ball

A recent article on the Fairfax webpages profiled a group of school pupils preparing for the annual ball.  Here they are, dressed up and excited, as featured in the main shot of the article.  There is also a series of four- or five-minute videos, which I confess I haven’t viewed. It would be an exercise in nostalgia, which, as you’ll see, doesn’t sit completely easily with me.

To the Ball

My high-school ball, or formal as we called it at the time (“balls” were for the posh schools) was nearly seventeen years ago, a literal half lifetime.  I wore a dress my mother made for me, from a wedding-gown pattern.  I chose the fabrics: crushed velvet for the bodice and sleeves and a black background with red rose-print for the skirt.  I wore my mother’s jewellery, and possibly her shoes too.  Though my skirt was full-length, I wore patterned black stockings which I saved for years, until they no longer fit.

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