The next scene we are filming is based on this piece of writing and we need a Cossack dancer!! Do you know one? If you fancy being in this scene then let William Fairbank know!
''We were directed to the local night-club though Manchuli did not seem to be the sort of place where one would expect to find glittering night-life. But the Siberia of those days was a place of many surprises, and, sure enough, we found ourselves peering into a large, smoke-filled room, filled with Russian officers and their lady friends, listening and dancing to a first-class tzigane, or gypsy, orchestra.
As we entered, a fine-looking cavalry colonel jumped to his feet and said: “ English, I do believe. Please join me at my table,” which we did. It was a cheerful party. The Russians, anyhow in the old days, really know how to enjoy themselves. Vodka flowed and the small dance floor resounded to the stamp of feet and the jingle of spurs as the dancing became more and more uproarious. The only drawback was that I happened to be the only one of our party who could speak the language, and as the Russians could speak now English I was kept busy interpreting.
Then suddenly, after several loud chards, the band broke into some special tune and everybody jumped to his feet. We of course followed suit, but our host begged us to be seated, as we were his guests. So down we sat; the only people in the whole place sitting down, two gypsy girls, and three British officers. We all felt rather embarrassed, but what could we do?
Our embarrassment increased when a swarthy Cossack colonel approached our table. He was a magnificent figure in a wonderful furry cap, long coat with flared skirt girdled with a belt complete with revolver and small knives, while on his legs were the most beautiful long, black riding boots I have ever seen – with enormous spurs which jingled at each step.
“Get up,” he shouted. But as his manner was extremely insolent we had no intention of doing so. Our host, the cavalry colonel, leant forward and slapped him smartly across the face saying, “These are my guest and will remain seated, you Cossack dog.”
Then the fun really stared and the whole place collected round our table. Our host turned to me, bowed, and said, “Will your honour me by acting as my second in a duel which I now propose to fight with this Cossack?”
“Delighted,” I replied, though I had not the faintest idea what I was supposed to do. However, at this critical moment a posse of Russian military police, who must have been sent for by the manger, dashed in and we were all arrested and conducted into private rooms where a court of inquiry was to be held – two Russian colonels, two girls and three British officers.
Feeling that the moment had come when I had better step in and try to retrieve the situation, I advanced to the centre of the room and delivered an impassioned speech in broken Russian to the effect that we had come all the way from England to help the Russians, and now, right at the start, thanks to our ignorance of their customs, we had caused this terrible quarrel to break out between two distinguished officers from the Russian cavalry and the Cossaks, both of whom were renowned throughout the world for their bravery and skill at war.
The effect was magical! I was immediately embraced by both colonels who, I strongly suspect, were by this time delighted to accept a painless solution to the quarrel. It turned out that the particular tune which had caused all the trouble was the national anthem of the local Cossack chieftain, a certain colourful Ottaman Semenov, who was all-powerful in this part of the world. He lived in a magnificent railway train with an attractive blonde whom we all called Marusia.
Anyhow, the Cossak now insisted on joining our party and, as the troops would say, “A good time was had by all” – until the early hours of the morning. Then three slightly bemused young officers hours of the morning. Then three slightly bemused young officers returned to their train in Manchuli station, to find that there also the night had not been without incident.''We were directed to the local night-club though Manchuli did not seem to be the sort of place where one would expect to find glittering night-life. But the Siberia of those days was a place of many surprises, and, sure enough, we found ourselves peering into a large, smoke-filled room, filled with Russian officers and their lady friends, listening and dancing to a first-class tzigane, or gypsy, orchestra.
As we entered, a fine-looking cavalry colonel jumped to his feet and said: “ English, I do believe. Please join me at my table,” which we did. It was a cheerful party. The Russians, anyhow in the old days, really know how to enjoy themselves. Vodka flowed and the small dance floor resounded to the stamp of feet and the jingle of spurs as the dancing became more and more uproarious. The only drawback was that I happened to be the only one of our party who could speak the language, and as the Russians could speak now English I was kept busy interpreting.
Then suddenly, after several loud chards, the band broke into some special tune and everybody jumped to his feet. We of course followed suit, but our host begged us to be seated, as we were his guests. So down we sat; the only people in the whole place sitting down, two gypsy girls, and three British officers. We all felt rather embarrassed, but what could we do?
Our embarrassment increased when a swarthy Cossack colonel approached our table. He was a magnificent figure in a wonderful furry cap, long coat with flared skirt girdled with a belt complete with revolver and small knives, while on his legs were the most beautiful long, black riding boots I have ever seen – with enormous spurs which jingled at each step.
“Get up,” he shouted. But as his manner was extremely insolent we had no intention of doing so. Our host, the cavalry colonel, leant forward and slapped him smartly across the face saying, “These are my guest and will remain seated, you Cossack dog.”
Then the fun really stared and the whole place collected round our table. Our host turned to me, bowed, and said, “Will your honour me by acting as my second in a duel which I now propose to fight with this Cossack?”
“Delighted,” I replied, though I had not the faintest idea what I was supposed to do. However, at this critical moment a posse of Russian military police, who must have been sent for by the manger, dashed in and we were all arrested and conducted into private rooms where a court of inquiry was to be held – two Russian colonels, two girls and three British officers.
Feeling that the moment had come when I had better step in and try to retrieve the situation, I advanced to the centre of the room and delivered an impassioned speech in broken Russian to the effect that we had come all the way from England to help the Russians, and now, right at the start, thanks to our ignorance of their customs, we had caused this terrible quarrel to break out between two distinguished officers from the Russian cavalry and the Cossaks, both of whom were renowned throughout the world for their bravery and skill at war.
The effect was magical! I was immediately embraced by both colonels who, I strongly suspect, were by this time delighted to accept a painless solution to the quarrel. It turned out that the particular tune which had caused all the trouble was the national anthem of the local Cossack chieftain, a certain colourful Ottaman Semenov, who was all-powerful in this part of the world. He lived in a magnificent railway train with an attractive blonde whom we all called Marusia.
Anyhow, the Cossak now insisted on joining our party and, as the troops would say, “A good time was had by all” – until the early hours of the morning. Then three slightly bemused young officers hours of the morning. Then three slightly bemused young officers returned to their train in Manchuli station, to find that there also the night had not been without incident."
