I wanted to be a ballerina, or failing that, work in Chelsea Girl, and started ballet lessons when I was six years old. I still remember my little white tunic with a pink belt and a pink wrap around ballet cardigan. Ballet was my life. I too twirled around in our tiny living room to my mum’s classical LPs. I knew all the ballets and dancers names. Had ballet annuals and won a ballet Ladybird book for bring third in class, which I still have. We went to watch the ballets at Bristol Hippodrome. They were such a treat. Mum made me tutus and I loved my ballet lessons. My teacher thought I showed promise and encouraged me to have some private lessons. Something my parents could barely afford.
I too attended an audition for the Royal Ballet School. I was just getting over another bout of tonsillitis and was feeling rubbish. It must have been about 1969 or 1970. I remember my feet being measured and my back looked at. I didn’t get in. I was gutted. My mum said it was because I couldn’t do my best because I was still unwell. But it was because I wasn’t good enough and was going to be too short. I never grew beyond 5feet . I carried on with my lessons, but my enthusiasm waned as I became a teenager and I stopped once I started going on points. I hated how painful it was. I think my parents were relieved. No more paying out for lessons. So I never became a ballerina, of worked in Chelsea Girl. Instead I became a nurse. So instead of wearing a leotard or tutu, I wore a uniform instead.
Thanks so much for your comment, Brigitte. Really interesting to read your parallel experiences. I remember trying on pointe shoes in the waiting room at the dance school and thinking, How the heck does anyone cope with this!
The mention of Chelsea Girl takes me back, I loved that shop.
Other people are commenting on your ballet dreams, Wendy, but I'd like to congratulate your ten year old self on the quality of her diary-writing! Truthful, vulnerable, descriptive, unsentimental. Excellent stuff.
Such a poignant story - you in your pumps and everyone else in their pink satin shoes is heart twistingly sad. And that letter - absolutely CLASSIC, harsh British rhetoric. Unbearable. I myself took ballet lesson, tap and jazz but did not yearn to take it further. (Shuffle, hop, step!)
I do recall, that not unlike school uniforms, there were always a few girls who had a far superior version of the required outfit. THEIR tights were definitely never 'crispy' ha! (Oh, how sad I feel for you in so many ways here, Wendy - this is really a story of a fall from innocence and you've captured it perfectly). For me, this piece also re-ignites my first awareness of class structure and the hot cheeks of shame it caused me. (Then - not now, lol!) Really fantastic writing, Wendy.
Thank you so much, Sue. I think you’ve got to the heart of it all in your comment. Feelings of inadequacy, becoming aware of class differences, learning that there is a different way to go about things. Realising that my grubby, crispy tights needed to be washed! (Fair to say, there was a degree of “benign neglect” at home, which I only fully realised once I saw how other people lived.)
And ooh yes, Shuffle, hop, step! There are some basic tap steps which are so ingrained I could still do them now, fifty years later!
I'm going to piggy-back on Sue's comment, because she touched on everything I wanted to. This was such beautiful and poignant writing, and the touching on class structure, and the old diary entries, and the little details, like the crispy tights and the soggy eclair all added so much to it.
It reminded me of a girl, Susan, who I was friends with when I was very young. We went to the same tiny first school, where there was a mix of us poor kids from the council estate and then the rich kids from the other part of the village who would go on to private school. Susan always got the lead roles when we had school plays, because she was such a good dancer. One of the rich kids mums (Mrs Wilkie, who was so lovely) offered to pay for Susan to go to dance lessons or even a dance school, but her parents refused the offer.
Also, I LOVE dancing, but have been told by more than one person throughout my life that I am 'terrible' at it, and have no rhythm. Luckily, this does not deter me, because I don't know of many better tonics than shaking my whole body out to some good music until I sweat.
What a shame that Susan's parents didn't take Mrs Wilkie up on her kind offer. I guess it was pride and "not wanting to accept charity", but it's a good example of the barriers that get in the way of talent and enthusiasm. I wonder what Susan thought?
I'm glad no-one has stopped you dancing, Sarah! We can all find the rhythm!
