I’d heard about her, the in-famous “Grace” and when I saw her on the dance floor, I knew we would just click. I was barely eighteen and she in her late sixties. Her past and my future would never be the same. But moments with her would be real.

All anyone spoke about was “the wedding.” The youngest daughter of a certain well-established family was getting married. Invitations were sent out to family, friends, acquaintance’s and friends of friends, I fell into the latter. The reception was to take place in the lavish gardens of their home, under the oaks and tucked away under the eaves of an elite suburb.

I counted on those friends who had something elegant hanging in their cupboard. Slipping into a comfortable light floral dress and twirling around in-front of the full-length mirror I was happy with my suitably classy look.

We drove in silence, that evening under the falling autumn oak leaves with our modest wedding gift in the backseat. I knew how much he hated these family events. We turned into a long driveway, the tires crunching on gravel as the sprawling house lit up like a Christmas tree came into view.

We were warmly welcomed in the foyer and relieved of any coats. The walls on the entrance hall were filled with photographs of happy family events mingled with famous movie stars. Our heals dug into the thick carpeting as we made our way into a large foyer, following the other guest out into the gardens.

Standing in a row were chef’s in their tall white hats and neat white uniforms, roasting their skewered dead animals on spites.

A large marquee tent that would easily have housed two Boswell Circus events, stood with its gaping flaps open, welcoming everyone under its white dome. Everything smelt of grandeur, status, luxury and opulence. Having never experienced this before, an elastic band around my head propping my jaw up might have helped.

We toasted the couple’s happiness, grateful that for once I was unaware of bright red lipstick smiles, laced with cynical acid drops doing the usual gossip rounds. I was too preoccupied in the luxury that surrounded me, and my efforts to at least look like I fitted right in.With all the toasts and speech’s over, a live band sprang to life filling the tent with music. I was complete unaware of any Jewish roots within either families, but there they were bouncing in the air on chairs. The guests joined in and soon there was a swirl color and on the dance floor.

It was then that I spotted this woman. Slender tall and with a mop neatly bundled red hair. She seemed to be looking down at something on the side of her dress. Every now and again she’d walk up to a man with her hand out and they’d both be looking down at her thigh. The men would laugh awkwardly and either walk away or stick around for a dance. Nudging my date with my elbow I pointed in her direction, his immediate reaction was to laugh and cover his eyes with his hand. Dragging my unwilling date by the arm, I made for the dance floor.

Leading the dance, I steered us in the direction of the infamous, now discovered, Aunty Dis-Grace. On closer inspection I saw she was holding onto a long piece of string attached to the side of her dress. Then I saw it, a man was walking across the dance floor probably heading for the drinks bar, when she pounced on him. Before he knew what was happening he was holding onto the piece of string she pushed into his hand. Sliding her body sideways the man could see the string was tied around the neck of a golden poodle brooch, perched dangerously high above the slit on her thigh. Fluttering her long dark lashes under that mop of red curls, she smiled at him “would you like to take my poodle for a walk?”. I was in stitches, what the… She was old enough to be my grandmother.

Having caught my eye, she gave me a great big wink. Laughter followed her everywhere.

She left a legacy of smiles, laughter and tales that would make a sailor blush, long after she she said her final farewell.

She was a light in many people’s lives, unless of course it was your husbands’ eyes.