midnight), most of the attendees got rather spiffed.  I was no exception.  And it was terrific to hear the music, since, for whatever reason, I hadn’t heard much during term time.

I am not an avid dancer when sober, and only somewhat more so when not-so-sober.  So I danced a couple of dances with a couple of my fellow students.  Mostly I listened to the music.  But a friend, Neil Bell, to whom I had mentioned my considerable esteem for Ms. Lee, suggested I ask her to dance.

Yes, there she was, tall and elegant in a dark violet, floor-length, backless dress.  Way the hell out of my league.  She danced with a guy named Jack, who was in one of the other courses; he had a fair amount of money, owned an antiques business, and I am quite sure his primary libidinal interest was not with ladies of the feminine persuasion.  But he had a great wardrobe, was wearing a swell suit, and hey! he could sure dance.   I watched them, and they looked great.  That was as far as it went for me and my non-relationship with (despite appreciation of) Hermione Lee.

Ms. Lee went on to carve out an estimable career for herself in academia and as a scholar of Virginia Woolf and Willa Cather, among others; she’s a well-known book reviewer and is now President of Wolfson College, Oxford.

And in the Queen’s Birthday Honours List this past month, she was named a Dame of the British Empire.

That’s the Dame I could have danced with.  Would’a could’a should’a.  Story of my life.

But congratulations, Dame Hermione.