Lady of the Dance

by Duffy, Marie; Rowley, Eddie;

  LADY OF THE DANCE

  MARIE DUFFY

  WITH EDDIE ROWLEY

  Dedication

  To my mother

  Acknowledgements

  In my life I’ve been blessed with great people who’ve been there for me through the good times, but especially when the going got tough. It has not been possible to mention every one of you by name in the telling of my story, but you know who you are and you will always be in my heart.

  I have had many ‘families’ as you will discover. I was lucky to be reared in a great family with a lovely gang of brothers and by a mother who had big dreams for me. I hope she’s smiling down today.

  I will always remember the Maoileidgh family with affection, and the wonderful families and friends I have met through the Irish dance community and CLRG.

  I have been lucky in love twice – the first time with my late husband Ian Messenger, and I’d like to thank Ian’s family for their love and support.

  My dear friends James and Noreen McCutcheon, Hilary Joyce Owens and Barry Owens have put in countless hours keeping me afloat during difficult times in recent years.

  Words can’t describe how much I appreciate and value the support and friendship of Eben Foggitt and his wife, Sharon, and particularly their selfless service to The Marie Duffy Foundation.

  I’ve lived a very fulfilled life through Irish dance, and I never imagined that I would end up working on one of the biggest dance shows in the world. A phone call from Michael Flatley changed my life. Michael, I will never forget the opportunity you gave me to have the most incredible experiences around the globe. Thank you for the laughs, tears, dramas and thrills. But above all, thank you for your friendship, Michael and Niamh.

  To everyone involved in Lord of the Dance – what an adventure that has been for all of us! I hope I’ve done it justice between the covers of this book.

  Here I would like to thank my co-writer, Eddie Rowley, author and showbiz editor of the Sunday World, who helped me put the jigsaw of my life together. My heartfelt thanks also to Eddie’s wife, Patricia, for the hours spent transcribing my recordings.

  Thank you to Patrick O’Donoghue and the staff at the former Columba Press for their early work on this book. To Michael O’Brien and the staff of The O’Brien Press, my sincere thanks for bringing it to life and for a beautiful production.

  Last but not least, to my husband, Mike Pask, and his gorgeous family. I don’t know what I would do without Mike in my life. He is the most incredible man, as you will learn in my story. Thank you Mike for your unconditional love, particularly during very challenging times. You know I adore you.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Foreword by Michael Flatley

  Prologue: Dancing Through Life

  1. A Surprise Child

  2. My Dad took a Bullet

  3. The Communion Dress

  4. My Adventures with Aunt Em

  5. A Dance Teacher is Born

  6. The Rolo Kid

  7. Inis Ealga Goes Global

  8. I Want to Break Free

  9. Me and My Mum

  10. The Mystery Man

  11. Wedding Blues and Riverdance

  12. The Kid from Chicago

  13. Birth of a Lord

  14. The Sacred Heart

  15. On the Road to the Oscars

  16. Hell on Earth

  17. The Final Journey

  18. The Last Goodbye

  19. The Prince and the Clog Witch

  20. The Next-Door Neighbour

  21. A Whirlwind Romance

  22. Time for Champagne

  23. The Harbour Girls

  24. The Foundation

  25. Onwards Ever, Backwards Never

  Plates

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Foreword

  by Michael Flatley

  Marie Duffy is a legend.

  Her dedication to the teaching and development of Irish dance from an early age has been a driving force of the Irish Dancing Commission on a global scale.

  Her relentless optimism in times when seemingly insurmountable hurdles have presented themselves has been an inspiration to all who have worked with her.

  I have known Marie as close as a ‘sister’ for more than twenty years and known of her reputation for even longer.

  It was that reputation as a driven and motivated teacher, choreographer and promoter of Irish dance that made Marie Duffy the only person I could choose to help realise my vision for Lord of the Dance.

  Over the years Marie trained countless world champions and her attention to detail and perfectionism is something we connected on right from the start.

  Marie has never been afraid to push the boundaries; and when we first met and I told her my ideas she never faltered or said that it can’t be done, but immediately jumped on board.

  It was that kind of positivity and can-do attitude that I needed in a time when, for me, my dreams had just been torn apart.

  We made history in the world of Irish dance in such a positive way.

  We have been on an incredible journey and have had many highs and lows, from magnificent opening nights to last-minute crises that tested our strength, but there has never been a time when I didn’t have Marie Duffy by my side.

  We laughed and we cried together and worked endless hours together in the pursuit of perfection.

  She has been a best friend and will always remain so.

  She has been unquestionably loyal to me and Lord of the Dance throughout all of my shows, from the beginning and on to Feet of Flames, Celtic Tiger and most recently Lord of the Dance: Dangerous Games – not to mention the many other TV shows and special one-off performances for royalty and heads of state around the world.

  In fact if you looked up the word ‘loyal’ in the dictionary I am pretty sure there would be a picture of Marie Duffy beside it.

