‘That’s lovely,’ said Mum in her usual sweet way. ‘I’m sure Miss Hansen will think it’s a big improvement.’ It was the neatest I’d ever looked, but I resembled a doll in a pink and white costume with its hair puffed out. I knew it was way too puffy because as soon as I walked into the studio Miss Hansen took one look and immediately directed me over to one of the stern mothers, who proceeded to pull apart my new hairdo quite violently, without a word. Mum nearly started weeping in embarrassment. She was mortified. Mum wasn’t one of those bossy ‘stage mothers’ always there doing everything with their daughters just perfectly. The other mother rearranged my hair in a tight classical style and I went in to join the other girls for the rehearsal. We did exactly what we would do on exam day, including a curtsey and thanking the pretend examiner. My scalp was still stinging from the trauma but my hair stayed in place, which was all I cared about.
At last, the exam day came. As we drove down the driveway we saw the boys had started a fire. It looked like their tent was about to catch alight. Mum stopped the car, wound down the window and calmly said, ‘Darlings, put out the fire. I am very late to take Mary to her exam.’ Without further ado, we drove off.
The examination was in our upstairs studio and only four students could enter at a time. We knew there was to be no speaking and no mothers in the room. Our ballet shoes had to be brand new with not a speck of dirt on them. While we were waiting for our turn, Miss Hansen appeared cheery and often looked in through the peephole to check her students’ progress. I had a few butterflies in my stomach, and then suddenly it was our turn and we walked in as elegantly as we could to the barre. The examiner and pianist were the only ones present in the room. We were assessed on our skills and ability at the barre, centre, turns, jumps and choreographed dances, in that order. Everything was performed as a group until the last part: our solo dances were assessed individually. In the end, it felt like the exam flew past. We thanked the examiner as we had practised with Miss Hansen the day before and ran down the stairs to our mothers, who treated us to ice-cream.
We had to wait weeks for our report cards. Then, at class one day, Miss Hansen called us up individually to hand us each our results in an envelope. We accepted it with a curtsey and a ‘Thank you, Miss Hansen’ and returned to our place to continue class. Luckily, we had been trained by a most wonderful teacher and nobody received less than honours.
In the early years ballet can be very slow and tedious, but after the first year Miss Hansen wanted to move me up more quickly so I could join my age group. I did Grade Two and Three together and Grade Four and Five together, and finally, when I was about ten, I caught up with the girls in black leotards who were my age and height, including Nina Veretennikova and Sharon Hamilton, my friends from school. I then had a whole new routine.
‘Wake up, beautiful,’ were the words I heard at 5.30 a.m. as Dad stroked my cheek softly to wake me up for my ballet class. The rest of the household would still be asleep and Dad would cook me a steak or lamb chops for breakfast. I treasured this rare time together with my Dad. Class started at 6.30 but Dad was always ready to leave the house at six so I could get there twenty minutes early. We had early classes because it was impossible to work during the sweltering heat later in the day. The sun would beat down through the windows and you could barely stand outside by ten o’clock. The heat also meant we didn’t need much time to warm up before class as it was already so hot.
I adored the early-morning classes and never once regretted being there, no matter how strenuous the class was. Miss Hansen was ruthless on our technique. The steps were taught meticulously, and we repeated each one again and again until we had perfected it. After two hours of class, Mum would pick me up to take me to school. I would change in the car and got it down to a fine art, ducking for cover each time another car went by. I’d put on my school uniform and shoes and give her my leotard and tights, still dripping with sweat. ‘Mum, can you please wash these and bring them back this afternoon?’ I’d ask.
I always reminded her, but occasionally she would bring back the tights and forget the leotard or vice versa. She seemed to always get confused or forget. I would then walk into the studio with my uniform still on and apologise to Miss Hansen. ‘Never mind, Mary, take your tunic off and go to the barre,’ she’d say. With my white blouse tucked into my blue school knickers, I was silently turning red with embarrassment as I lined up at the barre beside the others in their black leotards. Nevertheless, I would never dream of missing a class, leotard or not. After enduring a few of these mishaps, I never sent my ballet stuff home with Mum again. My poor mother just couldn’t keep up. She had seven other children to look after. I was thirteen when I finally decided to kick Mum out of my ballet world and took responsibility for my clothes and shoes – and especially my hair – by myself.
My new life was in full swing. I was rarely at home, I worked hard in ballet, I was organised and I was as happy as could be. I loved Miss Hansen. She wasn’t just a teacher, she was every bit a choreographer too, creating compositions, arranging dance steps, movements and patterns, and many of the dances for our competitions. We danced pieces from stage musicals such as Mame and Oliver. She had once choreographed a dance to Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s famous Flight of the Bumblebee. I remember being astounded at the cleverness of the music, which sounded exactly like a swarm of bees. We were around ten years of age and there were eight of us. We then learned about patterning, staying in line and working as one. Learning to work in groups was wonderful. We danced in Scottish groups, character groups, modern groups, tap and classical ballet groups, according to the talents in the school.
The costumes were also superior. For Scottish dancing, authentic kilts and velvet vests were ordered directly from Scotland, along with brooches and big safety pins to hold the kilts together. We also had proper Scottish socks that were so thick they had to be held up with garters. It was as though through the experience of dance, Miss Hansen introduced us to the whole world.
I was thirteen when I did my first competition. Miss Hansen understood competing was necessary. Having stage experience was essential if you wanted a career in ballet. For my solo, I danced a Norwegian piece wearing a black skirt with a ribboned edge, a white blouse, a black velvet jacket trimmed with silver brocade and a square hat with ribbons flowing from it. I didn’t know where Norway was, and no one explained it to me either. All I knew was that the costume was very heavy and hot for the Queensland climate and that my mother bought it from an older dance student. I came away with a ‘highly commended’ award from the judges. I was elated.
We competed against students from all over Queensland. For some competitions afar, where we had to stay overnight, Mum would drive me and my classmates the night before and we would find a nice motel nearby, do the competition the next day, stay another night and then return home the following morning. I adored the whole experience! Although I don’t think anything was ever a holiday for Mum, these short escapes to a nice quiet motel must have been close enough for her.
Dancing one of Miss Hansen’s ballet solos was such a privilege. You always knew you were good enough to go on stage after working with her. She came to watch all of our performances and never missed a competition. I quickly learned that most dancers were terrified of competing against her girls as we usually won. Interestingly, she never said anything about the competitions back in the studio – not a word. So I suppose she was very discreet because the competitive world of ballet can inspire nastiness and she did not tolerate that. There were no favourites with her, we just got what we got in the competition and that was it. Instead, Miss Hansen was more concerned about the quality of the performance than who was going to win. She was very clear about that: she was training dancers for long professional careers. As a result, Sharon, Nina and I never fell out over a competition – we were just glad for whoever won, and our friendship and camaraderie developed. Then, sadly, Sharon moved to Melbourne shortly after. I continued to be inspired during these competitions because I got to see other dancers from different dance schools.