Here I am probably about 8 years old wearing what I think was a blue tutu. I vaguely remember the excitement of being measured up and later fitted with this.
Just visible in the photo is a large black and white TV with built in speakers. Typical patterned carpet that my parents would have been proud of. We lived relatively comfortably in a semi detached post war house on a Council estate. The sideboard they had from when first married and it remained in that house where our family lived until my parents died within a couple of years of each other. At age not quite 16, I escaped that house and the inevitable narrowness of any life I might have had if I had remained in that locale. Ballet enabled me to do that! Dad loved photography and had he not needed to have a secure income he probably would have chosen that field of work. He took lots of photos of our family and of me in my dance kit at home. He developed and printed his photos in the bathroom for quite a long time. But like the Ford car he bought because he so much wanted to have it, the photo printing equipment ended up having to be sold. The family couldn’t afford such luxuries. I used to love seeing the photos magically appear after being in the developing tank.
I wanted to dance from an early age – any new clothes especially petticoats or dress – would compel me to twirl around. I enjoyed physicality but was never particularly brave. Often daft with the physicality though. Like the time I was dressed in my nurse’s uniform perhaps 6 or 7 years old – jumping off the sofa to see how far I could jump. I landed awkwardly and dislocated my thumb. Mum had to rush me (with no car) to the hospital where the staff could not help laughing at the sight of me.
There was not much if any “spare cash” in our household, so for quite a long time my pleading to go to ballet classes went unmet. But when a girl in my class at school told me that she had quit ballet and wanted to sell her leotard, tights and ballet shoes (which as I recall fitted me) – a conversation with Mum did the trick. I loved it from the outset – everything about ballet classes. The dressing up was wonderful. We didn’t feel deprived – but I don’t know how my parents managed to give us bicycles at Christmas, new clothes, school uniforms etc. I loved the weekly comics from a local shop. And our local library where I would choose the maximum number of books allowed – and would actually read them all. My favourites were fables, folk tales and Science fiction.
I was always excited to be able to get the Ballet annuals for my birthday or Christmas. Divine! I don’t recall seeing any ballet company whilst living with my parents, but I do remember going on the bus with my mother to see the film “The Sound of Music”. Such a treat. I think dance and ballet although I am as fascinated by abstract as by story based works – fits into my love of stories and the world of the imagination.
Attending ballet classes was the best time of the week. Getting into my leotard and tights was sheer pleasure. Girly-ness without being prissy. It was physical, and there were mental challenges along with the learning. The stages of exams determined what colour elastic belt one had to wear, but I forget the colours. It was a bit of a surprise to discover that ballet exams each had technical questionnaires. I still have the little grade exam books – and my report cards from the examiners. The earlier grade exams each had a folk dance to learn – the sailor’s hornpipe might have been Grade IV, the Highland Fling Grade V. And was there an Irish jig?
My lovely teacher Norma Lowe who must have been under 20, in her wisdom entered me for the Cheltenham Festival a couple of years running. That was a terrifying experience. The running order of appearance was random – or perhaps alphabetical. There were different age groups. I must have been in the Under 14s. one festival I had a balletic mime to perform. The thing I was most terrified of, was forgetting the steps. That would be mortifying. So whilst waiting my turn onstage, I would go through the dance over and over again in my head. Something guaranteed to increase anxiety and tension, and more likely to lead to forgetting and a blank. It happened in one of my ballet exams, but the kindly examiner gave me another chance by starting again from the beginning.
Sometimes I would persuade my brother Michael to be my ballet student. We would get a couple of chairs and I would teach him plies in 1st and 2nd position, and tendu. He was a few years younger than me and was quite obliging. I can just about picture him with his spindly weak legs being my ballet pupil. We played together often. A favourite game was going on a trip to the moon – from the cupboard under the stairs. He sat on a small wicker chair and I sat on a normal size chair- the captain of the space craft of course. A map of the earth served for a space map. And we had a torch that had a choice of 3 different colour filters to shine at the map. We would be gone for quite a while on that trip!
When I wasn’t dancing, I spent quite a lot of time being a tom boy. Climbing trees, jumping the brook. And getting up to all kinds of mischief with my pal Susan Tomlins. She was cute and we shared a vivid imagination. Her family were Welsh and lived a short distance from our house. We were pals from infant school to Grammar School. But Susan was a bit brainier than me – and went into 1A whereas I was in 1 alpha – so we drifted apart. Prior to that we were often involved in secretive adventures. We bought some old pots and pans and cutlery – stole a tin of beans from home – and set up a campfire on one occasion.
Not too far away and accessible was Castle Hill and Coopers Hill, which our house had a view of in the distance. We often headed off during the Easter and long summer holiday days in little gangs. But sometimes just the two of us.
There was a big old factory building near to our houses and on Saturdays there was a cinema that showed films suitable for children. We called the cinema the bug hutch. One school holiday or after school, Susan and I were caught climbing up on the roof. Way up high – looking out on the playing field and the houses way down below. A police man took us into an office at the factory and we had already worked out our false names and addresses!! Not exactly delinquent, just rather naughty girls.
