The 51 Club

From down the hall, in the kitchen, comes the banjo beat of Himself’s jazz tape.
He is totally enthused now, having had a good jamming session last Wednesday, and a visit to hear another New Orleans Jazz band yesterday down at the pub in Hayle.

You walk into the Smugglers and it’s like stepping into a time warp. A secret club. This is the 51 Club, which has been running for over 30 years by New Orleans jazz enthusiasts for like minded people. They have a raffle every week and you pay £3 towards the cost of hiring a different band every week.

As we walked in, we were greeted effusively by everyone, the average age range being late sixties/seventy. It was like walking into a big family party and Mollie was clucked and fussed over. Everyone was smiling, tapping their feet to the thrum thrum of the drums, nodding their heads to the cry of the clarinet.

Behind Himself was a table of regulars (mind you, they’re mostly regulars). A lady in her 80s at a guess, with permed and sprayed hair. She sat, evidently dressed in her best, sipping a tonic water with a straw, a vacant smile on her face. At her feet was a Yorkshire Terrier, only his face visible as he stared out at the crowds with chocolate eyes. At the end of their table was a man eating crisps who must have been at least 90, in a pale blue suit. He waved his arms around as he listened, enjoying himself with the enthusiasm of a child. It was touching to see.

When Viv and I came back, after our walk, it was nearly three hours later and the band was nearly wrapped up. The stage started filling up for the last number, and this elderly audience got to their feet. Viv and I waited, expecting a slow waltz or something similar.

Nota bit of it. They started jiving, and we were amazed by their dexterity, by the way their experienced feet twinkled in and out, by the neat turns and twists. By their smiling, panting faces, joined together in a shared love of racy music and the freedom of dance.

The 51 club is truly an experience.