Gorgeous post, Wendy. I smiled at Carol's soggy eclair—I love the little details and the heartfulness of your journal entries. They're always such amazing little glimmers of the past. It's heartbreaking, imagining you at that age, getting that rejection letter, and of course the stopping of dance lessons during the strikes. There's such a resoluteness in that final entry, and a lack of self-pity, just getting on with it. I. loved that in all these moments you turned to your journal. It seems like you knew early on that you'd be a writer, perhaps?
We never had any hopes of major ballet talent, but our daughter was briefly in a dance class with tutus and tights for very young kids (maybe 3 or 4?) and they had a final recital that my mom happened to be in town for. There were 6 or 7 kids up there, twirling and following along with the routine, and our daughter stood stock still, not frozen, really, but just couldn't be bothered, smiling at the audience, rocking a little on her heels while everyone else around her was doing all the moves. At some point she picked her nose for a while, then just went back to staring happily out at all the grown-ups, wondering what we were all looking at. It's one of my favorite videos of her, and still very representative of someone who is always going to do her own thing.
Thanks for the lovely read, as always. And the story of your granddaughter singing So Long, Farewell is really beautiful and moving. What a way to honor Ian's mom. x
Thank you, Rob. The eclair detail solved a riddle for Carol, who's remembered that soggy eclair her entire life (they still make her queasy!), but she'd forgotten why we were in that café in York on a family outing. I'm very glad now that I was a compulsive diarist, even at junior school! Apart from dance, I always wanted to write.
The memory of your daughter's dance recital is so touching. Being on stage when very young, and the audience (to her) being the spectacle. I loved those innocent moments in my children's early school shows. (None of them took up dance classes, but they enjoyed music and drama.)
The 'So Long' song at the wake came about because The Sound of Music was what Ian's mum was watching on TV when I last visited her in the nursing home. She was enjoying it so much. When I got home, I suggested we watch it as a family, as we'd been trying to agree on a film to suit all ages while the grandchildren were visiting. They were entranced, even the little ones, and sat through the entire movie! My granddaughter kept it a surprise that she'd learned the song. It was such a lovely and apt moment. Then she toured the room asking everyone if they'd enjoyed her performance! No shyness there!
Loved this! That letter.. I did ballet, modern and tap for 10 years - stopped just before my A’levels. Never would’ve pursued it as a career because I just was never amazing at it, but I still love watching ballet.
Thanks, Ren. Yes, re-reading the rejection letter, the language is so “starchy”. I think there’s a lot more outreach these days, with Junior Associate schemes, but you still need to be able to afford lessons in the first place.
Glad you had the chance to train for 10 years. I honestly don’t think you ever forget it, do you? There’s a kind of brain and muscle memory. I learned masses from just those two years of dance school. I think I’d have loved to be a choreographer, as I’ve always made up dances in my head.
True - you never forget! Though I went to an adult ballet class last year and did realise I’m nowhere near as supple or coordinated as I used to be. 😫 I so admire people who can choreograph.
Yep, it’s pity the agility part of it takes constant practice! I’ve done Pilates for years for general strength and suppleness, but obviously it’s nothing like as stretchy or bouncy as ballet.
Thank you, Steven. Haha, yes! What’s a real dancer doing eating cream cakes? I had a passion for chocolate eclairs that almost equaled my passion for ballet!
I’ve inadvertently solved a puzzle for my sister, as she remembered her soggy eclair, but had forgotten why we’d had a family outing to York.
Thanks, Margaret – it’s always wonderful to read about your own experiences, too. It’s sad when you have a dream and never get the chance to even attempt it. Money is so often the clincher, and it seems unfair it should be that way. I’m glad your daughter had the opportunity. I tried nudging my children towards dance, but none of them took it up. Then my 23-year old son said out of the blue last month that he wished he’d had dance lessons. “Well, I only asked you every year for several years,” I said! Anyway, never too late to start. Except, it is (depending on what you want to do). He’s a good mover, anyway :D
You were lucky to see Nureyev. I never did. What did you see Syvie Guillem dance In? I loved every stage of her career. When she shifted from classical to more contemporary dance, she was equally brilliant. And her early years as a gymnast gave her an athleticism and fearlessness that was unusual. I remember seeing her in Romeo and Juliet and in Manon, both of which had choreography where she was flung through the air and she really did soar!
