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© 2023 Arms Out Like Wings
Description
Arms Out Like Wings is an anecdotal memoir about my seven years spent in a ballet boarding school from 1969 to 1976 aged nine to seventeen. A ‘Pygmalion-esque’ story that takes me from my crowded, loving council house home of siblings, cockney, lorry driver Dad and Italian seamstress Mother, to a Rolls Royce gliding through London, tinkling piano music in corridors and marquees on the lawn. This book will give you an insight into a young ballet dancers life. The initial spark, training, literal blood sweat and tears, close friendships, pranks, pain, disappointment, injury, romance and sacrifices.
49 Episodes
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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.
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