Ballet Shoes

  Nana and the two doctors came down and heard Theo’s suggestion, then Sylvia said:

  ‘I have told her that I don’t think we can consider it.’

  ‘Why not ?’ asked Nana.

  ‘Oh, Nana’ — Sylvia was flushed — ‘I thought you’d be certain to agree with me.’

  ‘And for why?’ Nana smoothed a crease out of her apron. ‘Posy we may say is bound to dance anyway, coming to us with her dancing slippers and all. It might be just the right thing for Pauline too — never any good at her books, only fond of that reciting.’

  ‘How about Petrova?’ said Sylvia.

  ‘Well, she won’t be no good at it to my way of thinking, but it might be just the thing for her — turn her more like a little lady; always messing about with the works of clocks and that just like a boy; never plays with dolls, and takes no more interest in her clothes than a scarecrow.’

  ‘What do you think ?’ Sylvia turned to the two doctors.

  Doctor Jakes looked at Doctor Smith and they nodded at each other. Then Doctor Jakes cleared her throat.

  ‘It’s a great responsibility, my dear, for you to undertake, but we do feel Miss Dane’s suggestion is good. It may be that you may find later that dancing is not the career for all of them, but the training will have done them good, and you will at least have taken a step towards trying to make them self-supporting.’

  Sylvia looked round at them all; she felt she must take their advice, but she was worried.

  ‘They are such little children,’ she exclaimed.

  Nana got up.

  ‘Little children grow up. I suppose that Anna Pavlova was a little child once. I’ll be going back to my nurseries, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Sylvia dear. Good night.’

  CHAPTER IV

  Madame Fidolia and the Dancing Class

  THE Children’s Academy of Dancing and Stage Training was in Bloomsbury. It was three large houses joined inside by passages. Across the front was written in large gold letters: ‘Children’s Acad’ on the first house, ‘emy of Dancing an’ on the second, and ‘d Stage Training’ on the third. Theo had arranged that Nana and Sylvia should take the children round to see the place and to meet Madame Fidolia on a Wednesday afternoon, and that they should start their classes on the following Monday. Since it was a very important occasion, Mr Simpson said he would drive them all to the Academy in his car. The afternoon started badly. Pauline wanted to wear a party frock, which she said was the right thing for a dancing class; Nana, after discussion with Theo, had ironed and washed their blue-linen smocks and knickers.

  ‘I want to wear our muslins,’ said Pauline. ‘At Cromwell House girls who learned dancing wore best frocks.’

  ‘Only for ballroom dancing,’ Petrova argued. ‘They wore silk tunics for everything else; we haven’t got those.’

  Nana was firm.

  ‘It’s not a matter of what you’ve got or haven’t got; you’re putting on the smocks and knickers I’ve laid on your beds, so get on with changing while I dress Posy.’

  ‘Why can’t we wear our muslins?’ Pauline growled.

  ‘Because for the exercises and that they’re going to see you do Miss Dane said plain cotton frocks and knickers. When you start on Monday you’re having rompers, two each, black patent ankle-strap shoes, and white tarlatan dresses, two each, with white sandal shoes, and white knickers, two pairs, all frills; so don’t worry me, because I’m going to have worries enough getting all that lot made by Monday.’

  Petrova pulled off her pink check frock and knickers, and got into the clean ones.

  ‘What do we want all those for?’

  Nana sighed.

  ‘Ask me, dear! What we’ve got would do quite well for dancing in, I should say; but there’s a printed list come, and there’s all that on it, not to mention two rough face-towels for each child, clearly marked, and two special overalls to be bought through the school. Now you know. Come here, Pauline, and let me see to your hair.’

  Petrova hurried through her dressing and ran downstairs. She found Mr Simpson sitting in his car.

  ‘Hullo!’ he called. ‘Come beside me.’ She scrambled in. He looked down at her and smiled. ‘So they are going to train you as a dancer, are they?’

  ‘Yes.’ Petrova sighed. ‘And I don’t want to be one.‘

  ‘Why? Might be fun.’

  ‘Not for me; I’m not any good. At Cromwell House we did dancing games once a week, and I was the worst in the class. Pauline was the best, though.’

  ‘How about Posy?’

  ‘Her mother was a dancer, she became a Fossil bringing ballet shoes with her, so I expect she’ll be all right.’ She fiddled with the gear lever. ‘Do you suppose if you train to be a dancer and to act when you are eight like me, that you can be something else when you grow up?’

