On the cooling clear night of the Autumn Equinox see the headlights come through the railway gates, rock up then down over the line, park in the circled cars around the School of Arts hall, counter the full moon caught in the wires above then wink out, doors slamming, shouting, the little family parade to the door, children peel off to run in the dark, fathers, greetings, the low talk, sullen teenage youths with Johnny Cash quiffs and a curl on the lip, inside the wives and mothers unwrap tea-towels and compete in the preparation of food, the old men in hot black and grey and brown forties Sunday suits shaking flakes on the floor for the dancers.  Mrs. McCallum’s dance band fires up on the stage under the streamers, accordion, saxophone, ten-year old drummer, and Mrs. McCallum herself playing the standards stride-style strict time, “Red Sails in the Sunset” and “Sentimental Journey” for the barn dance, the waltzes, the Pride of Erin, hot fat farmgirls upholstered to the gills and packed into pink and green party dresses, hankies clutched in the right hand to mop the sweat, younger boys in school shoes and white socks swung outa control outa their weight class till they learn the steps, and the older couples full of grace, balanced and sailing like ships of the line outa the circle and down the centre of the hall.  The long tables on trestles for supper groaning thanks and plenty under God, and outside the youths smoking, talking rock‘n’roll motorbikes and cars, drinking, sometimes a fight in the dark broken up by the older men, the women patch the wounded and disapprove and thrill at the gossip and the feud and after midnight the fathers are dragged belching silently out to their cars where the children have been wrapped and sleeping in the backseat for the long drive home, the miles of country lanes to the farmhouse, cold, dark and quiet, waiting by the creek.