We got to work following the announcement. It was very exciting to be one of the first foreign ballet companies to perform in China since the Communist Party rose to power in 1949. We were to go to Beijing to perform in the wonderfully named Theatre of Heavenly Bridges, and then to the very communist-sounding Hall of the Revolutionary Committee in Shanghai. We were also to see Chinese ballet performed by students at the Beijing Dance Academy.
We’d prepared two programs for that tour: a triple bill and Giselle. The triple bill program would consist of three works: the Danish-styled Études, a technically brilliant one-act ballet in white and black tutus that is seen as a homage to classical ballet training; the American contemporary choreographer Glen Tetley’s new ballet, Greening, which mixed modern and classical dance and was very avant-garde for the time, especially for a Chinese audience; and Ronnie Hynd’s particularly English twist on The Sanguine Fan, with music written by the composer Edward Elgar. I had danced Giselle many times by then. I was especially thrilled that I’d be dancing a soloist role in Études and one of the four solo roles in Greening.
I hadn’t mixed with any Chinese people at that stage, and didn’t know much about China except that it was a poor and communist country. We were given no cultural preparation and were simply asked to hand over our passports so the company could arrange our visas.
We arrived at Beijing Airport on a pleasant spring night in early May. The air smelt completely different from anywhere else we’d been. We were met by Chinese officials mostly in grey Mao suits and taken to our hotel. It was difficult to see much because there was minimal street lighting. The hotel was very plain with little ambience. I fell into bed. I had to be rested for the performances that were to begin the next day.
Breakfast was a strange and suspicious-looking rice soup, and vegetables we’d never seen before – no cereal, toast or jam in sight. We were met by our Chinese guides and bussed to the Theatre of Heavenly Bridges. The roads were long and straight, and full of people on bicycles wearing Mao suits. Everyone looked alike to us, and there were so many of them. People everywhere!
The trip was an eye-opener, the performances included. The seats in the theatre were made of canvas and the audience would cough and spit loudly into spittoons at the end of each aisle, even during the show. ‘Watch out for the guy in the front row,’ we’d tease each other backstage. We thought it was hilarious.
The morning after our first performance, we had a bit of time to ourselves. However, there weren’t any shops nearby – at least none that made sense to us – and we weren’t allowed out by ourselves. We were taken to the Friendship Store, which was the only store where foreigners were allowed to shop. It had a special currency designed for foreigners and some Western-branded things, including bread, butter and cigarettes. Jackie was crazy about sweets and found some Chinese ones. ‘Found something! Found something!’ she screamed with delight, and we all went to look. One was an orange sweet and sour, and the other was a milky chew. We survived mostly on these for the rest of the trip. If we wanted something else to eat, it had to be rice, because the pig’s intestines and sea slugs on offer didn’t appeal. ‘Dreadful!’ we all agreed, pulling faces. There seemed to be very little food for all those people. All of us lost weight on that trip.
At the Beijing Dance Academy, we watched students perform Chinese dances to traditional music in their little theatre. I was mesmerised by the delicate hand and eye movements of the dancers, and one particular number danced by three boys. It was so foreign – their movements were so different, especially the way they moved their eyes and arms in perfect unison. The music, to our ears, sounded jangly and disturbing. To represent us, Peter Schaufuss and principal dancer Elisabetta Terabust danced the Don Quixote pas de deux. Our hosts were particularly impressed with Peter’s technical skills.
After our week of performances in Beijing, we had a day off to climb the Great Wall. It was hot, but we were very excited. While the wall was rough and worn in places, the vast scale and majesty astounded me. I learned that it took more than 2300 years to build and extends for more than 21 000 kilometres. It was constructed in sections in mountainous terrain by different dynasties to protect their borders and trade, and is dotted with military fortifications. We heard that some of its millions of workers are interred in the wall. It is an awe-inspiring and mysterious place.
We flew on to Shanghai and stayed at the Peace Hotel on the famous Bund, in the British Quarter. With its grand, run-down rooms and wonderful location on the Huangpu River, it was much more atmospheric than our dreary hotel in Beijing. We still couldn’t venture out without our Chinese guides, so we just stuck to the tours organised for us – except when we went on a quest to find chocolate! There was a reception after our opening-night performance and we were well looked after, though still wary of the exotic food. Little did I know how China would come to figure in my life in years to come.
After our tour to China, Beryl Grey invited Peter to create a new La Sylphide for Festival Ballet. Based on August Bournonville’s choreography, the new production was Danish-style and demanding, with difficult footwork and ethereal upper body movements. Peter chose me to be one of the three sylphs. I’d never seen the ballet and had no idea what the role entailed. He created the lead sylph role on me, the first time in my career someone created something on me, which was an honour. I loved it. Peter worked with us diligently for weeks. We had never had such in-depth coaching, and I revelled in it. The music by Herman Severin Løvenskiold was especially romantic. It was the beginning of my understanding of the Romantic style, which would become one of my favourite genres.
Peter also chose me to perform the role of Effie, the Scotsman James’s betrothed, which required some dramatic acting. As Effie, I also led the challenging reel dance with the rest of the company. So in Act 1, I was dancing Effie, and in Act 2, I was a lead sylph in a different cast. It was a transformative experience, given the amount of focus required on footwork and style.
The ballet was a triumph. It went on to win two major British theatre awards – an Olivier and the Evening Standard Award – and was filmed for television. The company rose to new technical heights. I had settled into the demands of professional life and I was loving it.
We had a three-week break after La Sylphide. With Scottie and a few others, we went to get some sun in Barbados – a rare treat. While we were away things changed at the company. We heard on the grapevine that we were going to have to farewell our director, Beryl Grey. After her illustrious career as a classical ballet dancer and ten years as artistic director of London Festival Ballet, she had decided to retire. Like everyone else, I was shocked as she had been such an important part of my journey. Before long, there was talk among senior dancers and all of us were curious as to who would fill her shoes.
During the summer break, I returned home again. The car accident in my teens had left me with a bump on the bridge of my nose and I had spoken to Mum about getting rid of it. Initially Coralie was opposed to the surgery, but she eventually understood that I needed to do it to improve my chances of being selected for bigger and ‘softer’ roles. I wanted to dance roles like Giselle, where looks mattered, and this would soften my appearance. Mum arranged everything, finding the best surgeon and booking the operation in Brisbane. I didn’t tell anyone at the company, and they were quite surprised when I came back without my bump.