© Clare Thurman For more information on Monday Moves contact: education@roh.org.uk www.roh.org.uk RNIB page on Arts and Crafts Jeffery Taylor reviews Web version held on Ballet.co by kind permission of Jeffery Taylor and the Sunday Express Express Website

Dolly McLoughlin, 60, Lesley Wood, 43, Joe Meehan, 62 and Takahashi Kikuchi, 36, are blind or seriously visually impaired, but once a week in the De Valois Studio a minor miracle takes place. Dolly, Lesley, Joe and Takahashi join a dozen or so colleagues in a special class called Monday Moves, now in its twenty first year, and sweating and smiling they jump, run and spin, transformed by the joy of moving to music from nervous, stick tapping stereotypes into inspired performers,

“As soon as I heard the words, large rooms,” says Dolly, who lost her sight seven years ago and has been with the group for four months, “I thought, this is it, freedom at last. We have sighted helpers to tell us when we are in danger so I can run as hard as I can right across the studio.” And that means in real terms the width of the Royal Opera House stage. “I can’t tell you what that means to me,” she says. “I lost a lot of self esteem when my sight went. I loved driving and adored reading, but that’s all gone. I’ll never read my books again, that’s the worst thing. I’ll never get over the trauma of losing my sight but my Monday nights now really are liberating.”

“I’m absolutely amazed we’ve reached 21,” says Monday Move’s founding teacher Stanley Hamilton, 58. “When you are visually impaired the world closes in and you don’t know anymore what your body can do. In their everyday life, all my people are concentrating on getting from a to b, they bang into things, stumble in holes in the street, but when they get into the studio those limitations of space are gone completely.”

Lesley Wood, blind from birth, found more than freedom, she fell in love with Joe Meehan. “Yes,” she wryly admits,” you could say it was love at first sight.” Ballet lessons are also a welcome alternative to being patronised by so called experts. “Blindness,” says Lesley, “makes you hunch over, like a half shut penknife, and instead of a remedial teacher needlessly pointing out you’ve got a problem, like telling you you’re stooping - as if you didn’t know - these classes straighten you up without making you feel inferior. Ballet is a wonderful medium for posture.” “After we leave the class on Monday,” adds Joe, “we float home feeling wonderful inside and out.” But the couple are most concerned about public unawareness. “Why is Monday Moves still a secret after 21 years?” demands Lesley. “Why is the scheme not nationwide by now?” There are nearly 400,000 visually impaired people registered with the Royal National Institute for Blind People (RNIB), in reality the figure will be nearer 2 million. Lesley feels that all Monday Moves needs is some basic organisation and funding. “So many blind people haven’t the confidence to leave their house,” agrees Dolly, “families can be too protective and being looked after becomes a way of life. We’ve got to convince them that ballet is a wonderful, life changing thing.” A rough estimation produces a ridiculously low annual £500 cost per person. Paul Reeve, ROH’s Director of Education, responsible for Monday Moves, sees few obstacles in the way. “All we need is a simple basic structure of a small number of experts like Stanley Hamilton to benefit a large pool of participants. We’d be keen to create more opportunities nationwide.” Hamilton agrees, “The class motto is We Go On,” he points out. “As a 21-year-old we should also be getting out to more people.

“When you lose your vision,” he goes on, “there’s a general closure of all the other senses, that need not happen. In my classes I reverse the process, I open up their individual space and make them aware of other people’s bodies. But the real revelation for me, is persuading blind people to jump.” Seven years ago Hamilton had an operation to remove a cancerous growth from his right leg. “That led to a thorough retraining of my own physique,” he points out, “which helped me enormously to deal with some of my dancers’ problems with jumping.” But it seems that Hamilton’s desire to share his students’ fate is being tested to the extreme. “It’s ironic,” he explains, “but I’m in danger of losing some of my vision. It’s a very slow procedure,” he adds, “but it’s a possibility for the future.” Ted O’Dwyer, 65, and with the group almost since its inception, had a triple bypass a couple of years ago. “After the operation I never expected to see him again,” admits Hamilton, “but look at him now flinging himself about with complete abandon. I think well if Ted can do it, I can. To see these men and women running around and leaping into the air is staggering and inspirational. Watching them all growing in confidence week by week gives me hope.”

Assuming Hamilton’s weekly roll call is an average of twenty bodies, that leaves an estimated one million, nine hundred and eighty thousand visually impaired men and women in the UK needlessly deprived of inspiration, confidence and hope on a Monday evening. It just doesn’t make sense, does it?