During the week-long season, we took New York by storm. The tour marked Rudolf’s American choreographic debut and the New York Times reviewer acknowledged how much the audience loved the ballet, saying it was ‘greeted like the Second Coming’! Being part of something so special was an unforgettable part of my career.
On this tour, we were able to afford to eat in some fabulous places. Unlike in England, here our accommodation was paid for, so our allowance went a little further. New York – my God! It was incredible. There was a coffee shop, diner or bar on almost every corner serving hamburgers, of course, but the city also had restaurants with every cuisine you could think of. Such places didn’t exist in England.
We looked around the Lincoln Center and I found the famous Juilliard School, the School of American Ballet, and a professional dance studio called Steps. I was very curious about the ballet scene in New York.
Rudolf’s masseur, Luigi, invited me and Scottie to go with Rudolf and a few others to Studio 54. It was a night I’ll never forget. Studio 54 was the epicentre of 1970s hedonism, the lavish Manhattan playground of people like Liza Minnelli, Cher, Truman Capote, Bianca Jagger and Jackie Onassis. Entry was highly restricted, and we would never have been allowed in without Rudolf. The building had once been a radio and TV studio and some of the lighting and sets had been retained to evoke a movie set. The atmosphere was electric. Disco music was at its height and the beat was deafening. None of us were big drinkers – we were just wide-eyed at all the glamorous people having fun under the wild disco lights to the pounding music. That night was a glimpse into the world of high celebrity.
After New York, we had another successful week at the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC and then returned to London to rehearse for the Festival Hall season. There was no time to reflect on the enormity of what we’d done in America, but I had already decided that I wanted to go back and take classes in New York.
During our three-week summer break Jackie Barrett and I did just that. The teacher we liked most was Robert Denvers at Steps. I had somehow heard he was highly respected, and my sixth sense for opportunities wasn’t wrong. He was young, charismatic and knowledgeable about the Danish technique, which fascinated me. The footwork was very fast and I relished the opportunity to develop my technique.
By the end of the year we were preparing for the season’s tour of The Nutcracker. We were in Norwich and I was still in the corps de ballet. I had a group role as a snowflake, with white tutu and silver crown. The choreographer, Ronald (Ronnie) Hynd, had also put me down as an understudy for one of the leading snowflakes. There was no time set aside to rehearse the role as it was not expected I would perform it.
But then it happened. One of the leading snowflake soloists got injured and I was put in her place. I had to think on my feet – literally. The role was very difficult, with fast steps. It is danced to Tchaikovsky’s famous ‘Waltz of the Snowflakes’ and includes a set of fast pique turns on the diagonal. I was terrified, but before I knew it I was whirling down through the snow on the floor and flurries in the air. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the four snowflakes standing beside me, so close that I could see the anxious expressions on their faces. Then bam! I knocked two of them over. They bounced up and continued dancing. I hadn’t seen it coming: I literally couldn’t see because of my nerves and the swirling snow. Luckily, no one was injured.
I panicked. It wasn’t funny and no one said anything to me until I heard Ronnie Hynd coming upstairs to the dressing room during interval. A choreographer does not go into the dressing room in the middle of a performance unless it is serious. I was mortified by the angry look on his face and could almost hear him screaming, ‘What on earth were you doing, girl?’ But nothing came out of his mouth. He must have seen my petrified expression and thought better of it. He just walked off in a huff. I had a lucky escape – but I will never forget that particular performance of The Nutcracker!
London Festival Ballet was in an exciting place in the late 1970s and early 1980s, not only because we toured all over the world with Rudolf, which was extraordinary in itself as people didn’t travel as much then as they do now, but also because the company was a cultural melting pot. We learned about the world through our fellow dancers, who came from everywhere. I was among Argentines, South Africans, French, Belgians, Italians, Scots, Americans and Canadians. The French dancers were meticulously trained, and I remember an Argentine called Liliana Belfiore being a wildly passionate dancer. Later, I danced many Don Quixote pas de deux with Raffaele Paganini, an Italian who didn’t speak a word of English. He was a marvellous partner and would throw me into the air and hold me on one hand until the audience clapped. The Belgians were blue-eyed, handsome, and also good partners. As Rudolf was fluent in French, he had no trouble cursing at us in that language as well as in Russian and English.
I felt lucky to be a paid dancer, but as I improved I began to think, ‘I could do some of those solo roles.’ And then my first big opportunity came: the Queen of the Wilis in Giselle. It’s a demanding role that requires a strong technique, big jumps to create the illusion of floating in the air, and a lot of stamina. There was little fanfare for this important change in my career. During my annual interview, Beryl Grey had simply said, ‘Well done, dear. You’ve worked very hard and I’m promoting you to junior soloist.’ Just like that, here was my first important promotion.
I was thrilled and relieved that I didn’t have to go to the Home Office to renew my visa. As a soloist I was considered to have specialist skills and that meant I would only have to renew my visa every two years. My name began appearing on the all-knowing noticeboard as a soloist. It was not star billing as a principal, of course, where I would be lead dancer for the entire performance: it would be a matinee, and fourth cast. Even so, it was my first soloist role. My rehearsals now included working on my role as Queen of the Wilis as well as my corps de ballet work. I learned the role standing behind the other principals and senior soloists, which I’m sure annoyed them. Much of my rehearsal I did myself, but the choreographer, Mary Skeaping, worked with me. Her production is still performed today and is widely considered one of the best incarnations of Giselle in the world.
Other opportunities then came my way, including the Mazurka from Les Sylphides. We were lucky enough to have the famous and enormously talented Alicia Markova rehearsing us. She was Britain’s first prima ballerina and, with Dame Margot Fonteyn, one of only two English dancers to have been recognised as a prima ballerina assoluta – a title bestowed on the most outstanding dancers of their generation. I still remember her saying to the corps in her soft voice, ‘See the moon, see the moon’ as we bouréed en pointe in fifth position with our arms to the side and eyes gazing up. She was so pale and ethereal that it really looked like she could see that moon.
Danish phenomenon and global superstar Peter Schaufuss regularly performed with the company also. He was a guest star with top companies all over the world and was very involved with London Festival Ballet from his early career. I was nearly twenty and in my third year with the company when, without fanfare, it was announced that we would be touring China in May and Peter would be joining us. Beryl had been trying to get the company to China since the early 1970s; she had danced in Beijing and Shanghai herself in the 1960s. Our visit was part of the Great Britain–China Centre’s initiative to open up dialogue between the two countries after Mao’s death and a political hiatus of some years. The centre had donated £38 000 towards the tour, and the British Council was also involved.