Life is full of ‘I'm sorry to inform you’ moments as a freelance journalist pitching ideas and as a poet sending off poems to competitions and magazines. In fact. I just had a competition one today. I just know it's part of it all and I keep on going.
True, Rose, I think writers have to be hardened to rejection, or go under.
I think how children respond to setbacks depends a lot on the example of adults around them. Luckily I've tended to bounce back (buoyant, a bit like the verdict on my ballet exams!).
Thank you! I had such vivid memories of it and had my diaries, but it was such a gift to re-find the original letters from the ballet school in mum & dad's loft, the photos, that old copy of Dancing Times, and piece it all together.
This was delightful, Wendy and Sylvie Guillem, what a legend. My only attempt at learning to dance was trying half-heartedly and failing utterly to learn ballroom dancing at university.
I'm lucky enough to be able to get to see ballet a few times a year and it's a real source of joy. .
Thanks, Jeffrey. Glad to know you’re a ballet fan and yes, Sylvie Guillem was just extraordinary. Couldn’t take my eyes off her.
I’ve never learnt ballroom dancing properly, either. I’d occasionally dance with my dad if there was some local event going on. My parents were pretty nifty – they met on the dance floor at Butlins!
Loved reading this. I wanted to a ballerina as a child and went to ballet and tap classes but mum didn’t want me doing competitions, so I never got any good parts in shows. I returned to an adult ballet class about ten years ago and I love it.
This resonated so much with me. I was fortunate enough not to stop because of funds but stopped because the sky-high expectations of teachers who saw an opportunity to promote their own business via any success I might have had became too stressful. I was barely out of puberty. I still absolutely love watching ballet but it is forever tinged with “what ifs?”, a bit painful to watch. I’ve also had life-long hang ups about my figure since (surprisingly didn’t when I was dancing other than a fear I’d be too tall when I’d stopped growing). I loved “Don’t Think, Dear” by Alice Robb last year, which encapsulates a lot of what you describe.
Glad it resonated, Nigella, and thank you for sharing something of your own experience. I can appreciate it's bitter sweet to watch ballet.
I'll look up the Alice Robb book you mention – I hadn't heard of it. Thanks for the tip. I remember reading Gelsey Kirkland's hard-hitting 1986 memoir, Dancing On My Grave, about her time with New York City Ballet. That was warts and all.
In recent years I've loved watching contemporary dance, particularly Krystal Pite's works on TV, which mix dance with theatre. Really effective, particularly Betroffenheit, and Revisor.
Great piece, Wendy. I so relate to it! I was a Bunty girl too. I didn’t try for ballet school. My legs were too short and fat, but dancing has always been a passion. I can’t stop myself when the music takes hold! I originally trained as an actress and loved the dancing aspects of this.
Thank you, Emma. Good to know you were a fellow Bunty reader. It was good for my self-confidence. Its young heroines were so “can do”.
Acting and dancing go really well together. Glad you were able to train as an actress. Where did you do your training? I started an English and Drama degree after school, but ditched it after two terms. I enjoyed amateur dramatics, though.
And long live the kitchen disco, which any of us can enjoy!
Loved this so much, thank you! I really, really wanted to dance and still love a kitchen disco - seventies disco and soul my go-to. When I was a teenager in the eighties I loved the community discos that came to Buckingham once a month and would happily spend hours dancing, sometimes on my own. I was completely lacking in confidence, incredibly quiet and shy in all aspects of life, but it all came out on the dance floor. That's when I felt free and like me. I also had decent rhythm and co-ordination and I picked up moves pretty quickly so I didn't feel out of place in the way I did the rest of the time.
I never went to ballet lessons as a child though because all my time after school and at weekends was taken up with violin and piano lessons, orchestra and choir. I auditioned for Chethams School of Music when I was about 12 but I didn't get in. There is of a story behind that audition that I might get round to writing one of these days. I wasn't sorry I didn't get in though because I felt too young to board, and wanted to be at home, even though home was pretty grim at the time.
