Arms Out Like Wings

It's a wrap.

My final performance at the school.

Late night conversations with the powers that be make me feel less certain of my future.

I meet the most amazing choreographer and dance my heart out.

I go to London for a photo shoot. A solo is choreographed on me.

Our school gets invaded by boys. no complaints, quite the distraction.

My last end of term show. rehearsals take over.

Royal Ballet audition

Going out till late. Not too old to get into trouble. Feeling let down.

Staying on for a year as a student is full of incident. Then we have the arrival of vivacious Madame Bonitto who shakes up the school.

Feeling more attractive after years of braces, unibrow and feeling invisible to boys.

Best new dorm ever. Being treated like adults. visits by local boys via windows. Anorexia too close for comfort.

Home after three months in hospital and not feeling as happy as I thought I would. Back to school at last to resume ballet life.

Discovering that learning to walk again is very difficult after three months in bed.

Physiotherapy proves to be a lovely distraction in the guise of two Swedish physiotherapists. Time in hospital coming to an end and the dreaded calliper.

Knocked over by a car and breaking a leg causing a pause in career & training. What seems like endless time in hospital. Family sacrifices.

Feeling really grown up and rearing little bird. Heart throbs on the wall. No room to swing a cat. Bottom shaping games!

Becoming fluent in the language of ballet. Learning Benesh notation. Music in the corridors. Flu epidemic gets us all sent home.

An eclectic array of teachers covering subjects from English language to stage make-up.

Cool Girls do contemporary. Watching Top of the Pops in the library. Drunk in class.

Not so patiently waiting for breasts to appear. Bra-tastic. Periods at last.

Becoming independent, escaping out of the school grounds undercover of bushes. Home clothes and doing our own laundry.

Time to move up to a new Dorm. Lifetime friendships begin to take shape. No more Nursey in charge but now we had to deal with Matron herself. . .

We sooo looked forward to the end of term. It meant Trunks & Apple Pie Beds and then home sweet home

Christmas was a magical time at the school. One Christmas remains in my memory for all sorts of reasons . . .

Feeling like royalty in a lovely car, going to the top floor of Harrods for High Tea.

Miss Marsh was the 'Queen' of the Ballet School. A total character with make-up, hair and clothes creating a terrifying vision that we worshipped and curtseyed every time she passed by.

Friendships formed in boarding school can last for ever, such is the bond you have after growing up together.

Exams are a constant in life when training to be a Ballet Dancer. Major Exams are something else though and were treated with reverence. They involved more expemditure by my parents and a trip to London!

I discover the agony and ecstasy of dancing in pointe shoes. These were of course so much more than shoes. Every pair of every girls pointe shoes was individual to them.

My first year at Ballet School was tough and my homesickness was extreme.

This is the one about the incredibly ethereal lady who inhabited our Blue Pond and school corridors at night. Also the strange powers of levitation at our fingertips.

We loved Fire Drills which were always so exciting and after lights out. Nothing however prepared us for performing tap dance routines with John Noakes and Roy Castle on our own theatre.

My 'Pygmalion' moment when I learn to 'speak posh', learn how to read & write at last and secret moments with my parents and baby sister Gaynor in the Tuck Box room.

It seems young ballet dancers need to learn about washing tights with fabric softener and how to put clothes on in a hurry.

Being at a Ballet School involves many rituals. You also have to know your place in the hierarchy. This is where Aprons came in. Your apron and National Skirts were part of you. Life evolved around the seamstress who inhabited a cramped and warm space at the top of the school, a sort of haven for me. . . .

Strange latin phrases, weekend visits to my family and cuddling my sister. Dancing on the staircase.

Evenings at a girls Ballet School for borders. Midnight games, kissing practise 'girl on girl', crushes, making cheese from yoghurts and eventually sleep. . . .

The one where my Dad delivers coffee and Marmite in catering size jars!

My first morning with a ridiculously early start, cold linoleum and myriad shoes.

Girls behaving 'sort of badly' at night. Strange rituals involving absent Nursey and Glito . . . . .

Crisp and formal bedding, lights out and growing home sickness with an unusual approach to bed time.

How I yearned for winceyette pyjamas and boring old fashioned slippers.

A rather tense car ride to my new Ballet School. My little sister playing 'rag doll' with me, my brother giving me a whole Ten Shilling note and my mother sobbing and smoking like she would use every cigarette in Surrey. Meeting 'Nursey' and finding out that trendy, short skirts were useless for galloping like a horse around a dance studio.

My Italian family think I have been kidnapped, my Dad tells them where to go whilst I get turned down for a grant.

My Dad organises my secret audition for a professional Ballet School in East Grinstead. I then meet another influential lady in my life whilst I Polka in the biggest studio I have ever seen.

Things start to scale up when I go to Corona Stage School. I find a dance mentor and Dad becomes a grumpy hero.

My first ballet classes as a six year old. How my mother saved the day.

The very beginning of my story. Visit our family home and the warm chaos within. Meet my Mum, Dad, brother and sisters. A glimpse into life in the 1960's.