Wendy Ellis Somes

I was born in Blackburn and grew up in the small town of Rishton, Lancashire, in the northwest of England, where the land and hills are wild and beautiful, the air was damp, cotton mills still abounded, and small shops selling their specialist wares were the norm and no-one had heard of a supermarket. I still think of Tommy Taylor's ice-cream and jam wafers, and the beef and onion turnovers from the baker near my father's work, both now sadly long-gone. My family and neighbours were good-hearted, kind and honourable people, who cared about each other as much as themselves, and I'm still good friends with Christine, whom I met on my first day at school, aged five.

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My mother Gwendoline and my father Clive loved me and each other, and although we were not wealthy, we had a house to live in, good food to eat, clothes to wear, and treats and outings to look forward to from time to time. Like most of us, I regarded my life and family as normal and thought that everyone else's was the same, and it took some years for me to realise that my simple, happy existence, and the love and support of my parents, were not things that other people necessarily experienced, at least not to the same degree.

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It was my mother who perceived that I might have a talent for dancing, and it's her I have to thank most of all for the way my life turned out. When I was around three years old, I would apparently switch on the radio when people came to visit and tune it to the classical music I wanted, then proceed to dance around the room in time to it. My love of music was my inspiration, and I just wanted to listen to the music and dance to it. Our guests would remark, "that child's got something Gwen, you should send her to dancing lessons", and my mother agreed, as she must have seen it in me too, and so began my dancing career as a tiny tot. I knew then that ballet was what I wanted to do, and the conviction never wavered throughout my time growing up, nor into my ballet career itself.

My mother and father worked hard to support us all, my mother even teaching night classes to augment our income. My father was a shoemaker and cobbler, and made a lovely pair of shoes for my mother at their wedding. My mother was an excellent clothes and dress-maker, and made all of my ballet clothes (tutus included) from my very first lessons through to adulthood, plus many wonderful outfits that I wore to parties, first nights, on tour and so on, even prompting my ballet dancer friends to give me the nickname "Trendy Wendy".

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I was fortunate to attend Westholme school in Lancashire, where ballet lessons formed part of the curriculum (taught by Peggy Wilson), and I continued with my ballet dancing there, as well as lessons with Peggy at the Carlotta School of Dance (she had asked my mother to take me privately after seeing me at school, which meant my mother having to come up with the money for private lessons, not an easy thing for her to do at the time). I also danced in festivals, and cultivated my acting talents with roles including Brer Rabbit, Humpty Dumpty and Alice (I played both parts) and others, and I think it was this exposure to performing from an early age that helped me to project myself and really inhabit the character I was playing. I saw that if I believed it, the audience would too, and it made a positive difference in my roles then, and in my later ballet career.

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Peggy was a good teacher and we progressed well together, as I also enjoyed her syllabus, which came from the British Ballet Organisation (BBO), an organisation I'm glad to now be a patron of. When I was eleven, I won a BBO scholarship for some private lessons in London, and Peggy told my mother, "I can't do anything more for this child. She needs to go to a full-time ballet school", and my mother knew that it was true. If I was to make it as a professional ballerina, I would need to continue my training elsewhere. She decided to apply to a number of ballet schools, the Royal Ballet School included, and we were invited to their finals week for new students, even though the preliminaries had already taken place. After the standard ballet repertoire audition, we were asked to do whatever we liked, so I took off my shoes and gave them something different, a show of Greek dancing which I also loved. Looking back on it now, this may have been what did it, as they must have seen that as well as being a decent dancer, I loved performing. They offered a place to me and told my mother there and then, and wanted me to start the following week. "No", said my mother, "she has to finish her term first", and she also knew that she had the momentous task of moving herself, my father and me to London, finding them work and somewhere to live, and all of this before I even started.

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We moved to London, my parents found work and a place to live, and I started at the Royal Ballet School as a day pupil, a somewhat unusual (though not unique) arrangement even then, as most of the students were boarders. However, this gave me an opportunity that I now reflect on as being a real advantage - the chance to go to ballet (and opera) performances in the evenings and see how it was really done on stage, initially with my parents, and then with friends as I grew a little older. I saw Margot Fonteyn and Rudolph Nureyev, Fred Ashton and Robert Helpmann, Michael Somes, Anthony Dowell and Antoinette Sibley, Lynn Seymour, Maria Callas and Tito Gobi, Boris Kristoff and many others, and really noticed not just their talent, but their presence and stage craft, and how they could make a performance spell-binding, mainly through their acting and projection. Since this was something I'd also been aware of from a young age, watching those that went before me was especially exhilarating. 

