Diana Gould: A Life in Dance
Diana Gould was born in 1912, in the heart of London. A time when ballet, for all its grandeur and beauty, felt like a distant, almost forbidden world. My family, though far from aristocratic, held a deep love for the arts, and that love instilled a yearning within me. My own dancing journey began with ballet classes at the "Academy of Dancing", a tiny studio above a greengrocer's shop on a cobbled street. I was just six years old. But those lessons, with their scent of pinewood and damp velvet curtains, and the haunting notes of a worn-out piano, set the stage for an extraordinary life.
My early teachers, Miss Thompson and Mr. Evans, were stern yet kind, shaping my clumsy movements with firm corrections and gentle encouragement. We learned the basic steps - plié, tendu, and dégagé, the foundations of an art that would captivate my heart and become my life's pursuit. Every class was an adventure, each turn and leap a new world to discover.
In 1924, our world, and my world in particular, was dramatically changed. The famed choreographer, Sergei Diaghilev, arrived in London with his company, Ballets Russes, and with him, an electrifying new vision of dance. Their performances, held in the cavernous Royal Albert Hall, left a permanent imprint on me. I can still remember the stunning colours, the bold and unexpected movements, and Vaslav Nijinsky's poetry in motion. For a young dancer like me, it was an awakening.
That year, Diaghilev's company visited our school, and we, a small group of bright-eyed pupils, were allowed to attend a master class led by Michel Fokine. I can recall it vividly. The heat of the studio, the scent of musk and sweat, and the rhythmic thunder of Fokine’s voice, driving us to push our bodies beyond limits. My feet ached, my muscles burned, but the feeling of triumph and liberation was undeniable.
Within a few short years, my progress in ballet accelerated. Miss Thompson and Mr. Evans had become a force behind my growth. They, sensing a talent, began grooming me for a professional career. At the age of sixteen, I was accepted into the prestigious Sadler's Wells Ballet, which would become known as The Royal Ballet.
My new life was a whirlwind of rehearsals, grueling practices, and exhilarating performances. I absorbed everything I could from the veteran dancers, absorbing their wisdom, technique, and stage presence like a sponge. The Sadler's Wells was a world of joy, discipline, and unwavering commitment. It was a place where dreams were nurtured, talent honed, and artistry thrived. Here, under the watchful eye of Ninette de Valois, I thrived.
However, my initial roles were typically minor. I often spent long hours in the wings, watching from the sidelines, yearning for a break. A turning point
The turning point arrived in 1936. With the rising tide of the avant-garde, and a desire for a more dynamic stage, the company had been revamped. The choreographers had sought to give greater voice to the modern dancer and the emphasis was now placed on individual expression and personal stories. And with this change, a chance arrived for me, the eager, unproven ballerina waiting in the wings.
We were rehearsing The Firebird, one of the seminal works of ballet, with the iconic Igor Stravinsky music. The star ballerina, Anya Petrovna, fell ill during a critical rehearsal. The director had no choice but to cast me, with barely twenty-four hours to master the part. As a fledgling dancer, the task seemed insurmountable. Yet, fuelled by fear, determination, and a yearning to prove myself, I immersed myself in the role. Rehearsing day and night, studying the nuances of every step, every gesture, I channeled my emotions into the performance.
The premiere arrived, and the lights descended upon the stage. As the familiar strains of Stravinsky's music filled the air, I stepped into the role of The Firebird, and the stage transformed before my very eyes. I felt the magic surrounding me as the rhythm of the music became an extension of my own heartbeat. My movements flowed like molten fire, expressing both the untamed power and tender grace of the mythological creature. And with each leap, turn, and expression, a sense of freedom took hold.
It was an unforgettable night. The audience's applause echoed throughout the hall. And when the curtain came down, I knew my life had irrevocably changed. That night was not simply a performance. It was an outpouring of heart and soul, a testament to the unwavering power of the human spirit.
This one breakthrough performance, thrust upon me by circumstance, catapulted my career. My life took on new meaning as I transitioned from a minor player to one of the company’s leading dancers.
Over the following decades, my dance career blossomed, filled with numerous performances, each a step closer to my dream of achieving excellence in my craft. The world of dance continued to unfold around me.
As the world went to war, ballet, with its artful escapism and powerful emotional language, became a solace for audiences. Life, Love, and War
The War had a profound effect on all of us, including the dancers of Sadler's Wells. Many men were conscripted, including the dancers, my fellow performers. Our stage became a platform for a shared sense of hope. My own love life was inevitably affected by the uncertainties of wartime. A young pilot, Richard, fell in love with me, drawn in by the allure of my art, and my quiet strength. We were united in our shared dreams for a peaceful future. Our love was unbridled by war's devastation. It was a romance that bloomed beneath the shadow of conflict, our meetings precious glimpses of happiness in a world shrouded in grief and despair.
Richard would be killed in action shortly after our wedding. It was a profound loss for us both. This pain, this emptiness, was etched deep into my heart. But amidst this personal grief, the company, our ballet family, rallied around me, offering their love and support in my time of need.
Dance, it seemed, was more than just an art. It was a sanctuary.
War left a permanent mark on our company, a reminder of the fragility of life. When peace was finally restored, it was as if we all took a deep, collective breath. We stepped back into the light of normalcy, and began the task of healing, both personally, and as a company. Our passion, our determination to spread the healing power of art remained as strong as ever. Embracing Change, Embracing the Future
The post-war period ushered in a new wave of artistic exploration. The dance world was no longer limited by tradition. The choreographers of that era, choreographers like Frederick Ashton and Anthony Tudor, sought to break down the traditional boundaries of ballet, introducing bold new ideas. They sought to create new and experimental pieces, which pushed the limits of dance to new and thrilling levels.
It was in this era of revolution that I began to express myself more than ever. I began to experiment with my own choreographic ideas, drawing from my life experiences.
My work embraced emotionality, realism, and a touch of modernist infusion. I crafted a ballet based on a woman's life. Its title was simply: "A Woman's Journey." I danced the lead role myself. This new piece became a landmark of my career, a chance for me to share my own emotions and thoughts with the world.
With age came a new awareness of myself as an artist. This was not simply a career, it was a way of life. The dancers that I mentored were no longer my colleagues, they became my artistic daughters. In them, I saw a reflection of myself - the youth, the ambition, the unbridled love for the art.
With the passing of the years, my role changed once again. I moved into the realm of teaching and choreographing.
I left the stage as a dancer in 1965, though my love for dance never faded. For me, it was a love that had nourished my spirit and shaped my character. The passion that had first sparked in that small studio above the greengrocer’s shop had now grown into an entire world.
Retirement allowed me to dedicate more of my time to choreography and to teaching, guiding young dancers on their own journey of exploration and expression. Leaving a legacy
I am proud to have left behind a legacy that extends beyond the stage. My students, the young dancers whom I have taught and inspired, continue to perform. Their grace and artistic brilliance, their dedication to the art - are my lasting gift to the world of ballet.
Diana Gould was born in 1912 and died in 2003, her life was a testament to the enduring power of dance and the joy of creative expression. I have always considered myself fortunate to have had a chance to live a life where my art and my life became inextricably intertwined.
Though I am no longer on the stage, I continue to watch with joy and pride, the new generations of dancers embracing the art with the same passion and love that has shaped my own life. Dance will always be a source of beauty and inspiration.