  ‘Of course.’ He laughed. ‘Eight isn’t very old. You’ve at least another ten years before you’ll need to worry.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Petrova shook her head. ‘Nana says that Miss Dane says that we can start to earn money when we are twelve. I shall be twelve in four years. So if I begin earning then, I shall have been doing it for’ — she counted on her fingers —’five years by the time I’m quite grown-up.’

  ‘Meaning you’d be quite grown-up at seventeen?’

  ‘Yes. Well, would you think then I could be something else?’

  ‘Of course. What do you want to be?’

  ‘I don’t know quite. Something to do with driving cars. Can girls be chauffeurs ?’

  ‘Lots are.’

  She looked pleased.

  Then I think I’ll be that.’

  When they arrived at the Academy and rang the bell they were shown into a waiting-room. They had to wait in it quite a long time; but the children did not mind because of the pictures on the walls. These were photographs of the pupils of the school. Some were large ones of just one child. These were rather alike — the child wearing a ballet frock and standing on her toes. These were signed: ‘To dear Madame Fidolia from Little Doris,’ or ‘Babsy,’ or ‘Baby Cora,’ or names like that. The children were most impressed by the way the children in the photographs stood on their points, but shocked at the signatures, considering them all too old to have names like ‘Little’ or ‘Babsy’ or ‘Baby’.

  They played a game giving marks for the handwritings; in the end a child signing herself ‘Tiny’ won. The photographs they liked better were the groups. These were of pantomimes, and though there were lots of Academy pupils in them, the children were not interested. What they liked were the other characters.

  ‘Look,’ said Posy, climbing on a seat to see better. ‘That’s “The Three Bears”.’

  ‘It’s not.’ Pauline got up and joined her. ‘It says it’s “Puss in Boots”.’

  Petrova came over to study the picture.

  ‘I think it must have been called wrong. It is “The Three Bears”. What are those?’

  Pauline put her head to one side hoping to see better.

  ‘More like three cats, I think.’

  ‘But there isn’t three cats in “Puss in Boots”,’ Posy objected. ‘There’s only one cat.’

  Petrova suddenly gave an exclamation.

  ‘Look. Those three cats aren’t grown-up people; they are much smaller than that lady in tights.’ She turned to Sylvia. ‘Would you suppose when I’m twelve and can earn money I could be a cat? I wouldn’t mind that.’

  ‘No.’ Pauline jumped off the bench. ‘I’d love to be a cat, or a dog. A Pekingese would be nice to be — such a furry coat.’

  ‘It’s a monkey you’ll be in a minute climbing about messing yourself up,’ Nana interrupted. ‘Come and sit down like little ladies.’

  Posy sat next to Sylvia.

  ‘I’d rather be dressed like one of those little girls,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I’d like to wear flowers in my hair.’

  Pauline and Petrova looked at each other.

  Would you think,’ said Pauline, ‘that there could be so
vain a child?’ She turned to Posy. ‘And I suppose you’d like to be called “Baby Posy”?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind.’Posy swung her legs happily.’I’d like to look like one of those children.’

  Petrova leant over to her, and spoke in a very shocked voice.

  ‘You wouldn’t really like to look like one of those dressed-up misses? You wouldn’t, Posy. You’d really much rather be a cat.’

  ‘No.’ Posy lolled against Sylvia. ‘I’d like to wear flowers in my hair. Cats don’t.’

  ‘Very nice, too,’ said Nana. ‘Cats, indeed; it’s the Zoo you two ought to train at, not a dancing school.’

  Pauline and Petrova both started to argue when they were interrupted. The door opened, and Madame Fidolia came in. Madame Fidolia had been a great dancer many years before; she had started training at the age of seven in the Russian Imperial Ballet School. She had made a big name for herself before the 1914 war, not only in Russia, but all over the world. When the revolution came she had to leave her country, for she had been a favourite with the Tsar and Tsarina, and so not popular with Soviet Russia. She made London her new home, and for some years danced there, as well as in most of the European capitals and America. Then one morning she had waked up and decided she was too old to dance any more. At the same time she realized she was too energetic a person to lead a lazy life, so she started her academy.

  Madame Fidolia had thought, when she opened it, that she would run it as the Old Imperial Ballet School had been run. She soon found that was impossible, as it would cost far more money than pupils would pay. She found, too, that there were very few children who came to her who had real talent. She had discovered none of whom she had made a first-class ballerina. So she gave up trying to do the impossible, and ran an ordinary stage school where the children learnt all kinds of dancing, and actors came to teach them the art of acting. There was only one class through which they did not all pass, and that was Madame Fidolia’s own. She watched every pupil who came through the school with care for about three to six months and then perhaps one day she would say: ‘My child, you will come to my classes next term.’ Going to Madame Fidolia’s classes was the highest honour of the Academy.