When I was about eight or nine though, I managed to persuade mum and dad that there was time on a Saturday morning for me to go to the disco dancing classes all my school friends went to before my violin lesson. Dad would drop me off at a hall somewhere in St. Albans and I'd line up with my friends and learn routines to songs like Hands Up by Ottowan. I absolutely loved it, I can't remember when or why I stopped.
Thanks, Harriet and thanks for sharing your own dance and music memories. I’d love to read about the music school audition, when you have time to write about it.
That love of rhythm and expression goes with us through life, so whether we take classes or not as a child, we can tap into it. The disco dancing classes sound great fun! And there’s no barrier to anyone having a disco at home, any time they want. I’m so glad we can all access that!
I’d choose Sylvie Guillem too. She came Australia just before retirement. She was breathtaking, I remember feeling sad that it would be the last time I would see her dance. Like a magnificent bird on its last flight home.
Oh, that’s wonderful that you saw Sylvie Guillem on her farewell tour, too, Lisa, in 2015. A Life In Progress, a collection of different short pieces. Just looked up an article from that time:
Thanks for the link Wendy, I recall reading those at the time. Lovely to revisit them. This is why I appreciate your writing Wendy. You never know where it’s going to take you, but it will be good.
I wanted to be a ballerina, or failing that, work in Chelsea Girl, and started ballet lessons when I was six years old. I still remember my little white tunic with a pink belt and a pink wrap around ballet cardigan. Ballet was my life. I too twirled around in our tiny living room to my mum’s classical LPs. I knew all the ballets and dancers names. Had ballet annuals and won a ballet Ladybird book for bring third in class, which I still have. We went to watch the ballets at Bristol Hippodrome. They were such a treat. Mum made me tutus and I loved my ballet lessons. My teacher thought I showed promise and encouraged me to have some private lessons. Something my parents could barely afford.
I too attended an audition for the Royal Ballet School. I was just getting over another bout of tonsillitis and was feeling rubbish. It must have been about 1969 or 1970. I remember my feet being measured and my back looked at. I didn’t get in. I was gutted. My mum said it was because I couldn’t do my best because I was still unwell. But it was because I wasn’t good enough and was going to be too short. I never grew beyond 5feet . I carried on with my lessons, but my enthusiasm waned as I became a teenager and I stopped once I started going on points. I hated how painful it was. I think my parents were relieved. No more paying out for lessons. So I never became a ballerina, of worked in Chelsea Girl. Instead I became a nurse. So instead of wearing a leotard or tutu, I wore a uniform instead.
Thanks so much for your comment, Brigitte. Really interesting to read your parallel experiences. I remember trying on pointe shoes in the waiting room at the dance school and thinking, How the heck does anyone cope with this!
The mention of Chelsea Girl takes me back, I loved that shop.
Nursing is a very fine profession.
Do you still dance for pleasure?
Other people are commenting on your ballet dreams, Wendy, but I'd like to congratulate your ten year old self on the quality of her diary-writing! Truthful, vulnerable, descriptive, unsentimental. Excellent stuff.
PS I also like the rest of the piece!
Thank you, Gillian!
(I started reading The Last Waltz last night on my Kindle btw. Gripped!)
Aw, thank you so much for reading it.
Such a poignant story - you in your pumps and everyone else in their pink satin shoes is heart twistingly sad. And that letter - absolutely CLASSIC, harsh British rhetoric. Unbearable. I myself took ballet lesson, tap and jazz but did not yearn to take it further. (Shuffle, hop, step!)
I do recall, that not unlike school uniforms, there were always a few girls who had a far superior version of the required outfit. THEIR tights were definitely never 'crispy' ha! (Oh, how sad I feel for you in so many ways here, Wendy - this is really a story of a fall from innocence and you've captured it perfectly). For me, this piece also re-ignites my first awareness of class structure and the hot cheeks of shame it caused me. (Then - not now, lol!) Really fantastic writing, Wendy.
