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Josephine Jewkes,
Dancing Again.... | |||||||
Josephine Jewkes, dancer with Rambert and formerly an ENB Principal, writes each month on the "dancing life". Here is a link to the previous column in the series.January 29th 1998 And so, almost exactly 5 months after my hip injury first forces me to withdraw, I find myself on a plane bound for Hungary. In terms of fitness, I am able to complete barre, centre work and some wobbly adage, having only joined in company class since returning from the Christmas/Wedding/New Year break. I am scheduled to shake my tail in Rooster and insinuate my way through 'my' slow duet in Stream. Passport, ticket and a jumbo-size pack of anti-inflammatory pills form the most important part of my hand luggage. It is almost unbearable to part from my lovely new-shiny hubby after only two weeks of marriage and only a fax a day can keep my hubby-blues at bay. An inauspicious start as we land in Hungary to discover Sheron Wray's suitcase has gone missing somewhere en route from 'Thiefrow'. Budapest turns out to be the highlight of the tour: a gorgeous city with layers of history (though many of the stunning Art Nouveau/Deco/Eclectic style limestone facades are dissolving from acid rain and 40 years of Communist indifference). It seems to be waking up from its nightmare and enjoying its new affiliation to Europe - our performances there were part of the celebrations. In fast-forward culture-vulture mode, I wring the last drop out of our five days there zooming around thermal baths - indoors and our (which were scenes from Ingres but with considerably more cellulite), churches, the basilica, a tour of the city, an ooh-aaah viewing of the Lizst Music Academy and copious samplings of the Viennese-style cake shops and the contents thereof. In short, Paradise. Oh yes, did some performances too which were ecstatically received with a mystifyingly uniform slow-hand clap-that-gets-faster-and-faster. How do they do it? Do they learn it at school? Which brings me to another point, one of our classes is scheduled to take place at the Hungarian Academy (i.e. the State Ballet School) and battalions of students, teachers and even the Director, cram into the studio to watch our Cunningham class. The Director appears to write copious notes on the class and his welcoming speech mentions their 'Honour' at hosting such a famous company. The welcome, the genuine interest and the polite demeanour of the students (many of whom had been to our shows at the gorgeous cream and gold "Vigszinhaz" theatre) seem to add up to a healthy learning atmosphere. I enquire about their Teacher Training Course and am delightedly handed the literature. A little light goes on in my brain ....... A basis of solid Vaganova classical ballet combined with a healthy curiosity about new developments in modern dance, this sounds like a very happy combination for both me and for Tim, my husband who is anxious to hone his existing teaching skills. But when? and how? and does this mean the end of my dancing days? Definitely worth a holiday reconnaissance mission to find out more ............ We said a reluctant goodbye to Budapest, leaving our memory hammered at least into the mind of our genial last-night party host, Dr. Paul Dick from the British Council, when we turned his exclusive residence into a writhing disco-snakepit. I don't think he had had so much fun for years ............. Left with sinking hearts for a whistlestop tour of the identikit industrial towns of Germany. Friedrickshafen was pretty, but thereafter we enter 'sausage country' with nary a cake shop or a baroque facade in sight and I undergo acute withdrawal symptoms. To my jaundiced eye I see only ugly buildings and people and hear only ugly sounds. You will appreciate that a visit to the vast Nuremberg Stadium (site of the Nazi rallies) does little to improve my outlook. Perhaps my bad mood is aggravated by the fact that we have not been able to do a proper class all tour yet, due to the procession of well-meaning but inept local pianists inflicted upon us. This is due to Rambert's MONEY PROBLEMS (just for a change) which means that we make do with whichever Fritz of Frieda happens to be around, instead of touring our own pianist (we dance to taped music for our shows abroad). Ditto the physio/masseur situation - pure luck if the people have any experience or expertise. This makes me boiling mad and when the end of my tether is reached, I speak my mind. It is unfair to the teachers (either Vincent or Steven, both of whom also have to perform in the evening) and unfair to the dancers. It is also completely unprofessional. With some warning, a class tape could have been recorded and Steven eventually compiles an 'Eclectic' tape, everything from Bessie Smith to the New Zealand pygmy drummers is on there.
A sobering end to our tour comes as one of our number appears to suffer some sort of nervous collapse and is shepherded off to hospital. This leaves us all shaken and quiet and (bunker mentality) homesick. Right now I need more than faxes ..........
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