Victory Dance

'You are cordially invited...'

When the war was over, my father refused to take down our blackout curtains for ages. Most of the curtains were removed right away, with some women transforming the leftover materials into dresses and skirts as quickly as they could. They heard rumours that the men wanted to burn them in a bonfire, so it was better that they stashed them away safely. That day, everyone had tuned into the radio to listen to Churchill finally announce that the War was over. Among all the screaming and shouting and music on the streets, the first thing that all the mothers were doing was taking down their curtains, letting their homes fill up with light once more. But our own Winston at home refused.

"Paid good money for dem. Ain't no way we're bringin' 'em down now."

"Oh, come on, Winston! They've been up for years. Won't it be nice to get our other ones up? Let some light in?"

"We've had 'em up der for years, a few more days ain't gon' make no difference," He reasoned, his eyes glaring straight out of the window so he didn't have to see my mother's pouted lip. His shoulders were squared and his hands were placed firmly on his hips to signify that this was the last he'd hear about it.

Poor dad. It wasn't over, not by a long shot. She asked again at least another four times.

"Win, Maggie across the street is starting to wonder why they're still up, you know."

"Well, you can tell 'er we keep 'em der so she ain't peepin' in no more. Nosey bugg-"

"I could turn 'em into a good pair of trousers for you. For work, Win. You need another pair-"

"Dat'll need to wait. We're keepin' 'em up, Sarah."

"It's damn near unpatriotic, you know," My mother muttered sourly, her arms crossed over her chest as she glared at the offending curtains in contempt. Dad just placed a comforting hand on her shoulder before returning to fluffing his tobacco for his pipe.

For the next few weeks, Mum tortured him. There were numerous phone calls, with Mum explaining that she simply couldn't have her friends over for tea, because she 'simply couldn't stand them seeing them still up'. She turned Maggie away at the door two weeks in. Margaret, who'd seen Mum foraging through rubbish in an attempt to find the tea bag she had thrown out, forgetting that she had to reuse them, but was now too good to be allowed into the house when the black out curtains were still up.

She'd even taken to standing at the fence in the garden, a trowel in one hand and a fence post in another, loudly complaining to our neighbour Agatha about the curtains. "You know, Aggie, I just don't get it," She'd stage whisper on a Saturday morning, knowing that my dad would be out in the garden to check on the carrots they had started growing, "The day we put up those curtains, he told us it would all be for nought. Now that we can take them down again, he wants them kept up! I think he's just trying to wind me up, you know."

But Dad being Dad, would pay her no mind as they nattered and postulated. He wanted them up and they stayed up, so what was he going to complain about? In the 26 years they had been together, like any good soldier, he learnt when to pick his battles.

Me and Luis started placing bets on when he would finally cave to Mum. Luis thought it'd go on for a week. I thought he'd last two and a half weeks if Mum kept it up at this rate. The last time they fought like this was when Dad poured out the bacon fat to make himself a glass of water. Mum went on for two whole weeks about how flavourless the food was, how our potatoes could have done with just a smidgeon of the grease to get us through. It wasn't over until Dad came back with a whole pound of bacon that he put in front of Mum, asking if he would now get early release from his prison sentence. So when the curtains stayed up for more than four weeks, we both agreed that the bet was off.