It was a four-day and three-night journey from Winnipeg to Boston, in sub-zero, stormy weather. The intense cold slowed the locomotives and froze the storage batteries, with the result that save for the lounge-bar car, the cars were in complete darkness and were dimly lighted at bed-time by a few spluttering candles. The severe cold had also caused the steam lines in the train to freeze, so that the temperature inside the cars was such that all made the journey wrapped in overcoats and blankets, wearing the heterogeneous collection of ear-lapped caps which they had purchased, even to North-west Canadian wool and fur shakos that blossomed in Winnipeg. Somewhere east of Chicago the “Sadler’s Wells Special” got itself behind the wreck of a freight train which had blocked the tracks, necessitating a long detour over the tracks of another railway, causing still further delays. Nine hours late, the ice-covered train bearing a company that had gone through the most gruelling train adventure of the tour, limped into Boston’s South Station.
There followed a tense period, for the minimum time required to set and light The Sleeping Beauty is twelve hours. It was another case of “touch and go.” Two hours were required to get the train broken up and all the scenery cars placed for unloading; then the procession of great trucks from the cars to the Opera House commenced; there followed the unloading, the taking-in, the hanging, the setting, the installation of all the heavy and complicated lighting equipment, for the theatres of America, for the most part, are either poorly equipped or not at all, and the Boston Opera House is in the latter category. Hundreds of costumes had to be unpacked, pressed, and distributed. But such is the efficiency of the Sadler’s Wells organization, its general stage director, the late Louis Yudkin, and our own American staff, together with the valued assistance of the Boston local manager, Aaron Richmond, that the curtain rose at the appointed minute.
I had gone to Boston for the duration of the engagement there. Bearing in mind the extensive travelling the company had had, climaxed by the harrowing journey from Winnipeg, I was concerned about their fatigue and also how it might affect the quality of the performance. My memory of the Boston première of The Sleeping Beauty is that it was one of the very best I had seen anywhere. Sir Oliver Franks, the British Ambassador, and Lady Franks, together with Lord Wakehurst, head of the English-Speaking Union, one of the Governors of the Covent Garden Opera Trust, and now Governor-General of Northern Ireland, came to Boston for the opening, and greeted the company at a delightful supper and reception following the performance. Lord Wakehurst has been a veritable tower of strength in the development of international cultural relations during the Sadler’s Wells tours; together with Lady Wakehurst, he is a charming host whose hospitality I have enjoyed in their London home.
The interest of Sir Oliver Franks, Lord Wakehurst, and the British Council as evidenced throughout the entire tour, together with the splendid cooperation of the English-Speaking Union, all helped in one of the main reasons for the tour, quite apart from any dollars the company might be able to garner. That was the extension of cultural relations between the two great English-speaking nations.
Cultural relations are basically a matter of links between individuals rather than links between governments, and such a tour as Sadler’s Wells made, bringing the richness of British ballet to hundreds of thousands of individuals, helps develop those private relationships; and the sum of them presents a comprehensive picture of Britain to the world. In our struggle for peace in the world, nothing is more essential than cultural understanding. It should be pointed out that the British Council does not send overseas companies primarily for financial gain, and its policy in these matters is not dictated by financial considerations.
The charter of UNESCO states that since wars begin in the minds of men, it is in the minds of men that the defenses of peace must be constructed. Personally, I am inclined to doubt if wars ever begin in the minds of men, but I should be the last to dispute that it is in the minds of men that the defenses of peace must be constructed.
It was on the 28th January, 1951, that the greatest ballet tour in North American history came to an end in Quebec City. It was a night of mixed feelings. The company was, of course, eager to get home to London, and also had a longing to continue here. There were the tugs of parting on the part of our American staff. Our American Sadler’s Wells Orchestra, forty-odd strong, the largest orchestra to tour with a ballet company in America, adored the company and the curtain had to be held on the last ballet on the programme, for the entire orchestra lined up to collect autographed photographs of their favorites, and refused to heed the orchestra personnel manager’s frantic pleas to enter the pit before each musician had his treasured picture. It was quite unusual, I assure you, for musicians are not noted for their interest in a ballerina. A sentimental, romantic interest between a musician and a dancer is something quite different, and is not at all unusual.
Although it was Sunday night, when the “blue laws” of Quebec frown upon music, gaiety, and alcohol, we managed, nevertheless, to have a genuine farewell celebration, which took the form of an after-performance dinner at the Chateau Frontenac. The company got into their evening-clothes for the last time on this side of the Atlantic, piled into buses at the theatre and returned to the hotel, while the “Sadler’s Wells Special” that was to take them back to Montreal, waited at the station. It waited a long time, for the night’s celebration at the Chateau lasted until four-thirty in the morning. It was a festive affair, with as fine a dinner as could be prepared, and the wines and champagne were both excellent and ample. We had set up a pre-dinner cocktail room in one of the Chateau’s private rooms, and had taken the main restaurant, the great hall of the Chateau, for the dinner. Before the dancing commenced—yes, despite the long tour, despite the two days the company had spent skiing and tobogganing in Quebec, with three performances in an inadequate theatre, they danced—the dessert was served. I should like to list the entire menu, but the dessert will give an indication of its nature. The lights in the great dining room were extinguished, the orchestra struck a chord, and a long line of waiters entered each bearing flaming platters of Omelette Norvegienne Flambée des Mignardires.
The guests included the Premier of Quebec and officials of the Quebec Government. The only note that dimmed the gaiety of the occasion was the absence of Dame Ninette de Valois and David Webster, both in London preparing for the new season. It was not an occasion for long speeches; our hearts and our stomachs were too full. However, I expressed my sincere thanks to the entire organization and, in the absence of “Madame” and Webster, Herbert Hughes, the general manager of the Ballet, replied, and announced to the company the figures for the tour, amidst cheers. Then followed the touching incident of the toast to Fonteyn I have mentioned.
Before the dancing began, a sudden mania for autographs started, with everybody collecting every other person’s autograph on the large, specially printed menus, which I had previously autographed. Apparently all wanted a menu as a souvenir of a venture that had gone down in the annals of ballet and entertainment as the greatest success of all time.