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I knew that was the way it was going to be and I just had to get used to it. Nobody was going to say what I so desperately wanted to hear right now, things like ‘Oh, come here and give me a cuddle, Rene, I know you’re missing Mummy. Sit down and let’s write to her together.’
Nope, I was by myself now. Raymond was still in his barracks up north and Mum was on her way to Africa.
That night it was hard going to sleep on my own. For all of my life I’d had Mum there beside me, but I knew I had to pull myself together and get on with it.
She had done this for me because she wanted me to achieve my dream of going to performing arts school. I had an interview with Italia Conti coming up, and I knew that I had to pass it. I had to get in. For Mum’s sake and for mine.
4
Fairyland (#ucf85a87b-15fc-5e65-a592-3053463e4282)
Walking towards the heavy black door, I swallowed the lump in my throat. Today was the day that I’d been waiting for. It was my audition at Italia Conti, the country’s most prestigious theatre arts school.
As usual I was here on my own. My grandparents hadn’t said a word when I’d told them about the audition. No ‘Good luck, dear’ or ‘I hope it goes well.’ Not that I’d expected them to say anything or take any interest in what I was doing, as I knew by now that wasn’t going to happen. I knew that it was down to me to do this. Mum had sacrificed everything and gone away so that I could achieve my dream, and I had to get in.
My tummy was churning with a strange mixture of nerves and excitement as I walked up to the front door of Tavistock Little Theatre in Tavistock Square where the school was based. It was an old Victorian building and nothing fancy, but as soon as I pushed open that black door I entered a hive of activity.
Like a Tardis, it opened up inside to reveal several huge rehearsal rooms. There were girls running past in their black dance tunic uniforms, and every time a door opened I could hear the faint tinkle of a piano, the clatter of tap shoes or someone singing scales. I instantly felt at home and I knew this was where I wanted to be, singing and dancing all day long.
I stopped one of the girls going past.
‘Hello, I’m here for an audition,’ I told her, thankful that I hadn’t stammered.
‘I’ll go and get Miss Conti for you,’ she said.
A few minutes later one of the doors opened and a middle-aged lady with short, dark hair came out.
‘Hello, I’m Rene … I mean Irene Bott,’ I said. ‘I’m here for an audition.’
‘Wonderful to meet you, Irene,’ she said. ‘I’m Ruth Conti, Italia’s niece.’
Before she left, Mum had told me that Italia Conti, or old Mrs Conti as everyone called her, was still around but she was in her seventies now and so her niece Ruth had come over from Australia to help run the school.
‘You’ll have to excuse us,’ she said. ‘Our old school in Lamb Conduit Street was bombed out by the Germans last year, so the theatre have kindly lent us their rehearsal rooms until we can find some new premises.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I hope no one was hurt.’
She shook her head.
‘Thankfully all of the staff and pupils were on tour at the time with one of our shows. It was our poor building that took the brunt of the Nazis but we’re managing to muddle through.
‘I see you’ve bought your dance bag,’ she said. ‘Get yourself changed and then you can join in a ballet class first.’
‘Thank you, Miss Conti,’ I said.
Even though she seemed friendly, I could tell by the steely look in her eyes that she wouldn’t take any nonsense. As I got dressed into my dance tunic I started to feel very nervous and overwhelmed.
You can do this, Rene, I told myself.
I followed Miss Conti into an old, draughty rehearsal room, where lots of girls and a few boys were waiting. There was a ballet barre running down one side and big mirrors. The windows were all blacked out because of the war, so the room was lit by dim electric light. Miss Conti led me over to the front of the room where two women were talking. One was very tall and masculine looking. She had bobbed straight hair and was wearing trousers, and I couldn’t help but notice the big stick in her hand.
‘Hello, dear,’ she said. ‘Come in and join us. Have you done much ballet before?’
‘I’ve been going to classes since I was four,’ I said.
The other teacher couldn’t have been more different. She was small and feminine and had her hair pulled up in a bun, a floaty skirt on and a face full of make-up.
