Saturday Night at the Locarno

It was the "in thing" to be there if you lived in Southern Manchester and you were
over 18. It was so sensual as the lights dimmed and the orchestra smoothly launched into a waltz.  A vocalist crooned "When I Fall in Love" into the microphone. and a thousand hands came into contact. Hips too - depending on how much mutual attraction there was.

A mass of feet slowly shuffling, as it was too crowded to even attempt the proper steps. For most it was eight minutes of close encounters of the human kind as the spotlights hit the revolving mirror on the ceiling, spraying the embracing couples with romantic polka-dots. Who wouldn't be in the mood for love?

This would be a typical Saturday night at the Sale Locarno in Manchester between 1955 and 1960.

There were clones all over the UK, as the dance-halls were owned by Mecca Ltd and
they were in every major city.

Christmas and New Year's Eves were very special at the Locarno - and we all forgot the bitter winter chill outside.

At ten seconds to midnight and the new year the bandleader began the countdown, and
at the magic moment a thousand pairs of lips were meeting. Then hundreds of coloured
balloons floated down from baskets suspended from the ceiling.

Village-hallish it was not. Applause to the one who planned those Mecca dance halls. They were the ultimate set-up for boy meets girl. Whether you were a girl or guy there were at least 500 potential partners to choose from.

A huge neon sign at the front entrance told the world it was there, There was superb décor,
and a 14 piece orchestra with drums, saxes, trumpets, piano, guitar, and usually a talented
and glamorous female vocalist.

The cloakroom for hombres and senoritas was near the powder room and the atmosphere was akin to a Turkish harem with scents of Chanel No 5 and Evening in Paris whetting the appetites of amorous young men. Eagerly they handed in their topcoats, while the girls did the same with
theirs plus handbag, which they later retrieved before going home.

Then everyone headed for the huge ballroom with its resplendent polished floor, upon which
stomped at least a thousand people.

Getting a dance was oh so simple because the girls were just standing around - hundreds of
them. Some girls called it a cattle market but I never heard the boys complain. No embarrassment for Shy Sam here because if a girl refused him a dance he had only to step a
foot or two to left or right, ask another, or another, and let the law of averages work for
him.

The orchestra mixed the tempo with quicksteps, foxtrots, even old time - but oh, the smoochy waltzes!

If you wanted a pretty girl you had to be quick (they were first to be asked) as those
seductive first few musical bars wafted through the air.

If you met someone promising it was but a few steps up the staircase to the balcony. "Two
coffees please" from the alcohol-free cafeteria, then choosing one of dozens of small tables with gently-coloured lighting. It was fascinating to gaze at the crowd below.

It was time for us young men to turn on whatever charm we had. If we "cracked it" as they say in Lancashire, we wouldn't go home alone. It might even lead to a date for the following week.

Fashions and trends are fickle, and Mecca eventually closed most of the dance halls, but there was no better place to be for a young man on a Saturday night!