‘I-I-I-I’d love to!’ I stammered.
‘Come to Donmar Studio in Covent Garden. Could you come in the morning for ten o’clock class?’
‘Yes. Yes, I can be there. Thank you, Miss Anderton!’ I said breathlessly.
‘Fine. I’ll see you then,’ she said, hanging up and leaving me stunned and speechless. To say I was excited was a gross understatement, but I wondered what I’d do about my RBS classes. My flatmates were buzzing around me and there were squeals and hugs when I told them what had happened. They helped me search through my leotards to find the best one to wear.
Despite the short notice, I felt prepared, determined and excited. Somehow I’d heard that Miss Anderton had been involved with the Australian Ballet and its 1970 production of Rudolf Nureyev’s Don Quixote. I instinctively felt she liked Aussies and this filled me with hope and confidence. For once, being a bold Australian might be an advantage.
The Donmar Studio was in a dismal grey building down a narrow street in Covent Garden. I climbed the stairs and felt my heart pounding as I walked across the empty studio space to the one female dressing room – everyone got changed together, whether principal or corps de ballet. I was early, of course: only a handful of other dancers had arrived. I was nervous of taking someone else’s space, which was just not done. I avoided eye contact and felt out of place. It was quite intimidating. I noticed that the other dancers were older and there was no chatter like I was used to at the RBS. These were serious professionals, and I felt the grown-up atmosphere.
Once I was finished in the dressing room, I had to find a spot on the barre, once again without taking anyone’s place. I looked for an inconspicuous spot and sat and started stretching. I discreetly observed other dancers, and then I saw a man striding across the studio in a woollen hat, fur coat, boots and scarf. I instantly knew it was Rudolph Nureyev! Oh my God! Was I going to do my audition class with this famous star?!
I wasn’t going to let nerves interfere with my dancing this time. I knew this was a second chance. I thought Betty would be on my side, as she’d asked for me. What I didn’t know, at the time, was that Rudolf needed more dancers for his new production of Romeo and Juliet. This would be serendipitous for me.
The studio was big, but with over sixty dancers it was very crowded. I tried not to be too conspicuous. Betty was teaching. Her exercises were wonderful and I liked her instantly. She had exotic looks and dark, wild hair that reflected her vibrant, open and outgoing personality. She was certainly no English rose.
The class began with about thirty minutes of barre work. Then we moved to the centre of the studio to practise balances, turns and jumps before finishing with work in pointe shoes. This is what I had trained for. We moved across the room in groups of five or six, waiting our turn. I felt positive rather than overly nervous. I just focused and showed what I could do, fully aware that I was being assessed. I felt lucky to be given this opportunity. Beryl Grey arrived halfway through and I could feel her gaze on me. I asked Betty afterwards if I could stay and watch Rudolf rehearse with Patricia Ruanne: his Romeo and Juliet production was then at the beginning of the creative process. This was a new experience for me. A ballet was being created before my eyes!
They asked me to return for a few more classes that week, so I went to my second-year RBS teacher, Julia Farron, and told her I’d been invited to take classes with London Festival Ballet. She was thrilled for me and said that would be fine.
I was inspired by the classes at Donmar Studio. After the final class that week, to my astonishment, Beryl Grey asked to see me.
‘We like you, Mary, and we’d like to offer you a contract in our corps de ballet,’ she said.
I was over the moon with happiness. I was speechless, and barely managed to respond. ‘Thank you, thank you so much, Miss Grey.’
I couldn’t believe it. The feeling was beyond anything I’d ever felt before. I floated all the way home. Brilliant! I thought. I have a job! I was in heaven. It was all I’d ever wanted, to be a professional ballet dancer in a prestigious ballet company. Finally, I’d be getting on stage and being paid to dance. I told myself I would be content even if I was just in the back line of the corps for the rest of my life.
I no longer needed to feel guilty about my parents having to pay for another year of RBS tuition when there were seven other children at home. Mum and Dad couldn’t have been happier.
I wouldn’t be starting for a few weeks, so I decided to go back to the RBS and do my classes with renewed focus and energy until it was time to leave. It was a gutsy move – you just didn’t leave the RBS before finishing your course. When I notified Miss Fewster, she remained prim and uncommunicative, but that didn’t matter to me. I continued to work hard, to show what I was capable of.
It was early spring, 1977, when I finally started at London Festival Ballet, and the first week went quickly. It was a real adult, professional ballet company environment, with a fascinating mix of different personalities, nationalities and ages. The place was inspiring, buzzing with energy, music and sheer physicality. Compared to the freezing wintry temperature outside, inside the studio it was steamy, sweaty and wonderfully exuberant. I worked as hard as I knew how and never wanted to leave when the day ended – I couldn’t get enough! Scottie was a familiar face, as of course was Betty Anderton. And there were so many new people I couldn’t wait to get to know.
Then, suddenly, devastation. On the Monday of my second week, just after class, I saw Beryl Grey walking towards me with a stern expression on her face. She was always slightly intimidating with her tall, elegant figure and a tight ballerina hair bun, and this time I was more than a little scared. ‘Mary,’ she said in her clipped speech. ‘I’m very sorry to have to tell you this.’
My stomach lurched.
‘I’m afraid you can’t work with Festival Ballet after all.’
My mouth fell open and my eyes asked why. All the colour must have drained from my face, because she then softened a little.
‘Unfortunately, you don’t have a working visa.’
In that instant, my world came crashing down. I didn’t know what to do. I looked around for help, but no one could help. I went quickly to the dressing room, shaking, threw my stuff into my bag and walked out onto Kensington High Street. I walked and walked. I don’t know how long it took. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. When I got home I was still sobbing. I had lost my first job – the only job I wanted.
4
My dream had gone up in smoke, my chance to tour the world, work with international stars – all gone. I was devastated. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I had no idea how I would get a working visa.
London Festival Ballet had scheduled the Nureyev Festival for that summer, only four months away. Was I not to be a part of it? And there was the plan to tour Australia in July – the possibility of performing in my home country, for family and friends.
Technically, I couldn’t work in England at all. I knew nothing about other European companies and their repertoires, and wasn’t keen to work in a place where I didn’t speak the language. Adjusting to London had been hard enough. Besides, I had missed the European audition season and would have to wait until January the following year to audition again – and even then, a job wasn’t guaranteed. Nor could I go back to the Royal Ballet School.