The CD music began as the train pulled into the Station,
“Ka…..lin….ka, Ka….lin….ka”
A small group had assembled. Middle Aged, earnest, smartly dressed. Another group were a few paces away. Adolescent. Disinterested. Yawning. Wearing cod military uniforms and fur hats. Big ones. Very furry.
The carriage door opened and a man the worse for drink stood in the opening. He was heavy-set with ursine features that if sober may have given the appearance of steely determination. He tottered with the balance unavailable to the sober, mumbled something to himself and giggled before falling face first onto the platform.
The tones of Mother Russia continued to fill the air.
“Ka…..lin….ka, Ka….lin….ka……..”
The undernourished teens began to perform a weak limbed Cossack dance. Squatting on haunches. Right legs flung forward. Pulled back. Left legs flung forward. Pulled back. Very large furry hats slipping over sallow eyes. Fall over. Repeat.
“Kalinka. Kalinka……” the tempo of the music increased, the dancing became more chaotic and decidedly weak ankled. Blood seeped from the prone drunks mouth.
The troupe stumbled and slipped to the far end of the platform and lemming like fell off in the gorse abyss that lay beyond.
“Kalinka -Kalinka-Kalinka-Moya!”
The song continued in its Cyrillic glory whilst the group of furry hatted urchins did battle with the undergrowth.
Silence. Traffic could be heard in the background. That and the drunk man’s incoherent cedilla laden ramblings. There was unease amongst the crowd. A woman stepped forward, crouched down and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Mr Gordyetski - on behalf of the Stonehouse Friends Of Russia Group, may I welcome you…….I think he needs an ambulance.”
As the group of woebegone Dancers finally clambered onto the platform, it was common for all to see that their number had swollen by one. A Zulu warrior carrying shield and spear.
“I knew we were one short when they fell off the platform last year,” a voice muttered.
The same voice spoke again. “Lads, could you just check to see if there is a Morris Dancer lurking in the undergrowth. And a bloke in Lederhosen. Cheers.”
Hope you enjoyed the story – here is a rousing version of Kalinka
And here is some amazing Red Army Cossacky type dancing (A young Oily George is playing the accordion)
