Skye Corewijn is swept up in roaring big bands and war time glitz.
Making my way to the D-Day Blitz Party, signs of the 1940s taking over a small stretch of Shoreditch are evident pretty soon. My first sighting is at Kings Cross, and by the time the tube stops at Old Street Station, stiff curls and army uniforms are no longer an oddity. Come to think of it, as the escalators transport me to London's surface, it is the casually dressed who seem out of place. Strolling to Shoreditch Studios, whilst catching glimpses of aviators and lieutenants alike, eagerness and delight consume me as I imagine what's just up the road.
The sights at the Studios are simply overwhelming: the only elements looking a little 21st century are the security guys and occasional digital camera, but everyone else – well, 'time warp success' is what springs to mind. The narrow outdoor passageway which leads to most of the happenings is teeming with ladies and gents. It's utterly bizarre walking through them. Everyone's outfits are detailed and convincing: the effort of the clientèle is matched only by the effort Blitz puts forward. Sandbags cover makeshift walls, rough brick walls complement the theme and divine champagne glasses set the scene. The bar is complete with rations menu and supremely delicious cocktails. There's a definite buzz and even though the sticky heat leaves many a shining forehead, attendees dance, tap feet and make some kind of grooved movement as a trumpet's growl fills the main room.
Wandering to the smaller entertainment area, ears are met with the most rah rah and gentile war bunker tunes this side of the century. Double bass, clarinet and trumpet all push the singer's voice as he reminisces about days gone by – happy times in Paris, beautiful women, ale and life as a gentleman. The band looks the part, and the man at the microphone exudes a wacky and quintessentially English persona. Couples dance cheek to cheek, and smiles fill the room. It's no wonder that this music filled a rather horrendous time in history; it lifts the spirits and evokes an almost tangible merriment. When there isn't a big band on stage, speakers roar with tunes that keep all present revelling in the era.
Sauntering past an injured soldier and his nurse companion, aviators and war time officials make some sweet shapes on the dance floor, however, the cake is stolen by a pair of sailors and their ladies. The two couples grab an open space (a rarity) and pull impressive moves with smooth ease and, well, it's a treat to see. An uncommonly hot evening and full capacity are not usually the ingredients resulting in a pleasant time, but any discomfort is well worth the experience. As I squeeze my way back through the outdoor passageway, the heavens give a little relief as glistening faces are cooled by smatterings of rain.
Only in London will characters indulge and immerse themselves in an opportunity to this degree and as I unwillingly return to 2010 via the gates of Shoreditch Studios, I decide that I am meant for a life of big bands and Kentish ale. This 21st century nonsense is all a mistake and I am, in fact, a 1940s lass incarnate.
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Image courtesy of Bevan Goldswain.
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