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I was due to dance the part of Swanhilda in Coppélia at the Royal Ballet Upper School end-of-year performance, when Ninette (Dame Ninette de Valois) told me that I was to go on tour instead with the Royal Ballet Touring Company (now the Birmingham Royal Ballet), addressing me in a forthright (though kindly) tone whilst slapping the table, "It'll be much better for you to do this". I was upset at the time, but later realised she was absolutely right. There comes a time to stop learning and a time to start doing, and some of the best learning one can have in life is experiential. We have to do what we've learned to do, or chosen to do, in the real world. We toured Europe and it was a case of thrown in at the deep end, but thankfully to find that I'm swimming well. 

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The Royal Ballet and the touring company were amalgamating in 1970, people were leaving and things were in an upheaval. I was on summer holidays after the tour and was due to return to the school in the autumn, but events took a different turn. I was put down as soloist material and that I should stay, so I ended up joining the Royal Ballet instead. I didn't find out about the kind hand of fate until many years later, though it was great good fortune, as it meant I could stay with the Royal Ballet and continue my career there.

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I first met my future husband Michael Somes in rehearsals at the Royal Opera House, although there was no indication whatsoever from either of us at the time that our relationship would become anything more than professional. I met him outside of rehearsals for the first time by chance at the HMV shop on Oxford Street in London. I was looking through classical records to buy and he was also in the shop. He saw me, though I didn't see him. He came up to me and said hello, which made me jump. We talked for a minute about music and he asked me to guess his favourite composer. I was nonplussed, so he gave me a clue - "it begins with B", he said. "Beethoven", was my response, which was wrong. "Berlioz", he corrected me, smiling. 

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That's how it started. We came across each other a few more times through simple coincidence, in different cities while we were on tour, and a liking for each other developed, which became a love, then a deep love as the years progressed. Michael was much older than I was, but it didn't seem to matter, and the age gap irrelevant. When we first started going out, my mother had the intuition that I was seeing someone, and asked to meet him. She was initially shocked when Michael came to the house, and even went to the Opera House to confront him and demand what he was doing with me. To this day, I don't know exactly what passed between them, but whatever it was, it must have placated her, and she didn't interfere or forbid me from seeing him. Perhaps in her mind was the memory of a man that she'd loved before she met my father, and her family had refused to let her continue with the relationship, because he apparently liked a drink (he wasn't alcoholic, he just went to the pub now and again). This all seems very tame by today's standards.

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I danced in many ballets with the Royal Ballet throughout my career, starting in the corps de ballet, then as a soloist, and later as a principal, and I can truthfully say that I loved it, although it was tough at times. To save reiterating what's already on my Wikipedia page for the ballets I danced in, I've simply put a link to it here. 

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To get to principal as a ballerina or ballet dancer takes a great deal of hard work, skill and dedication, and I was fortunately able to apply myself in all three areas. My technique didn't come at the drop of a hat, though it brings to mind the phrase, "hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard", and although I was a competent dancer, I also put a lot of work in, plus I practised continually to improve myself. However, I think that my forte was my acting, and I firmly believe that the ability to act well and really tell the story to the audience is what makes the crucial difference between a merely good dancer (or actor), and a great one. I never considered myself a truly great ballerina, as I was always aspiring to do better, but in reaching for that perfection and falling short, I still gave my very best, and hopefully some memorable performances over the years that audiences enjoyed.

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My career wasn't without its challenges, both professional and personal, and looking back on it now, I wonder if some of it was due to my relationship with Michael. There were probably those who gossiped that I was only going out with him to accelerate my ballet career, when in reality, it made things harder, and I realise that some of the events and decisions that happened, the attitudes and so on, could have been reflecting this view, although not always overtly. When it came to working with Michael, he could be very exacting and demanding with what he wanted from a role if he was involved in teaching me, and I remember being tearful on more than one occasion. However, I knew that it wasn't personal, as he was just pushing me to be better, and I'm grateful still for the strength and impetus it gave me. From talking to others who also worked with Michael or were taught by him, it seems he was the same or similar with them too - he wanted people, the company, the performances to be great, and worked extremely hard with everyone to make it so.

