In the late 1960s and early
70s, my study of English Literature was
peppered with novels, short stories, poetry and plays. Each academic year I was entertained by at
least two Shakespeare plays, a novel by Charles Dickens and poetry by the
Romantics. Some of the stories were familiar
to me and this was because of my family’s dedication to cinema and in
particular musicals. My elder sister Lesley was a
keen student of ballet and tap under the tuition of Blackpool ballet mistress,
Elsie Bradley. By age fourteen Lesley
danced on her points, had cameo roles in the Blackpool Children’s Pantomime and
danced every Summer Season in the cast of the Tower Ballet, first as a tiny tot
and eventually in quartets and duets.
She was a lovely dancer.
In 1962, my father took
licence of a public house in St Helens and unfortunately Lesley didn’t like
the new ballet school, (it is hard to go from being a teacher’s favourite to
the new girl), declared she hated it and that was that. Any thoughts of a career in dance evaporated
overnight and despite one sojourn in an amateur production of The White Horse
Inn, she didn’t dance again. Our love of
musicals was fed by the cinematic journey.
The 1960s were awash with Broadways musicals transformed for Technicolor
by Hollywood. We two sisters lapped them up.
In 1970 I was reading aloud
in English: A passage from Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw, when suddenly the
voice of Eliza Doolittle was transformed into a cockney twang. Immediately I was playing Audrey Hepburn, the
most beautiful and glamorous actress that I had ever seen. Lerner and Lowes
pastiche of Shaw’s remarkable play was transformational for me. I had already seen My Fair Lady at the
cinema. I knew every song, almost every
line and I understood the nature of all the characters.
I had started at Elmslie
Girl’s Grammar School as a naturally very bright, scholarship holder with an
acquired Liverpool accent and what was more of a strain for my headmistress than
my, already blossoming, career in International dance.
It had been made clear to me, before I was offered a place at the
school, that if the standard of my school work should deteriorate due to
dancing, that the dancing would stop.
Mum and Dad were surprised that I even considered agreement to Miss
Oldham’s terms but it made me all the more determined to succeed at both.
Pygmalion was a turning
point. A working class girl in a public
school, intelligent but awkward, playing the role written for me by
others. Suddenly I knew how to live in both
worlds. I became a living pastiche. I let the school and the world of dance
transform me into from ugly duckling into a swan and I soared. Unfortunately, there is a point in every
play, musical or novel when the heroine has to choose, when the pressures of
living two lives become too much. For me,
academia and dance were suddenly ripped apart by a seemingly unrelated issue.
My sister married.
She could no longer drive me
to lessons on the Wirral every Saturday, my twice weekly practice sessions in
Manchester were out of the question and gradually, my international competition
career went out of the window. By now I was living in a village inn near Blackpool and my dance partner lived in
Stoke on Trent. The only way to keep up
the standard was to travel to his parent’s house every weekend by coach and return
on Sunday evening. Inevitably homework suffered and I had to decide. Despite our success in reaching the British
Junior Finals at only thirteen, I had to split with John and give up
competitive dance. He found a new
partner and went on to be Ballroom Professional World Champion. By then he was 6’ 2” and as I never grew
above 5’2” the split up was inevitable but at the time I was devastated and totally
lost.
I did return to dance but it
was always as a shadow of the dancer that I knew I should be. I found a semi
–professional partner who had a cabaret contract. It was not enough and by 16 I
was qualified to teach and running a Saturday morning class for kids in the
village. I taught for a while in the
South but my heart was still in competition and performance. When my mother fell ill, I gave up completely and settled into an office.
This week I am taking to the stage in two performances
of Die Fledermaus at Thornton Little Theatre. On 'Black Friday', 9 May 1873, the Viennese Stock
Exchange crashed, spreading gloom and despair. The shockwaves were also felt by
Vienna's theatres, which experienced falling box-office receipts. Anxious to
remedy this potentially disastrous situation, theatre managements eagerly
sought out productions that would attract audiences back into their
establishments. Johan Stauss operetta was a pastiche of a French play adapted
as a libretto. The success of Die
Fledermaus was incredible. The overture was a sensation.
Musica Lirica's Musical Director, Michael Hall and his
wife Fran's styling on this production of Die Fledermaus is way out there: True to the orchestration and lyrics
and music with an English translation and a thrilling ‘Steam Punk’ style. I
hope that some of you will come along either this evening or tomorrow at
7.30pm. In a pastiche of my own life, I am cast as ‘The Dance Mistress’. I have no poem to express the joy at 58 of
being able to dance without tears in my eyes. Thank you both Fran and Mike for
helping me to be a swan again, just for a while.
As always, thanks for reading. Adele
As always, thanks for reading. Adele
