Fit an excitement. One of my favourite places in all the world has just been reborn.
According to the EE, the latest UK craze of daytime discos for the over-30s has hit Aberdeen big time. Dedicated, albeit ageing, boppers are flocking to the newly launched events at Aura nightclub in Bridge Place. AKA to veteran city duncers as The Palace.
Oh, What a (Saturday) Night was there every week during the 1960s and 1970s. And, oh, the delight to see it crammed wi’ boppin’ bodies again, especially with jivers fae juniors to OAPs. An inspired idea: upstairs, the hits of the 1990s; ground floor, the 1970s and 1980s. Man, no wonder the EE reporter came upon a wifie celebrating her 70th birthday.
All they need now to make the venue absolutely perfect is another level to showcase music’s best era of all time – the 1960s. The Beatles. Motown. The tracks of our joy and tears.
I suspect onybody into their 70s and aye-gan-strong 80s will hae their ain magic-moment memories aboot The Palace. Queueing up on a Saturday afternoon for tickets at night. Under-18, we’d chunce a nervous vodka and orange in The Hay Loft, even though we loathed the taste.
Into the lacquer-fugged ladies’ to finish aff the backcombing or, as mony quines did, finally tak oot their rollers. Heids a bit like motorbike helmets, and certainly of the same texture, thick, black eyeliner, mini-dresses up to oor doups, oot to the dancefleer to tempt Aberdeen’s top knacky-dockies – as we ca’d them. Sexism? Niver heard o’ it.
Brilliant live band, singers, then the chart-toppers led by a DJ. Girls would link arms and sashay in a circle roon the dancefloor. Ye gods, when you think of it now. Literally settin’ oot oor charms, yet that niver occurred to us. The loons eyein’ us up.
The music changed. Gadgies would move in on their “traps”. The rest of us – still single and standin’ – would form disappointed-but-ever-optimistic circles roon oor handbags.
Nae clicked wi’ a Romeo? Tank up to Union Terrace to catch the last bussie hame.
A place where lots of love stories began
For mony o’ my pals, The Palace was the start of a major – and still-enduring – love affair. Like Mike and Pat. He asked her up. She met him under the clock at midnight. They’re still happily together more than 50 years on.
My best pal was such a looker, she was never aff the fleer – regularly asked up by one of the Dons’ stars, who schmoozed the place. One night, she ended up gan hame wi’ the James Bond lookalikie we aye spotted in the window swannin’ himsellie far he worked at Hector Powe at the top o’ Union Street.
Then there was that Palace dreaded double-date. My pal left wi’ the mate of my guy. (Nae onything like the song.) They turned oot to be truly the worst Likely Lads in toon. Both reckoned they were Erchies.
She ended with a love bite she slavered in panstick for days, until her mum spotted it and went feel. And I had a major struggle to get his wanderin’ hands-mate oot the lobby of my front door. Happy Palace days.
Moreen Simpson is a former assistant editor of the Evening Express and The Press and Journal, and started her journalism career in 1970
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