I didn't want to go to another dance school, why would I? I knew about dance it was woven into the fabric of everyday life like a strand of DNA mum had knitted inside me, but the dance of our lives was chaotic, it danced at bus stops and sang at the top of our voices in fields, it bubbled through the television and jumped off the vinyl records in a topsy turvy willy wonka world.
I never liked being in crowds unless I could melt into the wall. This involves either becoming seamless or needed like the dinner lady in the line at school, accepted, quiet, passed over. It's something I perfected and still use today to feel comfortable but I couldn't be unseen in this excitable gang of budding ballerinas, dressed in their pretty pink tights, satin ribboned shoes and high pitched laughter. As mum spoke to the figure at the front I stood as far to the back as possible and waited. The woman at the front commanded your attention and it wasn't through speech. She glided above the floor her body and arms gracefully moving, her head slightly tilted as though she she was about to take flight and as her eyes took in the unruly gaggle the noise suddenly hushed and the girls turned, faced the front and pressed their feet into the floor their arms dropped and curved into an O shape.
I was fascinated by the way these little dancers moved together, swimming through the music and it completely immersed me, for a while nothing else existed as I became the movement itself one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three. A pair of dark eyes looked straight into my soul and I had found my escape from everything.
The Broomfield family themselves were also a richly coloured tapestry and their personalities and zest for life was infectous, each member bright, intriguing and welcoming they were unlike any family I had encountered and it was in this wonderful atmosphere that friendships were formed and laughter and creativity ruled alongside the regal tortoishell cats that allowed us to inhabit their home alongside them. For a while Mrs B's home itself became our dance studio I remember pushing my foot over the undulations of a thick cream carpet, bookcases becoming a bar and Mrs B sat at the end of the living room hunched over a table laden with papers, she missed nothing and should your arm drop below a certain level she would peer over and correct you, the noise filtered through from the hall as the next class arrived, shoes, tops and coats strewn across the stairs and Fiona shutting out the noise to cook dinner in an environment of creative mayhem.
I didn't become a ballerina I wished I had for Gwen but I formed the core of who I was to become. I learned love, discipline, strength, determination, humility, the thing is I felt cared for and my dreams became her dreams above all I learned not to give up and to be the best person I could be what more could you ask for?
For Mrs B
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