‘I’m Toni Shanley,’ said the tall, fearsome lady. ‘And this is my sister Moira Shanley.
‘Take your place and let’s begin. Just do what you can.’
‘Yes, Miss Toni,’ I said.
A grey-haired lady in a flowery dress was sitting at a piano in the corner with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Miss Toni gave her a nod and she starting playing, puffing away on her cigarette with a bored look on her face.
‘Ready, girls,’ said Miss Toni. ‘Heads up, straight backs.’
As we stretched, she walked down the length of the barre correcting people by giving them a sharp rap with her stick.
‘Bottoms in, shoulders down,’ she yelled, coming down the row towards me.
‘Chin up, chest up,’ she said, lifting up my head with her finger and pressing in my rib cage. ‘Carry on, dear.’
I was nervous, as I knew both Miss Shanleys were watching me closely, but I was also very determined. I managed to follow every step and carry on until the end, but I didn’t have a clue how it had gone.
‘Well done, Irene,’ said Miss Moira after class. ‘You’re a good little dancer. I think Miss Ruth wants you to go to drama and elocution now.’
She seemed very sweet and gentle compared with her fearsome sister.
I hoped it had gone well but I was terrified that I wasn’t good enough. I knew I could do ballet, but I’d only been to my little local class and I’d only briefly had a few tap lessons.
If Miss Toni was scary, the drama teacher was the most terrifying woman that I’d ever seen in my life. She was wearing a long fur coat that dragged on the ground behind her and a huge Russian fur hat.
‘Don’t mind Miss Margaret,’ one of the boys whispered to me. ‘She’s a bit of a dragon.’
‘I can see that,’ I said.
She was very theatrical and what people might call a bit of a ‘luvvie’.
‘Come in, de-arr,’ she said in a big, booming voice when she saw me lurking by the door. ‘I’d like you to recite some Shakespeare for the class today.’
My heart started to pound with nerves.
‘Up on the stage?’ I said. ‘In front of everyone?’
‘Yes, de-arr,’ she said. ‘Is that a problem?
‘N-no,’ I said.
I didn’t normally get nervous but suddenly I was the most frightened that I’d ever been in my life. It wasn’t the fact that I’d never done drama before that was bothering me; it was my stutter that I was worried about. Would they give me a place at stage school if they knew that I stammered?
My legs felt like jelly as I stood on the stage and Miss Margaret passed me the play. It was one of Macbeth’s well-known speeches.
The whole room was deadly silent and all eyes were on me. My hands were shaking as I scanned the words.
Is this a dagger which I see before me?
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
You can do this, Rene, I told myself.
I took a deep breath.
‘I-is th-this a d-d-d- …’
B’s and d’s were particularly tricky for me to say, and no matter how hard I tried, the words just wouldn’t come out. I completely panicked and started gasping for breath.
I seemed to be up there for ever, but finally Miss Margaret waved her hand to stop me.
‘I see you have a stammer, dear,’ she boomed.
‘Y-yes,’ I said, ashamed and completely mortified that I’d shown myself up in front of the whole class
‘Let’s leave it there, then,’ she said.
I felt sick afterwards. She didn’t say anything else, but I was so worried that I had blown my chances.
Next up was a tap class, where the teacher was a tiny woman with jet-black hair and bright red lipstick. I much preferred ballet to tap, but I’d done a little bit before and managed to follow all the steps.
At the end of the morning, Miss Conti called me in to see her.
‘Well, Irene, I’ve had a chat to the teachers,’ she said.
I could feel my heart thumping out of my chest. I didn’t know what I’d do if they didn’t want me. How would I tell Mum that I’d failed?
‘By all reports you’re a lovely little dancer,’ she said. ‘A few other areas need a bit of work but we’ll take you.’
‘Pardon?’ I gasped. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, dear,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll give you a list of what you’ll need to bring with you to class. You can start next week.’
