Petronella
Duple proper

A1	Actives spin clockwise to their right to end facing one another in the center of the set, gent facing up and lady facing down (4); meanwhile the twos slide up the set a bit so that they can take hands four with the actives in a "diamond" shape (this also happens during the first 4 counts); all balance (4) Drop hands and all four repeat the spin, the ones now moving into the spot originally occupied by their partner while the twos end in the center of the set with the gent facing up and the lady down (4); take hands and balance again (4)
A2	Repeat twice more so that the actives end where they began and the twos are in the middle of the set (they must step or spin out of the way at the beginning of B1 to allow the actives to go down the center)
B1	Actives down the center, turn alone Return and cast off proper
B2	Right and left through, across and back

Petronella has special meaning for me, because it is the first contra dance that I can remember doing. Two common variations of the version above deserve mention. In one (the "Vermont" version) the balance comes first and then the spin to the right, and this has become the more common version of the Petronella figure in newer dances that borrow it. Another version, a bit easier than the one above, starts with taking hands four from starting positions (a "ring," not a "diamond") and the balance and spin sequence is done, with all four dancers, four times through from there.

In the older, purer version of Petronella only couple one does the spinning and balancing. This means that if you are a second couple, you spend much of the dance admiring the ones as you wait for your turn in the spotlight. An enterprising dancer can consider this a learning opportunity and take mental notes on others' fancy, hotshot balances; many just spend the time enjoying the music, movement and ambience around them.

The version above first appeared in the early 1970s, when I was a relative newcomer at contra dances in Massachusetts and southern New Hampshire. I began to notice that some number two dancers would magically insinuate themselves into the balances, often with a rascally gleam in their eyes. This was quite surprising at the time, and would often elicit a startled reaction from the ones. The practice proved highly contagious, and my impression as a new dancer was that the adaptation (dubbed "Citronella" by Dudley Laufman, who watched the change happen at his dances) had given the old dance a new lease on life. But many older dancers despised this alteration to their beloved "Pat'nella" (pronounced in the local dialect like two women's names). They regretted the loss of what the earlier version was "all about," namely an opportunity for the actives to put their finest and most individual balances on display.

Dance contagion is a powerful force, so much so that I find myself hesitant to mention the now infamous Petronella Clap, I have the impression that its use is on the decline in some venues, and perhaps (as with the kisses in Rory O'More) the less said the better. However, it is an important part of Petronella's recent history, so here is the story as it was told to me. Steve Gold, a Detroit area dancer, believes that he may have been the originator of the practice of clapping while dancing Petronella. He says that after attending a hambone workshop with Steve Hickman he figured out how to recreate the entire tune, "Petronella," using only his hands. He began doing this at dances in Detroit in the 1980s, where Petronella was a favorite dance, whenever he danced it as a second gent. Most of the other dancers could not keep up with him, but many were inspired to join in for the last two or three claps.

Whether it started with Steve or some other anonymous but enthusiastic dancer, the "clap-clap" after the spin had clearly escaped Michigan by the early 1990s. It proved unusually contagious (some have called it a "social disease") and caught on like cell phones. Like the Citronella balances before it, The Clap has generated both great enthusiasm and substantial resistance, and it remains the source of considerable controversy. Some people love the clapping for its accessibility and the way it creates a sense of spirited participation. Others find it gimmicky and unattractive, saying that it erodes physical connection and makes it harder to hear the band. Sadly, the debate often takes on an antagonistic tone. While personally not fond of the clap-clap, I usually find the tenor of the debate more unsettling than the clapping itself. Interestingly, many of The Clap's biggest detractors are dancers of my generation. Perhaps we are getting our come-uppance for what we did with our Citronella balances.

I believe that the first dance in which the Petronella figure was reapplied in a new context was Simple Gifts, written in 1974 by Heidi Stridde. In 1983, Ted Sannella also borrowed the Petronella figure, for a masterpiece called Fiddleheads. Far ahead of his time, Ted had the active dancers continue to turn a little more after their second balance until they spun right into their partner's arms for a swing. Since then, dozens and dozens of wonderful dances have been created that use Petronella's spins and balances in all sorts of creative ways. Indeed, many dancers regard this action as the quintessential modern, zesty move. If you are interested, check out my list of recent Petronella-influenced dances. Even though it is by no means a complete list -- apologies to all those I missed -- it contains over sixty examples. Indeed, Petronella's influence has become so widespread that some callers use "to Petronella" as a verb, or refer to the figure as "a Petronella." (Neither usage is one that the Cracking Chestnuts column endorses!)

Traditionally many tunes have been used for the dance Petronella, including "The Girl I Left Behind Me" and "Finnegan's Wake." The tune "Green Mountain Petronella," not surprisingly, seems to fit the Vermont version of the dance especially well. But the tune simply named "Petronella" is one I find to be utterly delightful. It also seems to offer many opportunities for clever musicians to experiment playfully with the music. I have heard it played with harmonies that range from the intricate to the bizarre, empty spaces for the balances, and all sorts of odd instrumentation (slide whistles, nose flutes, siren whistles and what have you). One memorable night I heard David Kaynor warn the dancers, "You can clap if you want to, but you do so at your own risk. There is no telling what effect this will have on the band." The dancers did clap, and the band responded (under David's careful direction) by messing with the rhythm: changing time signatures or adding and subtracting beats in mock retaliation.

For all of the controversy it seems to have created, Petronella, with its unique spins, its beautiful architecture, and the regular and repeated balancing in the A-parts, is the kind of dance that can pull a crowd together like few others. Try it out; you will be enchanted by its magic.