The last waltz

they have been doing for the past

76 years. But I wonder for how much longer.

In brave defiance of a world which would sweep them into obscurity, there is still the tail-end of a generation which knew ballroom dancing as the most popular form of relaxation, engaging the energies of the young every bit as much as the discos and nocturnal raves of today.

But the tempos of music, which tend to reflect the tempos of life in general, have changed from the slow-slow-quick-quick-slow of a more melodic and sophisticated age into the thump-and-dunt of a monotone which seems to do no more than provide a rhythmic base for the drug-ridden reveries of late night escape.

So the days of ballroom dancing began to decline with the advent of rock'n'roll until the dancehalls which could once be counted in thousands around the country were little more than a distant memory.

For several years now, the dear old Plaza, at Eglinton Toll, Glasgow, has been the last survivor - the only commercial ballroom left in the whole of Scotland. Of course there are tea-dances and little clubs here and there, but no longer the vast expanse of a floor where you could stride out to the rhythms of a Victor Sylvester or a visiting Joe Loss and his orchestra or the resident tones of Jack Chapman's band.

So the Plaza of a Saturday night takes on a special significance these days, a remnant of social history portrayed by 150 dancers of an older generation, including Farquhar MacRae, once manager of

the Berkeley dancehall in Glasgow and still cutting a fine figure at the age of 93.

But those dancing days may soon be over for good. For several years now their survival at the Plaza has depended on the subsidising effect of the late-night discos. As those elderly couples departed at 11pm they were making way for queues of youngsters who would soon be jumping the night away in less decorous fashion. The dancehall had become a nightclub in the

modern manner, catering for upwards of 500 people until three o'clock in the morning.

But now the police have called a halt to all that. When the city's licensing board studied details of slashings, stabbings, and drug

abuse at the Plaza, it promptly

withdrew the late-night extension. The doors would have to be closed at 11pm, just as the ballroom generation went home.

That was not a viable proposition for Scottish & Newcastle, which bought the ballroom as part of a bigger deal in 1993 - and now it has put it on the market.

Whoever buys the famous old hall - and for whatever purpose - will determine the fate of ballroom dancing in Glasgow.

The fact that it has survived towards the new century was due largely to one dedicated man,

Adam Sharp, a native of Banff

who was assistant manager of the Beach ballroom in Aberdeen before taking over as boss of the Plaza in 1952. For the next 40 years he mixed the activities in a manner which extended the life of his favourite pastime, in which he himself was once a champion.

Until recent times, the decor of the Plaza was virtually unchanged in style from its origins in 1922. But the pastel shades of art-deco days gave way to the gloomier colours of disco land. The famous old fountain, once the focal point of the dancehall, was jumped upon by late-night ravers who sent it down through the floor.

The ballroom generation could not believe the vandalism and tastelessness of their successors, to whom respect for property and other people's feelings seemed to be an old-fashioned concept.

But they have danced on courageously to the music of Manni Ferri and his band, recalling better times. Those were days when you turned up in evening dress, enjoyed a

buffet supper for five shillings, and could hire a dance hostess for sixpence a time.

They would recall a dozen major dancehalls in Glasgow alone and the bands which were synonymous with each one. There was no more famous name in the city than Jack Chapman, for 25 years the resident leader at the Albert in Bath Street.

In the 1950s Chapman moved over to the Plaza and had another

10 years of strict tempo before retiring to teach music in Renfrewshire. He died in Grantown-on-Spey 10 years ago. Adam Sharp passed on last year - and now the graceful art of which they were connoisseurs and devotees is under threat of a similar fate.

In a vastly changing world, the new owners of a great Glasgow institution will have the last word on the last waltz.