Thank you so much, Sue. I think you’ve got to the heart of it all in your comment. Feelings of inadequacy, becoming aware of class differences, learning that there is a different way to go about things. Realising that my grubby, crispy tights needed to be washed! (Fair to say, there was a degree of “benign neglect” at home, which I only fully realised once I saw how other people lived.)
And ooh yes, Shuffle, hop, step! There are some basic tap steps which are so ingrained I could still do them now, fifty years later!
I'm going to piggy-back on Sue's comment, because she touched on everything I wanted to. This was such beautiful and poignant writing, and the touching on class structure, and the old diary entries, and the little details, like the crispy tights and the soggy eclair all added so much to it.
It reminded me of a girl, Susan, who I was friends with when I was very young. We went to the same tiny first school, where there was a mix of us poor kids from the council estate and then the rich kids from the other part of the village who would go on to private school. Susan always got the lead roles when we had school plays, because she was such a good dancer. One of the rich kids mums (Mrs Wilkie, who was so lovely) offered to pay for Susan to go to dance lessons or even a dance school, but her parents refused the offer.
Also, I LOVE dancing, but have been told by more than one person throughout my life that I am 'terrible' at it, and have no rhythm. Luckily, this does not deter me, because I don't know of many better tonics than shaking my whole body out to some good music until I sweat.
Thank you, Sarah.
What a shame that Susan's parents didn't take Mrs Wilkie up on her kind offer. I guess it was pride and "not wanting to accept charity", but it's a good example of the barriers that get in the way of talent and enthusiasm. I wonder what Susan thought?
I'm glad no-one has stopped you dancing, Sarah! We can all find the rhythm!
Hugs xo
Yes Sue. Those early experiences of 'shame' ....painful.
Gorgeous post, Wendy. I smiled at Carol's soggy eclair—I love the little details and the heartfulness of your journal entries. They're always such amazing little glimmers of the past. It's heartbreaking, imagining you at that age, getting that rejection letter, and of course the stopping of dance lessons during the strikes. There's such a resoluteness in that final entry, and a lack of self-pity, just getting on with it. I. loved that in all these moments you turned to your journal. It seems like you knew early on that you'd be a writer, perhaps?
We never had any hopes of major ballet talent, but our daughter was briefly in a dance class with tutus and tights for very young kids (maybe 3 or 4?) and they had a final recital that my mom happened to be in town for. There were 6 or 7 kids up there, twirling and following along with the routine, and our daughter stood stock still, not frozen, really, but just couldn't be bothered, smiling at the audience, rocking a little on her heels while everyone else around her was doing all the moves. At some point she picked her nose for a while, then just went back to staring happily out at all the grown-ups, wondering what we were all looking at. It's one of my favorite videos of her, and still very representative of someone who is always going to do her own thing.
Thanks for the lovely read, as always. And the story of your granddaughter singing So Long, Farewell is really beautiful and moving. What a way to honor Ian's mom. x
Thank you, Rob. The eclair detail solved a riddle for Carol, who's remembered that soggy eclair her entire life (they still make her queasy!), but she'd forgotten why we were in that café in York on a family outing. I'm very glad now that I was a compulsive diarist, even at junior school! Apart from dance, I always wanted to write.
The memory of your daughter's dance recital is so touching. Being on stage when very young, and the audience (to her) being the spectacle. I loved those innocent moments in my children's early school shows. (None of them took up dance classes, but they enjoyed music and drama.)
The 'So Long' song at the wake came about because The Sound of Music was what Ian's mum was watching on TV when I last visited her in the nursing home. She was enjoying it so much. When I got home, I suggested we watch it as a family, as we'd been trying to agree on a film to suit all ages while the grandchildren were visiting. They were entranced, even the little ones, and sat through the entire movie! My granddaughter kept it a surprise that she'd learned the song. It was such a lovely and apt moment. Then she toured the room asking everyone if they'd enjoyed her performance! No shyness there!
That's just stunning. What an amazing kid. I love the follow-up!
Loved this! That letter.. I did ballet, modern and tap for 10 years - stopped just before my A’levels. Never would’ve pursued it as a career because I just was never amazing at it, but I still love watching ballet.