  It was a sad and poignant moment in 2015 when she came onstage with me to take her final bow on Broadway, marking her retirement. A more fitting or worthy stage for the lady who worked her way to the top from the basement of a small, run-down dance hall in Dublin city there could not have been.

  Marie has left an indelible mark not only on me, but on the hundreds of dancers that have come through our doors.

  And although she has retired I know she is always just a phone call away.

  I love Marie and am proud of her.

  She is one in a million.

  Prologue

  Dancing Through Life

  Welcome to Hollywood.

  It’s March 1997 and I’m at the Oscars with Michael Flatley and the Lord of the Dance troupe.

  It’s a ‘pinch yourself’ moment for me – a long way from my humble upbringing in Crumlin, Dublin.

  Flying on Russian president Vladimir Putin’s private plane is also a long way from Crumlin. But that’s another story.

  ‘Dream big and make it happen,’ Michael Flatley used to say.

  The Oscars were never in my dreams. But I’ve had the privilege of helping Michael stage the spectacular Lord of the Dance show from scratch and this is where the journey has taken me.

  I had lived my entire life in the world of Irish dance. Then in middle age I went into semi-retirement.

  It was a phone call from Michael Flatley that brought me back. And this time my platform would be the world stage in one of the greatest dance productions ever seen.

  It wasn’t all glamour and excitement along the way, of course, as we battled the clock to launch Lord of the Dance. Yes we had a lot of fun, but we worked all the hours that God sent to get the show up and, well, dancing.

  ‘We didn’
t come this far to finish second,’ Michael would say during our tough times in those early days.

  We put dance teams of young men and women together, and taught and drilled them until we had a world-class show.

  Then Michael stepped out front and created his magic, performing the Irish steps like no one else on earth.

  Finally it was time to lift the curtain and show the universe what we had to offer. Lord of the Dance became an instant success with both the fans and the critics.

  And now here I am backstage at the Oscars, among all the fuss and glitter and glam of this greatest showbiz night of the year in Los Angeles.

  I’m rubbing shoulders with some of the most famous names in Hollywood. I’ve seen the diminutive but very handsome Tom Cruise stroll by, charming all the ladies with his gorgeous smile.

  Then along comes Ralph Fiennes, who put poor Mr Cruise in the shade. With his sexy, smouldering good looks, it’s this gorgeous Englishman who creates knee trembles. At this moment Ralph is the toast of Hollywood thanks to his amazing performance in The English Patient.

  How I ended up at this incredible night in the world of entertainment is just part of the story of my life.

  Here in Hollywood the moviemakers love a rags-to-riches, success against all odds personal drama.

  To make it all the way to the Oscars in Hollywood is a script I would never have written for myself – coming, as I have done, from Ireland of the 1940s and 1950s when families like mine had little or no money and struggled to make ends meet.

  Now I’m thinking of my mother, who put me on the path that has taken me to Hollywood. When she scraped together the cash for my Irish dancing classes as a child, she could never have foreseen where that would take me in life.

  If only she was here in Los Angeles to witness this night unfold.

  What has happened to me shows that you’re never too old to follow your dream or take on a challenge.

  How I ended up here in my middle age is a story full of twists and turns.

  But little did I know that shortly after this momentous night at the Oscars a tragic event with devastating consequences was about to destroy my happiness.

  There is a cruel side to life.

  Thankfully, though, what life takes it sometimes gives back and I would be granted that gift.

  That’s life and all its mysteries.

  And the story of my life begins on Cashel Road, Crumlin, Dublin, in the 1940s …

  A Surprise Child

  My mother Mary, God rest her, had notions about me as a child.

  We never discussed it in adult life, but today as I journey back into my childhood I can see that she was doing her best to raise me, her youngest child and only surviving daughter, as a little lady.

  Maybe she was blinded by her good intentions, but Mother didn’t realise that the road she put me on left me feeling sad, lonely and insecure as I grew up.

  I lived my young life without a circle of friends, and, sad to recall, I didn’t have a lot of carefree fun. It was all so different for the boys: my brothers and their friends on the street. I’d press my face up against the window of the front room in our modest terraced house and stare with envy and longing at the noisy gang of boys laughing and screaming as they were swinging from ropes tied to street lamp posts, or playing a game of hopscotch.

  It was simple, harmless fun, but I couldn’t go there. I guess my mother thought that the street playground was too common for her little lady.

  * * *

  There were seven boys in my family, but alongside the births of those seven brothers there were also three girls – my sisters who didn’t survive. One of them was a twin of my youngest brother, Brian. I can’t imagine the trauma that my parents, and particularly my mother, must have suffered losing their baby girls.

  It’s no wonder, then, that she wrapped me in cotton wool when I came into the world.

  I was the surprise pregnancy in my parents’ marriage, and I was born seven years after their last surviving child, Brian. By then, they had most of their children reared. Three of my brothers, Owen, Joe and Michael, had already left home and were out in the big bad world fending for themselves.

