I was reminded the other day about something my grandmother (Gladys Hanchet) did. The trigger was the name ‘Fred Astaire’ who for many years in the thirties and forties was a huge star, still a household name. He was clean cut and elegant and his dancing was some of the best in the business. He was suave, he was debonair. Nana loved him.

In 1942 as the second world war raged, Nana went to see the new feature film Holiday Inn starring Fred Astaire and Bing Crosby with music by Irving Berlin. This is the movie that introduced White Christmas. Huge mass appeal. Not for my Nana. Nana took exception to the scene in which Fred Astaire’s character appears drunk. My Nana went home in a tizzy and fired off a letter to the head of Paramount pictures expressing her distaste for the scene and her disbelief that Fred Astaire would ever, EVER overindulge, let alone divulge it onscreen.

My Nana was barely 4 foot eight inches, but she was pretty fierce in her convictions, also, evidently, naive. I remember this story of her indignance fondly. I don’t know if the head of Paramount ever responded, or if anything came of her action other than enter into family lore and, I suppose, this blog entry.