Thanks, Ren. Yes, re-reading the rejection letter, the language is so “starchy”. I think there’s a lot more outreach these days, with Junior Associate schemes, but you still need to be able to afford lessons in the first place.
Glad you had the chance to train for 10 years. I honestly don’t think you ever forget it, do you? There’s a kind of brain and muscle memory. I learned masses from just those two years of dance school. I think I’d have loved to be a choreographer, as I’ve always made up dances in my head.
True - you never forget! Though I went to an adult ballet class last year and did realise I’m nowhere near as supple or coordinated as I used to be. 😫 I so admire people who can choreograph.
Yep, it’s pity the agility part of it takes constant practice! I’ve done Pilates for years for general strength and suppleness, but obviously it’s nothing like as stretchy or bouncy as ballet.
Another cracker, Wendy. Can't help but think the eclair on the way there sealed your fate. Shouldn't you have been eating tissues! S
Thank you, Steven. Haha, yes! What’s a real dancer doing eating cream cakes? I had a passion for chocolate eclairs that almost equaled my passion for ballet!
I’ve inadvertently solved a puzzle for my sister, as she remembered her soggy eclair, but had forgotten why we’d had a family outing to York.
Oh Wendy. Sometimes I think you’re a sister from another mister.
I can so relate to this. I really wanted to be a ballerina. I loved the book Ballet Shoes by Noel Streatfield.
I never made it to a ballet class. But my daughter did. She danced for ten years and I’m so pleased she got that opportunity.
I saw Sylvia Guillem (the arms!) and Rudolf Nureyev in the very late stages of his career.
A wonderful piece. I’m so glad you got to classes. But yes it is very much about money as to whether you get the opportunities.
I bet you were a lovely dancer. 🩰
Thanks, Margaret – it’s always wonderful to read about your own experiences, too. It’s sad when you have a dream and never get the chance to even attempt it. Money is so often the clincher, and it seems unfair it should be that way. I’m glad your daughter had the opportunity. I tried nudging my children towards dance, but none of them took it up. Then my 23-year old son said out of the blue last month that he wished he’d had dance lessons. “Well, I only asked you every year for several years,” I said! Anyway, never too late to start. Except, it is (depending on what you want to do). He’s a good mover, anyway :D
You were lucky to see Nureyev. I never did. What did you see Syvie Guillem dance In? I loved every stage of her career. When she shifted from classical to more contemporary dance, she was equally brilliant. And her early years as a gymnast gave her an athleticism and fearlessness that was unusual. I remember seeing her in Romeo and Juliet and in Manon, both of which had choreography where she was flung through the air and she really did soar!
Life is full of ‘I'm sorry to inform you’ moments as a freelance journalist pitching ideas and as a poet sending off poems to competitions and magazines. In fact. I just had a competition one today. I just know it's part of it all and I keep on going.
True, Rose, I think writers have to be hardened to rejection, or go under.
I think how children respond to setbacks depends a lot on the example of adults around them. Luckily I've tended to bounce back (buoyant, a bit like the verdict on my ballet exams!).
How I love reading your diary entries Wendy - you took me on a journey with this one, so many wonderful details.
Thank you! I had such vivid memories of it and had my diaries, but it was such a gift to re-find the original letters from the ballet school in mum & dad's loft, the photos, that old copy of Dancing Times, and piece it all together.
This was delightful, Wendy and Sylvie Guillem, what a legend. My only attempt at learning to dance was trying half-heartedly and failing utterly to learn ballroom dancing at university.
I'm lucky enough to be able to get to see ballet a few times a year and it's a real source of joy. .
Thanks, Jeffrey. Glad to know you’re a ballet fan and yes, Sylvie Guillem was just extraordinary. Couldn’t take my eyes off her.
I’ve never learnt ballroom dancing properly, either. I’d occasionally dance with my dad if there was some local event going on. My parents were pretty nifty – they met on the dance floor at Butlins!
Loved reading this. I wanted to a ballerina as a child and went to ballet and tap classes but mum didn’t want me doing competitions, so I never got any good parts in shows. I returned to an adult ballet class about ten years ago and I love it.
Thanks so much, Helen. Really glad you returned to dancing as an adult.