I couldn’t believe it, I was on cloud nine. I’m going to be a dancer, I thought, triumphantly. I’d done it! I couldn’t wait to write to Mum and tell her the news when I had an address for her. It really was a dream come true. I was going to spend every day doing what I loved and was so passionate about.
‘Gaga, Papa, I got into Italia Conti!’ I told them excitedly when I got home.
‘Very good, Rene,’ said my grandmother, not even bothering to look up from her needlework. I didn’t expect to get glowing accolades, but it would have been nice for them to acknowledge it. After all, they always seemed so proud of their other grandchildren who were all very academic and had gone off to good schools and universities.
The only downside of starting at Italia Conti was that I would have to leave Honeywell Road Primary, where I was very happy. I had a wonderful teacher there called Mrs Ritchie, and I couldn’t wait to tell her my news.
‘Mrs Ritchie, I got into Italia Conti,’ I told her with a big grin. ‘I start next week.’
‘Well, that is excellent news,’ she said.
At the end of the day, she called me over to her and pulled out a chair from under the table.
‘Stand up there, Rene,’ she said in a loud voice. ‘Now tell the rest of the class what you’re going to be.’
‘I’m going to stage school and I’m going to be a ballet dancer,’ I said proudly.
The whole class clapped and gave me three cheers. She was the only person to recognise my achievement and it felt lovely to have someone making a fuss of me. It made me feel really special and I’ve never forgotten that.
Even though I was sad to leave school I couldn’t wait to start at Italia Conti. I spent the next week getting all of the things that I needed for class. Thankfully Mum had left me some money for any extras that I might need. My grandmother made my uniform, which was a black sleeveless satin tunic with two slits up the side and tied in a bow at the back, and black cotton gym knickers.
One afternoon I got the bus up to Covent Garden and went to Frederick Freed’s in St Martin’s Lane, which I’d heard was the place for professional dancers to get their shoes.
‘I’d like some dance shoes, please,’ I told the shop assistant. ‘I need some bright red tap shoes with bows, pink ballet shoes and pink satin pointe shoes.’
‘Well, that’s quite a list, Miss,’ she said. ‘Are you here with your mother?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m here on my own.’
Thankfully she knew what she was doing and fitted them for me. There’s something special about dance shoes when they’re brand new, and I loved every minute of it. The shop assistants made such a fuss of me and brought out about a dozen pairs of ballet shoes all in different shades of pink satin. I loved the pointe shoes the most, as I’d never done pointe work before and that was what prima ballerinas wore. They were stuffed with papier mâché in the toes.
‘They’re beautiful,’ I sighed. ‘I can’t wait to learn to dance on those.’
‘You’ll have to get your mother to sew the ribbons on,’ the shop assistant told me.
‘Oh, my mother’s not around at the minute,’ I told her. ‘I can do it myself.’
It was special pink ribbon that was satin on one side and cotton on the other, so they didn’t slip when you tied them around your ankles.
‘It’s important to get them just right,’ the woman at Freed’s told me. ‘Not too tight, not too loose.
‘You also need to darn the ends with embroidery cotton so they don’t wear out and place a lamb’s wool pad on your toes to protect them.’
I also had to sew the elastic straps on my flat satin ballet pumps.
I went home with my head spinning about all the things I had to remember to do. Although I’d been taught needlework at school, I wasn’t much good at it, but I was determined to do it and not have to ask my grandmother for help. So I spent the next few evenings sewing away for hours. God knows what sort of a job I did, but I was so proud that I’d done it all myself.
Soon it was time for my first day and I was filled with excitement as well as a few nerves. Walking through those doors at Italia Conti felt to me like going into fairyland. I wasn’t even disheartened when the first person I saw was Miss Margaret, the drama teacher.
‘Hello,’ I said nervously. ‘I’m here for my first day.’
‘What’s your name, de-arr, and I’ll put you down on the register?’ she asked.
‘Irene,’ I said. ‘Irene Bott.’
Miss Margaret put down her fountain pen and gave me a look of utter disdain.
