London for ever - 21

I also liked the English for  the vein of pride that made them feel united in the name of the queen or the homeland, or even more simply of the land where they were born, and even earlier, in the name of their their ancestors; or the simple and spontaneous transport with which they stood up to sing the national anthem or a popular song at  the last glass of the Cockney Pride, when the three ringing of bells closed the time of the drinking stir until the next morning .

Leicester Square was a favorable attraction and an ideal stage for an innumerable series of improvised artists but no less skilled and entertaining than many self-styled professionals of the show: mimes, jugglers, singers, dancers and show-men with different characteristics .

One of these was "Uncle Fred", an old man who owed his name to the skill with which he performed the "tip-tap" dance, from the those times best world skilled  tip-tap dancer Fred Astaire.

Uncle Fred's "performance" was performed in an improvised clearing, just a stone's throw away from my post. The octogenarian  slim man  placed on the ground a metal display of theatrical billboards that, appropriately deprived of the supporting rod, served as a platform for his skillful and fast dance. And just as skilled and fast, the same old man, immediately after his dance, passed with his hat for the offers. And he never failed to withdraw it full of coins.

One day I realized that "Uncle Fred" had to act with the help of a lookout supporting man, because once  I saw him  suddenly leave his thick crossroads of extemporaneous spectators (which invariably formed recalled by the sound rhythm of his dance steps), and headed out towards me, mimicking with rapid gestures of the right hand, the request for a drink.

He just raised his eyes from the glass of orange juice, which I had promptly offered, to the passage of a round of bobbies that, bewildered and suspicious, watched that group of spectators waving around that  metal sign paved senseless on the ground.

"Uncle Fred", on that occasion, told me about how, a provincial dancer, he had tried without luck the great jump in the capital. Not being ready to lick anyone's ass, he had remained anonymous. And when he told me his age, I wanted to ask him the secret of his surprising agility; he confessed that he was in good shape with a breakfast of tea, ham, buttered toasts and boiled egg, without any alcohol nor smoke.

I did not have time to ask him anything else because he turned away, after giving me an affectionate and light nudge of understanding, leaving me with that empty glass in my hand, thinking about how life jerks us, between alternating fortunes, driven by an unstoppable,  mysterious and distant force.

21. to be continued...