  Mother was then looking after four young sons, Kevin, Tony, Seamas and Brian … and along comes a baby daughter.

  The shock of the pregnancy for my mother must have been eased by the arrival of a healthy baby girl when I came into the world on 8 December 1945.

  But if there was any joy in a daughter arriving into her life Mother didn’t get to savour the moment, because she took ill after the birth.

  The district midwife who delivered me in the bedroom of our neat two-up, two-down corporation house at 213 Cashel Road in the working-class Crumlin suburb of Dublin city, was my mother’s sister, Emily, who was also chosen as my godmother.

  My auntie Emily, or Aunt Em as she was known in our clan, was a tiny woman with a formidable personality, and she would become a major presence in my life during the years that followed. She was my mother’s backbone really, as she was very supportive of her throughout her life. She dominated my mother, but in a good way.

  Aunt Em was married and had one son, Tom, who was the same age as my brother Brian.

  My mother was in her forties when she gave birth to me, and in those days women rarely had babies at that age because the risks were so high. They got married young, had a child year after year, and were grandmothers in their forties. My mother paid the price for giving birth so late in her life. When I was born she was in a lot of physical distress and became so ill that she was finally admitted into hospital, where tests showed that she was suffering from kidney failure and other issues.

  Aunt Em then stepped up to her responsibilities as a godmother by taking me on while my poor mother recovered. She brought me over to her home in Artane on the north side of the city, much to the delight of her seven-year-old only child, Tom. By all accounts, it was the best Christmas ever for young Tom, because his house came alive with the arrival of baby Marie.

  God love him, I think Tom thought I was there to stay forever. He doted on me, according to the family. Gradually, my mother got better and was well enough to be reunited with me at home. And I don’t think anyone expected the impact it would have on young Tom when he discovered that the baby was leaving.

  On the day my mother arrived for me, Tom became hysterical.

  He grabbed at her clothing, screaming, ‘You can’t take the baby, she’s ours!’

  Poor Tom, he was inconsolable.

  ‘Marie’s my sister, she’s my sister, she has to stay here!’ he cried and cried.

  My mother said her heart went out to the youngster, but sure what could she do?

  Poor Tom.

  Back home, my mother realised that she really wasn’t well enough to cope with four boisterous young boys and a baby. But rather than send me back to Aunt Em she asked my newly married brother Joe, and his wife Elizabeth, or Bett as she was known, to come home from England to look after me for a few months.

  It was good training for them: nine months later, Joe and Bett became parents themselves when my nephew, David, was born.

  Before I was born, my mother had chosen the name Philomena if her child turned out to be a girl. But because my arrival into the world was on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, a day that celebrates the solemn belief in the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary, being a good Catholic my mother called me Marie Philomena.

  At first she had pronounced my name Ma-ree, with the emphasis on the ‘ree’. So all my brothers and other family members got to know me as Ma-ree.

  Then a few months later a daughter was born into the Nolan family who lived down the road. And they called her Marie, pronounced Ma-ree. Well, my mother was raging. So, from then on she insisted that my name should now be pronounced Mar-ee, with a strong ‘ah’.

  By then, of course, my siblings had got used to calling me Ma-ree, so that’s how they addressed me all their lives. But to my mother, I would alwa
ys be Mar-ee.

  I have no idea what that was all about, but I guess she was snobbish in her own peculiar way.

  * * *

  Cashel Road is a long road and is in two parts. In our section, there were five houses in each block and they were all full of boys of a similar age. Then overnight a girl appeared in two of them: our house and in our neighbours’ next door. The Tynan family also welcomed the arrival of their baby daughter, Beryl, around the same time that I was born.

  For a long time in my childhood, Beryl would be my only friend. Like myself, Beryl wasn’t allowed out to play street games with the boys. So we just had our own company, and sometimes we would both peer longingly out the window at the boys and be so envious of all the fun they were having with the variety of games they invented. Beryl and I would always have a bond in life, but we didn’t see a lot of each other after I started school at the age of six.

  When it came to my education, my mother had lofty ideas. Not for me the local convent school, St Agnes’s, at the end of our road in Crumlin. Instead, Mother got me enrolled in the Presentation Convent in the more affluent suburb of Terenure.

  I presume she believed that being educated at a school in Terenure would help me to achieve a greater status in life, or perhaps land me a better position in the workplace in the years ahead.

  My young friend, Beryl, meanwhile, was sent to an Irish language school in the city. As time would tell, that school was probably more suited to my needs since I ended up steeped in Irish culture and dancing, but I struggled with the language.

  In order to qualify for a place in the Presentation College, you had to be residing in Terenure. This was just a minor detail that my mother resolved with little difficulty. Her brother, Michael O’Kelly, lived at 8 Parkmore Drive in the area, so she used his address to get me into the school.

  I didn’t stay with my uncle Michael. Instead I would do a daily commute to Terenure on the 82 bus, which stopped at the end of our road. This left me alienated as a child, as now I didn’t have friends in either Crumlin or in Terenure.