When I was 9 years old, a new dancing school started up in my village. My mother thought this was the perfect opportunity to make me more ladylike. I pictured myself leaping and twirling across the floor in a beautiful pink leotard and dainty white tutu and instantly bought into the idea. Sadly the dancewear turned out to be a very unflattering mustard-yellow shiny satin pinafore dress, worn over black jumper and tights. Not to be deterred, my local friends and I all trooped along to the village hall every Saturday morning to be initiated into the world of ballet. Our teacher, the inimitable Madame Rossell, stood by the piano, chain-smoking and barking out instructions, cane of shame in hand, the spitting image of Julie Waters' character in Billy Elliott (boys allowed in our classes though? As if....) We were taught to plie´, chasse´ and saute´ and to attempt wobbly pirouettes, every exercise accompanied by an unflappable ancient pianist (she was probably at least 40). And in floorwork we learnt a series of dance routines that we would dutifully perform several times a year at local community centres to audiences of very bored small children. I'm third from left in the photo below. I think we're attempting a can-can routine. Not a decent pointed toe between us.
At the age of 11 I ditched ballet lessons without a backward glance and became briefly obsessed by all things pony and equestrian-related. The fickleness of youth eh. But I've always retained a great love for ballet as a fabulous visual spectacle and incredibly skilled discipline. Indeed one of my original Sixtyat60 tasks was to attend a performance of Swan Lake (and what a stunning spectacle that was). So when I spotted several years ago that the Royal Academy of Dance had started a pilot scheme called Silver Swans, ballet classes aimed at the more, ahem, mature learner, I was very excited. As Angela Rippon, an ambassador for the project, said, 'Dance keeps you supple, it's an aerobic exercise, it gives you spatial awareness and makes you use your brain'. Multiple health boxes ticked. What a great idea. A few months later I found out that a Silver Swans class was about to launch in my hometown of Lewes. But by then my priority in life was to provide 24/7 care for Andrew, who was becoming increasingly incapacitated by his Parkinson's dementia symptoms. So I put my Silver Swans aspirations on hold.
Fast forward two years and there I was compiling the modest list of tasks for my 70th birthday. All of a sudden Silver Swans did a grand jete back into my consciousness. Time to give it a go I thought. I put my name down for a taster session and kept my fingers crossed that I wouldn't be asked to wear a mustard-yellow satin pinafore dress. I visited a dance wear shop to buy my first pair of ballet shoes in 60 years. The assistant cast an expert eye over my feet. 'Hmm' she said, 'they're very slim....' (I did a little internal preen)....'apart from those two bunions' she added. Ooh, that was me put in my place.
The Silver Swans classes are held at a church and community centre called St John sub Castro, which is tucked away in a peaceful residential area of Lewes. I arrived bright and early for my taster session and waited in the cafe area, feeling rather daunted. The main hall was partitioned off, but looking upwards I could see an organ, a vaulted ceiling and stained glass windows, and I could hear a pre-schoolers' ballet class in progress. The sounds of a tinkling piano gave me a flashback to 60 years ago. The class ended and chaos briefly reigned as a tsunami of little ones and their parents exited the building. And then came the turn of the Silver Swans to take to the floor.
My fellow Swans turned out to be a super friendly group (that's Lewes for you). There were 10 of us in attendance, all different shapes and sizes, a small number wearing very elegant black ballet skirts but most in leggings and tee-shirts. They smiled encouragingly at me as we all sat around putting on our ballet shoes, and quickly started to introduce themselves. It transpired that most of them had been attending the class since its launch. They were largely of post-retirement age, and indeed several were over 80. One of the more senior attendees told me that she trained at the Royal Ballet School in her youth. She leaned towards me with a twinkle in her eye. 'I once brushed thighs with Rudolf Nureyev' she whispered. I was in awe. What a standout story. Here she is on the left, resplendent in leg warmers, still showing perfect body alignment.
The two mobile barres were brought out and everyone made a beeline for their places. Our teacher, Nisa was warm and welcoming. 'Just do what you can Vivien' she said. She pressed keys on her mobile and hey presto there was the piano, courtesy of Spotify, literally at her fingertips. No old biddy tickling the ivories (so last century). And no pointy cane or chain smoking either.
Oh my goodness, but what a subtly intense workout it turned out to be though. My limbs were stretched in ways that I had completely lost touch with. And my brain became bamboozled by the unrelenting requirement to copy Nisa's effortless and graceful movements. Whilst I was able to remember the five foot and arm positions from my classes in childhood, I really struggled to coordinate the different parts of my body. Angela Rippon was spot on when she said ballet made you use your brain. The rest of the class were clearly well used to the exercises and kept up the pace with impressive sangfroid. We moved onto floorwork, and began to rehearse a routine that the class had been practicing for a few weeks. Even more flailing around on my part it has to be said. But there was a lot of laughter and camaraderie, with no one taking themselves too seriously. I loved the whole vibe and duly left the class a newly fledged Silver Swan. My mother would have been delighted, a ladylike daughter in the offing at last.
I attended classes for the next few weeks and slowly began to find my feet at the barre. The tension began to build as a public performance of our floorwork routine at a local village day drew ever closer. But then sadly life got in the way. I was struck down by a virulent stomach infection, which took me all summer and two courses of strong antibiotics to recover from, and I had to bow out of classes for the foreseeable future.
I'm glad to say I'm feeling much better and may well return to Silver Swans next Spring if my grandparenting duties allow for it. I certainly won't be tempted by horse-riding instead. For now I'll bide my time quietly in the wings and continue to feast my eyes on the professionals at work. Quick tip guys.....if Matthew Bourne's Car Man is on tour near you, get a ticket if you can. Lust, greed, betrayal and revenge - it's a sensation!
