I have one stab
One go at it
No time to wait for 'tomorrows'
So in December, on a grey Friday, I stepped through the Choir room door for the first time. When Liz, our leader, announced the lists were out for the ChoirFest at St Georges, I walked over and added my name...
Seven choir practices until the big day, and the Alto part to learn for three new songs.
No word sheets are allowed up on stage Liz says, so learn them Ladies and Gents...
In practice I sing myself inside out, words in hand, head hung to read. Then one of the ladies says songs are easier to learn by listening and absorbing, read over the words at home but not while we sing...
sort of like osmosis I say with raised eyebrows as she smiles her yes in reply. So I buy a digital recorder and record us in full force then press play back at home and sing to heaven. Mr H wanders around humming the tunes and picking out some of the chorus he has absorbed!
Mr H drops me off for the coach. A gent offers his hand to help me on and some lovely ladies save me a downstairs seat. As we clamber off, my bag, full of bottled water and a healthy cancer fighting lunch, is whisked out of my hand by a bubbly group member for the few steps uphill to the majestic old Church. The same lady finds me a seat and fetches me coffee as we excitedly munch on our lunch. The auditorium doors open and a flurry of coat carrying figures dressed in grey, black and white with peeking red flashes, bustle through to save us seats together. So to admiring glances, I pin a red flower to my hair... No eating in the auditorium we are told but I nibble on a banana, pumpkin seeds, a few nuts and sultanas which I wash down with endless slurps of water to battle my relentless fatigue. I whisper to my bubbly companion not to worry if I go quiet, I zone out and meditate for a few minutes even when surrounded by noise I tell her...
During the afternoon's two BIG SINGS I am one of 500 to learn six new songs. Then like Willy Wonka's Chocloate factory we blow the roof off. By the evening I am struggling to put one foot in front of the other and my head is buzzing like bees in a hive so I call Mr H to rescue me after our slot in the concert; we are first. Then I dig deep to release my last shreds of energy.
I stand on the stage amongst 120 members of Liz's five 'Community Voices' choirs brought together for the day. Liz, with her dark hair also adorned with a red flower, glitters from the inside in her flowing silver coat.
Liz raises her hands...My heart beat roars and my eyes fill with tears as I open my mouth and sing...
High flying doves, please lead me and I'll follow you....
At home when my body falls asleep my head still sings..
Only remembered, only remembered,
only remembered for what we have done...
In case you are interested we sang:
The Olive Tree by Tom Springfield/ Diane Lampert arr.David Weaver
Only Remembered by Music: Ira Sankey,1891/Words: Horatio Bonar (now widely recognised from the War Horse)
Jazz Gloria by Anon!
I cant wait to get my hands on the CD of the day!
What would you do to paint your sky blue?
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