Last modified on Thu 17 Dec 2020 11.18 EST
I remember when ballet was all about bucking up, scraping shillings together for shoes and sharing ribbons, with parts going to whoever had the most vivid eyes and bounciest hair. Simpler times. Of course, that may be because my sole exposure to the world of ballet was via Noel Streatfeildâs prewar masterpiece Ballet Shoes. Looking back, I can see that the novelâs tale of Pauline, Petrova and Posy Fossilâs trials and tribulations at the Madame Fidolia School of Plucky Young Things, wherein hard work, honesty and the occasional intervention from Nana solved most problems, probably wasnât an accurate portrayal of the world of elite dancers, even in 1936.