I never assumed I’d be offered a contract. You had to be a particular type to get into the Royal Ballet Company, and I wasn’t the English rose they were looking for. At the same time, I was conscious of the high fees and financial burden on my parents. I’d danced well in Coppélia, and the feedback I’d received gave me a lot of confidence, so I began to think that perhaps I could have a career in ballet. Putting it all together, I decided it would be best if I tried to get a paid job as a dancer instead of seeing through the three-year course.
Getting a job is the most difficult part for a dancer. The RBS didn’t offer assistance or advice regarding auditions. They were focused on the White Lodge dancers who they had trained since they were eleven years of age, and were mostly British. Studying at the RBS was a very cloistered existence. The only companies we saw were the Royal Ballet and Sadler’s Wells. While I heard about a few other companies in England and Europe holding auditions, I knew nothing about those companies and nobody in the RBS ever talked about them.
I was always able to make friends across the boundaries, whether White Lodgers or foreign students or English students in our own class. I became friends with one of the White Lodge girls Jane Scott, nicknamed Scottie. During The Nutcracker season in 1976 she told me she was going to audition for London Festival Ballet. I didn’t know anything about the company but immediately my ears pricked up. I pushed Scottie for more information. She didn’t know how many places were available, but I decided to try out anyway.
When the time came for the audition, it was freezing cold and I was quite nervous. I had no experience of auditions and fairly low expectations that I would get an offer. I wrapped up in my big grey coat and found my way on the tube to Waterloo station.
Despite its stature in the arts world and its fabulous location on the River Thames, the Royal Festival Hall was hard to locate. Eventually I found it by following some girls with hair in ballet buns who looked like they knew where they were going. The outside of the building was pretty dark and depressing. I walked through the stage door and up the lift to see over 200 dancers milling around in the foyer. I began to realise what a big deal this audition was and how significant Festival Ballet was as a company. Dancers had come from all over the world to audition.
I had my pointe shoes in a bag and my ballet clothes on already, underneath my coat. My hair was neatly tied up in a bun – I’d finally mastered that art. This was my first big audition. I didn’t know anyone, and couldn’t see Scottie anywhere. No one spoke and the atmosphere was tense. We were given a number to pin on our leotard and were called to the stage in groups of twenty.
The panel of judges sat a few rows back from the front. I felt very nervous. It wasn’t like performance nerves. It was intimidating and I felt sick. I knew the panel was made up of important people, but I didn’t know who they were until later: Dame Beryl Grey, once an English child prodigy and now Festival Ballet’s artistic director; Betty Anderton, ballet mistress; and Australian virtuoso Vassilie Trunoff and his wife, Joan Potter, who were ballet master and mistress respectively.
You could feel the competitiveness in the air. We were all looking sideways at each other, trying to make comparisons and see whether we looked good and mature enough to be a professional. I focused on my technique, on perfecting every step. Towards the end of the audition we put on our pointe shoes. The floor was slippery and I could feel the back of my pointe shoe coming off as I completed a set of diagonal piqué turns. I asked if there was any resin (we used to dab this on our shoes to provide some hold and prevent them from slipping off). Unfortunately Beryl Grey said in her high-pitched English voice, ‘Oh, no, no.’ Nothing felt quite right after that.
After the audition was over, we waited in the foyer to see if our number was called and whether we’d made it. While I had done some good jumps and turns, I felt flat. I heard there were only three spots available. I did the maths and thought I didn’t stand a chance. So I waited with a sinking heart and soon discovered I was indeed not among the chosen ones. I headed home with my heart as leaden as the sky above. It was my first major setback.
I returned to the RBS as motivated as I could be, but the disappointment lingered. I wondered if I was really any good, whether I’d ever make it as a professional dancer. Perhaps being a bold Australian and not an English rose would go against me all my life. I tried to explain the audition to Mum and Dad, but it was difficult. They didn’t really get it. ‘Never mind,’ said Mum. ‘Keep working hard, beautiful,’ said Dad.
The fact that they were so ignorant of the process and my job prospects was actually a blessing. They didn’t question me about what was next or what I might need to do differently, and didn’t put any pressure on me to find a job. That was a big relief. It was also comforting to go home to my new apartment and housemates Bess and Chenca.
They were dancing with the Royal Ballet Company and Sadler’s Wells. Both of them understood how hard it was to get a job in ballet and did their best to console me. ‘There are other companies and there’ll be other auditions,’ they assured me. ‘This is just the beginning.’
And so it was the beginning for Scottie, who had auditioned and landed one of those three jobs, and I was so happy for her. Although I hadn’t succeeded, this audition was a turning point.
The new apartment was large, comfortable and warm, with carpet on the floor, and I had access to a fridge and a stove. (I did boil an egg occasionally.) But more important was that I was with friends. I missed my family, and this felt more like home.
I became very friendly with Summer-Lee Rhatigan, who, like me, never skipped class. She was an amazing dancer, even at sixteen. She lived with her mother in a neat terrace house in Barons Court, around the corner from the ballet school.
Moving into the apartment meant I now had a small social life. Chenca was very popular and had lots of boyfriends. Often we would go to the Fox pub, just up the street in West Kensington. It was a classic cosy London pub, with a red carpet, a long wooden bar, and as many ales on tap as you could think of. Not that I drank any of it: to me, warm beer was peculiar to the English. We would meet for drinks only as we were too poor to afford a pub meal. We’d sit huddled together, drinking rum and Coke or vodka and orange, thinking we were very grown-up. I remember one handsome Irish boy with a charming accent we were all in love with.
Chenca and her friends were older and she was touring a lot, so I would hang out with Bess’s younger sister Angie, along with my other friends, including Summer-Lee. We would often go to watch the Royal Ballet perform – standing-room only, of course.
About three weeks after my failed audition, Chenca called to me from the other room: ‘Mary, you’ve got a phone call.’ I looked at her inquisitively but she shrugged, uncertain.
‘Hello, this is Mary,’ I said, puzzled.
I heard a classic English voice on the line: ‘It’s Betty Anderton from Festival Ballet here.’
My stomach jumped. ‘Oh, Miss Anderton. Hello.’ I was beside myself, wondering why on earth she was calling.
‘I remember seeing you perform the role of the village girl in Coppélia at the Royal Ballet School last summer. We would like you to come in and take class tomorrow. We want to take another look at you.’