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I was fortunate whilst dancing that both Fred Ashton and Kenneth MacMillan liked me for their ballets, and so performed in many by each. Although I thought of working with them as a normal and everyday occurrence at the time (which it was), I now know that I was blessed to learn from them, interact with them, and have their support, guidance and friendship, and it continues to nurture me today.

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Michael and I used to stay with Fred regularly at his out-of-town house in Suffolk, and I think he enjoyed getting together with Michael and having a good old chat, reminiscing and so on. I made them whisky sours and cooked dinner for them while they talked away together, though I also enjoyed it very much as I've always loved cooking (and whisky sours!), and thankfully Fred enjoyed my meals too. He had a housekeeper that cleaned and tidied for him, but I used to be concerned that he didn't eat properly as he was a little thin, and he also liked smoking and drinking which probably curbed his appetite, so I was glad to cook proper dinners and see him eat well when we were there.

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During our later visits, Fred started talking more to me about his ballets, especially Cinderella. I didn't know this at the time, but Fred had decided to will his best ballets to his friends and colleagues, and Michael was due to receive Cinderella and Symphonic Variations. I think Fred felt that these were the two he was most proud of, and wanted Michael to look after them, in order to preserve them at their best. Fred also must have realised that Michael would in turn pass them to me, which is why he involved me more and more in discussions about them.

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Fred passed away shortly after this time, and I remember it vividly. Michael and I were on holiday, and we saw his name and photo flash up on the television, and knew that he'd gone. A very sad day.

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I retired from dancing not long after Fred's passing, as I felt that it was the right time and I had done enough. Michael also wanted me to come away with him when he visited companies to stage ballets (Cinderella and Symphonic Variations amongst them), and we started working more closely together, not just on choreography, but sets, costumes, lighting, orchestration, sight lines, auditorium acoustics and so on. Everything that's needed and to focus on to bring a great production to the stage. Michael's years of experience were invaluable, and I picked up a great deal in a short time, although I was able to contribute my own perspective on things which he enjoyed, and ultimately made for better performances.

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Michael and I were able to spend four happy years together after my retirement, although we were both still working on various things, not least of which was my garden, which I still tend and love to this day. His passing was the most calamitous event of my life, alongside my mother's, as we'd spent so many wonderful years together and truly loved each other. Now I was on my own, trying to keep body and life and soul together, dealing with grief, and yet the ballets were calling. Cinderella and Symphonic Variations were (and are) widely regarded as among Fred's best works, and as some of the best internationally, and companies wanted to stage them. I dragged myself from the dark place I was in to stage Symphonic Variations with my friend and fellow dancer Wayne Eagling, who was director at Dutch National Ballet in Amsterdam at the time, and slowly, very slowly, the grief receded, the ballets went on elsewhere and I began to live my life again. My knowledge and experience on Cinderella and Symphonic Variations was proving crucial in producing them for the stage, as I'd danced multiple roles in Cinderella (a page as a student, later a Star, then Spring, Autumn and finally Cinderella) and many times in Symphonic Variations, and now could really utilise this, plus the wisdom of Fred and Michael, and my own increasing expertise in all the other aspects of theatre performance that needed to be right. The dancers could perform the ballet beautifully, but it would be a waste of time if the lighting was poor and the audience couldn't see them properly, for example.

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I was alone though. My mother, who'd loved me and helped me so much, and Michael, who'd done the same, were both gone, and my father, though still alive and a comfort to me, could not replace them. My life stretched ahead, empty and sad and still painful, though I tried to make the best of it, and staging Cinderella and Symphonic Variations at various companies around the world gave me some focus and helped me to take my mind off my loneliness a little. I worked in my garden and grew my vegetables, I took up golf to enjoy something different and meet new people, I attended events and parties, and yet, I did not meet the person I wanted to be with, and I was still relatively young.

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I had almost given up hope when I unexpectedly met the person who is now my husband, Mervyn. He had been going through a similar experience (although it had played out differently), and, perhaps, the lesson for us was to truly let go and accept whatever happened in our lives, even if it was awful. In that acceptance, we found each other and the best happened. We are together and love each other, and for me this is the greatest gift that life can give - to love and be loved, to share, to enjoy, to face challenges, to be together always.....