Country Dancers of Westchester: A History

Fried de Metz Herman was a petite, peppery Dutch woman, who would often lapse into her native tongue. The she first time she taught a figure that she eventually called a ‘meander,’ she said something in Dutch. Seeing the perplexity in the dancers’ faces, she promptly translated: “goose march.” When a dance tune had lyrics in Dutch, she sang along in a light, clear soprano.

Fried was expert in both English and Scottish country. She was certified as instructor in both traditions with knowledge broad, deep, and practical. Herself an elegant dancer, she labored tirelessly to lead us to the highest level of English style that we were capable of achieving.

In her own dancing, Fried could be very mischievous, throwing in a great variety of movements beyond the formal choreography--but only if they did not intrude on the space of other dancers. At the same time, she could put strict curbs on us if we did not meet her standards of invention. “Don’t twiddle” is a command engraved in our collective memory.

Fried’s greatest legacy is the publication of a large collection of English country dances, most of her own composing, and the rest revived and interpreted by her. Near the end of her life she finished a major work, Serendipity, which is still available for purchase.

With grace and charm covering a steel backbone, Christine Krehbiel Helwig was the great enabler among our founders. Christine had honed those politically useful qualities in a long public career ending as supervisor of the Town of Mamaroneck, which contains the Village of Larchmont. Her connections gained CDW its first dance space in the Playhouse at Flint Park, Larchmont. Very likely, it was she who persuaded Phil to be the musician for our newly forming group. As a dance leader, her forte was to make each person feel as though she cared about that one very deeply.

Christine also arranged public performances by members of CDW.

Through rehearsal for performance, the dancers enhanced their skills and established a firm repertoire. She did the same for Country Dance New York. Her managerial role in country dance seemed without limit. She served on the Executive Committee of CDSS, the national country dance society, where contributions included assisting in CDSS’s successful campaign to establish Pinewoods Camp, Inc (PCI) — an organization which went on to purchase Pinewoods Camp in Plymouth, MA, where many dancers, leaders and musicians sharpen their skills during summer vacations and have a roaring good time.

Over the years, Christine developed a keen interest in historical dance. With violinist Marshall Barron she published two books on 17th century country dance: Thomas Bray’s Country Dances 1699 and Purcell, Playford and the English Country Dance. In her final years she began a collaboration with other history buffs to write another work on early English country dance but it was not to be.

Phillip Merrill studied at the Eastman School of Music where one of the tenets of his training was that a good musician must have dance experience. Instead of the ordinary gym periods of ordinary schools, Eastman had English folk dancing. Phil quickly became an accomplished country, morris and sword dancer.

At the age of 22, Phil connected with the Country Dance and Song Society to remain for the rest of his life, ending as the society’s music director. He became renowned for the irresistible pulse of his music and his skillful variation and improvisation. Few knew that those abilities were handy in a job as piano accompanist for silent films which required swift adaptation of moods and tempo to events on the screen.

At times Phil would emerge from his role as dance musician and teach dances in his inimitable crisp, clear style. His standards for dance and music were high. He did not accept behavior that worked against those standards. One of his great peeves was the monotonous heavy clapping at the downbeat of each bar that some dance groups engaged in. He felt this destroyed the lilt of the music and the airy style of English dance. When the crowd got too raucous, he would stop playing, fold his hands in his lap and swivel on the bench to stare at the miscreants. A swift hush followed. Without a word, he then resumed playing.

Whatever he did, he did with panache.