Susan told me one day that she was able to communicate with all animals because she spoke their language. And if I met her at midnight at the foot of Castle Hill – she would take me in a goat chariot and I would be able to see what she said was true. I tried to figure out how I was going to creep out of the house at night without my parents or siblings waking. I offered to make everyone a cup of tea before bed time (strange behaviour for me). And stirred in some aspirin, but it wouldn’t dissolve. I have no idea how old I was – thinking about it now all these years later. I put an alarm clock into one of the drawers of our chest of drawers (I shared a room with my sister or sisters at the time). Quite how I figured out how to set the alarm or how I imagined that I would hear it go off, without the rest of the family waking – is hard to understand!
Ballet seemed magical to me– all the French terms – piqué , coupé, fouetté tendu en avant, petits battement, grand jeté en tournant. The ballet exams were a trial for me and although I passed up to BBO elementary and got fairly high marks – even an occasional commended – I never felt quite up to the challenge. Pointe work was painfully difficult and I lacked the strength or courage. My fouettés were never going to pass muster! Norma Lowe, my teacher choreographed for the local amateur panto season one year (“Aladdin”). By then I was one of the pupils starting pointe work. I recall a spoken line in the panto “Bring on the dancing girls” and highly inappropriately – onstage I appeared with a few other shorter girls (they were either shorter or more likely not on pointe). I was the gawky one in the middle, on pointe. A rather lovely older girl with long dark hair and sad eyes , Sandra Reynolds, performed an Arabian dance. I can almost picture her costume – baggy pantaloon trousers, cropped bra top and a sequinned veil.
It was always a joy going on the bus to Cheltenham – to the ballet clothes shop. The beautiful salmon pink satin ribbons, the soft salmon pink ankle socks, and the gorgeous leather or satin shoes. The smell of new leather ballet shoes such a sensual delight. To be able to get those things in my hands was addictive. Not just for the smell of the leather, but the feel of the fabrics -intoxicating. Tutus though were only experienced after quite a lot of ballet lessons. Such excitement when the lady came to our house for me to try the new tutu on before her final sewing. The tutu net would be cut to an appropriate length at that stage I think.
Classes were held in a local Church hall in Brockworth (St Georges) – one of those concrete buildings with a large dome shape roof. The building from what I remember was quite large with a proper stage with curtains and a massive wooden floor space. Norma Lowe was my heroine from then on – a young ballet teacher who was really dedicated. She encouraged me and although I think my talent was quite modest – her thorough grasp of technique and sound teaching got me eventually to train in London. One year I was awarded the Norma Lowe trophy for greatest improvement – but the trophy was only mine for a year.
An escape from the narrowness also of provincial life in a pleasant but ultimately dull place. I was driven and meant to explore city life and an artistic adventurous life. Thank goodness.
I remember going to Bristol School of Dancing for a residential summer school – a whole new experience. BSD still exists all these years on. Clifton Suspension Bridge was I think fairly close to the school. Norma Lowe was so kind to me – when I told her that my parents couldn’t afford that – she said that if I helped her with the younger girls ballet classes on Saturdays she would make sure I got to go to Bristol. Sleeping in a dormitory for the first time with other ballet girls was exciting – chatting after classes at bedtime and falling asleep in a strange new place. Returning home I took with me a couple of small green ceramic pixie ornaments as a gift for my mother.
I passed an audition age 14 for Arts Educational, and a year later at Rambert School of Ballet. I was ecstatic. Until the local education authority required me to also audition for an elderly local ballet teacher. Despite passing the Rambert School highly competitive audition – they felt the need to check I was worthy of the non mandatory grant. The result was devastating. The old teacher said she felt that I lacked confidence! Hardly surprising considering the unnecessary audition. I was denied a grant. Being a determined, wilful individual – this was not going to stop me from pursuing my dream if I could possibly help it. My parents had no money to pay the fees – they often struggled to pay the household bills. And they had 3 other children to consider when spending money. My mother’s anxiety every Friday was infectious as I witnessed her receiving Dad’s pay (or what he chose to hand over). Mum used several Basildon Bond envelopes in which she could place money for electricity, life insurance, coal, milkman etc. In those days almost everything was paid to a man (always a man) knocking on the door. Sometimes she would count the money several times to make sure there each bill was ready to be paid.
The story of my rejection for a grant by Gloucester Education Authority made a few little articles in The Citizen and another local paper. To no avail as it would change nothing. I visited the local library and obtained a list of charities and organisations that just might be worth applying to. I don’t know now whether it is true or not, but I‘ve always remembered that I wrote 100 letters! A trust fund in London – the Reynolds Memorial Trust I think it was – invited me for an interview.
I hoarded a great deal of my dance memorabilia, but the letter from the Trust did not survive. Neither did many items I’d love to be able to see again.
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