  The children thought her very odd-looking. She had come straight from teaching. She had black hair parted in the middle and drawn down tight into a small bun on her neck. She had on a long practice dress of white tarlatan, and pink tights, and pink ballet shoes. Round her shoulders she had a cerise silk shawl. She stood in the doorway.

  ‘Miss Brown ?’ She had a very pretty, broken accent.

  Sylvia got up.

  ‘I’m Miss Brown.’ They shook hands. Madame looked at the children.

  ‘My pupils?’

  ‘Yes. This is Pauline.’

  Pauline smiled shyly and held out her hand, but Madame shook her head.

  ‘No. All my children when they see me night and morning, and before and after a class, or any time when we meet say, “Madame” and curtsy. So!’ She swept a lovely curtsy down to the floor.

  Pauline turned scarlet, but she managed somehow, though it was more a bob than a curtsy, and only ‘am’ of ‘Madame’ could be heard.

  ‘And this is Petrova.’

  Petrova started her curtsy, but Madame came across to her. She took her face between her hands.

  ‘Are you Russian ?’

  —Yes.’

  ‘You speak Russian?’ Madame’s tone was full of hope.

  ‘No.’ Petrova looked anxiously at Sylvia, who came to her rescue explaining her history.

  Madame kissed her.

  ‘You are the first compatriot of mine to come to my school. I will make a good dancer of you. Yes?’

  Petrova scratched at the floor with her toe and said nothing; she daren’t look up, for she was sure Pauline would make her laugh.

  ‘And this is Posy,’ said Sylvia.

  Posy came forward and dropped the most beautiful curtsy.

  ‘Madame,’ she said politely.

  ‘Blessed lamb!’ Nana murmured proudly.

  ‘Little show-off!’ Pauline whispered to Petrova.

  Madame sent for Theo and told her to take them to the classroom, and they went into the junior dancing class. Here about twenty small girls in royal-blue rompers and white socks and black patent-leather shoes were learning tap dancing. Theo spoke to the teacher. Madame, she said, wanted to see what classes to put these three children into. Madame sat down, and Sylvia and Nana sat beside her. The twenty little girls settled down cross-legged on the floor. Theo took the children to the middle of the room and told the pianist to play a simple polka, then she began to dance.

  ‘You dance, too, dears,’ she said.

  Pauline turned crimson. She had seen the sort of thing the twenty children in the class were doing, and knew that she could do nothing like that, and that they were all younger than she was.

  ‘Dance, Pauline dear,’ Theo called. ‘Copy me.’

  Pauline gave an agonized look at Sylvia, who smiled sympathy and encouragement, then she held out the skirts of her smock and began to polka.

  ‘Thank goodness we all know how to do this one,’ she thought. ‘We should have looked fools if it had been a waltz.’

  Petrova began to polka straight away, but she did it very badly, stumbling over her feet.

  ‘I won’t mind,’ she said to herself. ‘I know I can’t dance like all those children, so it’s no good trying.’

  She would not look at them, though, for she was sure they were whispering about her.

  Posy was delighted to hear the music. Theo had taught her to polka, and she was charmed to show it off. She picked up her feet and held out her skirts, and pointed her toes; she thought it great fun.

  ‘Just look at Posy!’ Pauline whispered to Petrova as she passed her.

  Petrova looked, and wished she could do it like that.

  ‘Stop,’ said Theo. ‘Come here, dears.’

  She took hold of the children one by one and lifted first their right legs and then their left over their heads. Then she left them and went to Madame Fidolia. She curtsied.

  ‘Elementary, Madame?’

  Madame got up; as she did so, all the children rose off the floor.

  ‘Elementary,’ she said. She shook first Sylvia and then Nana by the hand. ‘Goodbye, children.’

  She turned to go, and all the twenty children and the pianist and the instructress and Theo curtsied, saying ‘Madame’ in reverent voices. Pauline, Petrova, and Posy did it too, but a little late. Sylvia gave rather a deep bow, and Nana a bob.

  Well,’ said Nana, as the door closed, ‘if you ask me, it’s for all the world like taking dancing classes in Buckingham Palace.’

