By the time we got to our final destination, Brisbane, all my family and friends wanted to come and see me dance, including Miss Hansen. I knew I had to perform to my very best to make them proud. I was a little bit proud of myself, to be honest.
During that last week of the tour, I had an idea and worked up the courage to approach Betty.
‘Miss Anderton,’ I said. ‘This is the first time my whole family has been able to come and see me dance, and some of my old friends and my ballet teacher are also coming to the performance on Saturday night. Dad has bought so many tickets, and they’re all flying down from Rockhampton.’
‘That’s lovely, Mary. I’m delighted for you all,’ she said.
‘I’m wondering whether it would be possible for me to dance as one of the village girls instead of the court lady . . .’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said, giving me hope.
It meant that someone else would need to do my court lady part, and a senior dancer would have to give up her spot as a villager – a part that had quite a lot of dancing that I hadn’t even rehearsed. But I knew the role and was confident I could do it. I left Betty with all my fingers and toes crossed.
After class, she told me I had permission to dance the village girl. I was so excited!
Everyone was there to cheer me on, and I danced like never before. There was a huge contingent from Rocky in the audience, and a special announcement at the beginning of the performance about my role change. It was exhilarating to dance as a village girl in Act 1 and a Wili in Act 2 on the same night.
Afterwards, my family and friends were waiting for me at the stage door. ‘Congratulations!’, ‘Splendid!’, ‘You were so beautiful!’ they all exclaimed, hugging me tight. My smile was a mile wide. I walked with my family back to Lennon’s Hotel, where they’d had to take three rooms because everyone was there – Mum, Dad, Ger, Mick, Matt, Brig, Jo, Pat and Dom. They’d all grown up, including baby Dom, who was now ten. He was entranced by Giselle and the magic of the storytelling. They were very happy for me, and thrilled to have seen Rudolf dance.
We gathered in one of the hotel rooms and yelled and jumped up and down on the beds. Mum, as always, was hoping no one ended up in the emergency room or got us kicked out of the hotel. I lay on the beds with my brothers and sisters and laughed deliriously about nothing, just happy to be together again for a short time. We knew that tomorrow I would be flying back to London. It was the perfect reunion.
The tour had been wonderful, but after this special time with my family I was feeling ready to go back to my life in London and see Kevin again. There was just one thing to sort out before I got on the plane to Heathrow: my visa.
Dad had managed to pull strings. ‘Mary,’ he said during our family celebrations. ‘You don’t need to know the details, but here is your visa. It’s a working visa and will cover you for the next two years.’
I gave him the biggest hug. I was so relieved to be able to continue my dream. Mum and I embraced too, and all the siblings lined up just as they had always done – but it was smiles this time, rather than tears.
It was autumn when I arrived back in London, 1977 – just two years since leaving Rocky for the first time – and the tree leaves were starting to turn. Kevin and I were pleased to be together again and fell comfortably into our old routine, except that now I would be away touring for even longer periods, performing show after show across Britain and beyond.
My first provincial tour through England began in October, performing The Nutcracker, Swan Lake and Romeo and Juliet. Life on the road was tough – really hard work, and freezing cold. There was never a minute to spare. We boarded the overland train at Waterloo station on Monday morning, got off in Cardiff, went straight to the New Theatre to unpack our skips (where we kept our make-up and dance gear), did a full rehearsal in the afternoon, and then opened the show that night.
I shared accommodation on tour with Scottie, and new friends Johanna Adams, assistant stage manager, and Jackie Barrett, another dancer. Summer-Lee was now in the company as well, and sometimes a group of us would get really good digs or we’d rent a room from a local woman and go home to a meal she’d prepared. Some meals were better than others. Sometimes we’d go to a ‘naff caff’ – a local cafe where the food was pretty naff. There were no lattes back then. Occasionally we’d spend a bit more money and stay in a nice hotel, but we had to book it ourselves. Companies now would never dream of operating that way, but in those days we had to organise everything ourselves and pay for it with our per diem allowance.
After the last show at the end of the week we boarded the bus for the next town, Norwich, and did it all again. From there we headed to Birmingham, then Blackpool, Leeds, Newcastle, Liverpool and finally down to Bristol.
I was exhausted every day. Working as a professional dancer was relentless. Your intensity wasn’t allowed to wane or you could lose your job, so that became another discipline. I worked on it as I went to sleep every night, visualising the work planned for the following day in my brain and preparing for it mentally.
The performing was constant. We would head out at 5 p.m. to find food somewhere nearby, be back in the dressing room at 5.30 p.m. for make-up, and then warm up at 7 p.m., half an hour before the orchestra started.
We didn’t earn much as dancers, but when we went on tour we got around £5 a day extra, for meal allowance and accommodation. This meant we could actually save our salary. In London we earned around £36 a week, which was hard to live on. I tried to save money but it was impossible. I rarely looked at my pay packet, but knew I had to be careful with my spending.
That first UK tour lasted eight weeks. Some of the dancers were weeping with exhaustion by the end of it, and many were nursing injuries. The senior dancers had been doing this for years and seemed disenchanted. Not me, though. I couldn’t have been happier. I was learning so much, making new friends – friends I would have for life. I honestly loved every minute of it.
When you dance so much on stage as distinct from in the rehearsal studio, it’s easy to sustain injuries. We would try to put up with them as no one wanted to miss a performance. My physical strength meant I was less prone to injury and could endure the demanding schedule. I was often called upon to step in for another dancer who had torn her calf or a hamstring. In this way I learned rather quickly how to become a performer. I didn’t know it then, but this would lead to a fast-track career with the company.
After that first tour, Dad and my sisters came to visit. Kevin kindly put them up in the pub, so we could spend more time together, as I was busy doing two shows of The Nutcracker a day. We were on a high from then on. So happy to be in London together.
I wanted to show them London, meet my friends and, most of all, see me perform. Brig and Jo were still doing ballet back home, though Brig was doing less because her final years of high school were taking over and Miss Hansen’s classes were very demanding. She also had issues with her knees.
Living above a pub! They thought it was fun and a bit crazy. Dad liked it because he could just walk downstairs in the afternoon and talk politics with everyone. First on the list for him was to buy my sisters warm coats. I had to leave them to go to work every day and they had to get themselves around, but Dad was thrilled to do it. Kevin was on hand to answer all their questions and direct Dad to trains, buses, high streets and the closest tourist spots.