This resonated so much with me. I was fortunate enough not to stop because of funds but stopped because the sky-high expectations of teachers who saw an opportunity to promote their own business via any success I might have had became too stressful. I was barely out of puberty. I still absolutely love watching ballet but it is forever tinged with “what ifs?”, a bit painful to watch. I’ve also had life-long hang ups about my figure since (surprisingly didn’t when I was dancing other than a fear I’d be too tall when I’d stopped growing). I loved “Don’t Think, Dear” by Alice Robb last year, which encapsulates a lot of what you describe.
Glad it resonated, Nigella, and thank you for sharing something of your own experience. I can appreciate it's bitter sweet to watch ballet.
I'll look up the Alice Robb book you mention – I hadn't heard of it. Thanks for the tip. I remember reading Gelsey Kirkland's hard-hitting 1986 memoir, Dancing On My Grave, about her time with New York City Ballet. That was warts and all.
In recent years I've loved watching contemporary dance, particularly Krystal Pite's works on TV, which mix dance with theatre. Really effective, particularly Betroffenheit, and Revisor.
Great piece, Wendy. I so relate to it! I was a Bunty girl too. I didn’t try for ballet school. My legs were too short and fat, but dancing has always been a passion. I can’t stop myself when the music takes hold! I originally trained as an actress and loved the dancing aspects of this.
Thank you, Emma. Good to know you were a fellow Bunty reader. It was good for my self-confidence. Its young heroines were so “can do”.
Acting and dancing go really well together. Glad you were able to train as an actress. Where did you do your training? I started an English and Drama degree after school, but ditched it after two terms. I enjoyed amateur dramatics, though.
And long live the kitchen disco, which any of us can enjoy!
Loved this so much, thank you! I really, really wanted to dance and still love a kitchen disco - seventies disco and soul my go-to. When I was a teenager in the eighties I loved the community discos that came to Buckingham once a month and would happily spend hours dancing, sometimes on my own. I was completely lacking in confidence, incredibly quiet and shy in all aspects of life, but it all came out on the dance floor. That's when I felt free and like me. I also had decent rhythm and co-ordination and I picked up moves pretty quickly so I didn't feel out of place in the way I did the rest of the time.
I never went to ballet lessons as a child though because all my time after school and at weekends was taken up with violin and piano lessons, orchestra and choir. I auditioned for Chethams School of Music when I was about 12 but I didn't get in. There is of a story behind that audition that I might get round to writing one of these days. I wasn't sorry I didn't get in though because I felt too young to board, and wanted to be at home, even though home was pretty grim at the time.
When I was about eight or nine though, I managed to persuade mum and dad that there was time on a Saturday morning for me to go to the disco dancing classes all my school friends went to before my violin lesson. Dad would drop me off at a hall somewhere in St. Albans and I'd line up with my friends and learn routines to songs like Hands Up by Ottowan. I absolutely loved it, I can't remember when or why I stopped.
Thanks, Harriet and thanks for sharing your own dance and music memories. I’d love to read about the music school audition, when you have time to write about it.
That love of rhythm and expression goes with us through life, so whether we take classes or not as a child, we can tap into it. The disco dancing classes sound great fun! And there’s no barrier to anyone having a disco at home, any time they want. I’m so glad we can all access that!
You write as if dancing, Wendy, with meticulous attention and commitment. Poignant.
Thank you, Cherry.
I’d choose Sylvie Guillem too. She came Australia just before retirement. She was breathtaking, I remember feeling sad that it would be the last time I would see her dance. Like a magnificent bird on its last flight home.
Oh, that’s wonderful that you saw Sylvie Guillem on her farewell tour, too, Lisa, in 2015. A Life In Progress, a collection of different short pieces. Just looked up an article from that time:
https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2015/aug/25/sylvie-guillem-in-sydney-to-be-free-on-stage-you-need-to-have-been-disciplined
Thanks for the link Wendy, I recall reading those at the time. Lovely to revisit them. This is why I appreciate your writing Wendy. You never know where it’s going to take you, but it will be good.
Thank you, Lisa. It’s so lovely to share memories and experiences in the comments.