  ‘That’s very satisfactory,’ Theo explained to Sylvia. ‘The elementary classes are from four to five every afternoon. The acting classes are on Saturdays, so that all the children can be brought together. It will be more difficult later on, when they are in different classes.’

  They went home on a bus.

  ‘Do you know,’ Pauline whispered to Petrova as they sat down together on the front seat on the top, ‘that soon it’s Posy’s birthday, when we have to do our vows again, and we can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, didn’t we vow to make Fossil a name in history books? Whoever heard of people on the stage in history books?’

  ‘We needn’t be actresses always, though,’ Petrova said comfortingly. ‘I asked Mr Simpson, and he said because you were a thing from the time you were twelve till you grew up it didn’t mean you had to be it always.’

  ‘It’s difficult to see how to be in a history book, anyway,’ Pauline said, in a worried sort of voice. ‘It’s mostly Kings and Queens who are. People like Princess Elizabeth will be; but not us whatever we did — at least, it will be difficult.’

  ‘There’s Joan of Arc’ Petrova tried to remember a few more names. ‘I know there were a lot, but I didn’t get as far as a whole reign, I was only doing “Tales
from History” when we left Cromwell House. Then I did that little bit about Alfred the Great with Garnie; and Doctor Jakes hasn’t given me a history lesson yet. But there were lots. I know there were. We’ll ask Doctor Jakes to tell us about them.’

  Sylvia leant over from the seat behind.

  ‘Look, darlings, here is a shilling. I want you all to have cakes for tea to make up for a very hard-working afternoon.’

  CHAPTER V

  The Children’s Academy of Dancing

  THE Fossils became some of the busiest children in London. They got up at half past seven and had breakfast at eight. After breakfast they did exercises with Theo for half an hour. At nine they began lessons. Posy did two hours’ reading, writing, and kindergarten work with Sylvia, and Pauline and Petrova did three hours with Doctor Jakes and Doctor Smith. They were very interesting lessons, but terribly hard work; for if Doctor Smith was teaching Pauline, Doctor Jakes taught Petrova, and the other way on, and as both doctors had spent their lives coaching people for terribly stiff examinations — though of course they taught quite easy things to the children — they never got the idea out of their minds that a stiff examination was a thing everybody had to pass some day. There was a little break of ten minutes in the middle of the morning when milk and biscuits were brought in; but after a day or two they were never eaten or drunk. Both doctors had lovely ideas about the sort of things to have in the middle of lessons — a meal they called a beaver. They took turns to get it ready. Sometimes it was chocolate with cream on it, and sometimes Doctor Jakes’ ginger drink, and once it was ice-cream soda; and the things to eat were never the same: queer biscuits, little ones from Japan with delicate flowers painted on them in sugar, cakes from Vienna, and specialities of different kinds from all over England. They had their beavers sitting round the fire in either of the doctors’ rooms, and they had discussions which were nothing to do with lessons. At twelve o’clock they went for a walk with Nana or Sylvia. They liked it best when Sylvia took them. She had better ideas about walks; she thought the Park the place to go to, and thought it a good idea to take hoops and things to play with. Nana liked a nice clean walk up as far as the Victoria and Albert and back. On wet days Sylvia thought it a good plan to stay in and make toffee or be read out loud to. Nana thought nicely brought-up children ought to be out of the house between twelve and one, even on a wet day, and she took them to see the dolls’ houses in the Victoria and Albert. The children liked the dolls’ houses; but there are a lot of wet days in the winter, and they saw them a good deal. Pauline and Petrova had lunch with Sylvia, Posy had hers with Nana. After lunch they all had to take a book on their beds for half an hour. In the afternoons there was another walk, this one always with Nana. It lasted an hour, and as they had usually walked to the Victoria and Albert in the morning, they did not have to go there again, but took turns to choose where they went. Pauline liked walking where there were shops. Petrova liked the Earl’s Court Road, because there were three motor showrooms for her to look at. Posy liked to go towards the King’s Road, Chelsea, because on the way they passed a shop that sold puppies. They all liked Posy’s walk; but they did not choose it themselves because they knew she would. If Nana was not so sure that they must save the penny and walk they would have gone to much more exciting places; for you can’t get far on your legs when there is only an hour, and that includes getting home again. Tea was in the nursery at a quarter to four, and at half past they went by the Piccadilly railway to Russell Square. They all liked going on the underground; but both Gloucester Road, where they got in, and Russell Square, where they got out, were those mean sort of stations that have lifts instead of moving staircases.